PCT Winter Traverse
PCT Winter Traverse
The times, they are a changin’
Wednesday, November 19, 2014
As if by default, the moment we stepped across the WA/OR border the first winds of winter came sweeping in. Along Mt Hood we were greeted by 50+ mph winds, creating windchill statistics in the negatives. It’s amazing just how far under your eyelid or packed into your gums a single gust of Mt Hood’s pulverized volcanic grit can get. At least frozen cinder sand is much easier to walk on then the common 1 step forward, 2 steps back rhythm of summertime hiking. I’m not sure which I prefer, the sand in my orbitals or the inefficiency of mountain beach walking, but the expletives are the same.
Over the last week and a half things have slowed down. Winter has a tendency to do that, and our pace is reflective of it. Things takes longer to pack up in the frosty mornings. The streams freeze and slow to a trickle. The wilderness becomes much calmer; much quieter. Motivation dwindles, as it is much slower to crawl out of warm hibernation each morning, let me tell you. As the snow piles higher your mind is filled with the cadence of breaking trail. I’ve been impressed with the spectrum of rhythms that can be established depending on the snow type. If timed correctly, the crunch, swoosh, pause can be performed in perfect meter. There is a pleasant swish and glide when the snow first begins to fall; an almost youthful joy to it. Then there is the nightmarish ice crust that was initially present atop 18” of fluffy powder creating a herky-jerky dance of sorts we dubbed the ‘Monster Mash’. It would involve a Third Reich-era stiff leg to heel smash though the crust layer in order to minimize the repetitive bruising and cutting to one’s shin bone. My personal favorite is the patience that must be developed as the snow begins to consolidate, such to the point where it will neeeeaaarly hold you. I can only describe our gait as to that of a baby deer learning to walk. ‘Light as a feather, stiff as a board’. How much weight can I displace so as to not break through this god forsaken crust layer?
Weight displacement on snow is a funny thing, much more so when the snowshoes you planned to carry are mistakenly bounced ahead to a distant town and of no use to you. That was the situation we found ourselves in as we left the safety of Portland. While in Washington we had carried our snowshoes on our backs for nearly 300mi, having not donned them since the northern section of North Cascade National Park. While in Trout Lake we gleaned over the extended forecast and hedged our bets that we could safely arrive in Bend, some 200mi to the south, without the need to further carry the ‘training weights’ on our backs. That’s how one mistake can have a trickle down effect to greater concern. Strike one if you will.
Strike two is not admitting to ourselves that a) yes, we are heading into winter, and b) our Gore-Tex shoes have long given up the ghost of dry-dom. Combine that with a record breaking cold snap across Oregon State, thanks largely in part to the hyped and masterfully spun ‘Polar Vortex’, and you have a perfect recipe for the secondary frostbite we found ourselves faced with halfway through the 90mi stretch to Santiam Pass. Frostbite doesn’t happen by surprise, you know its happening, but we ignored the first rule of winter. Slow down. My journey into frostbite begins with jamming my feet into frozen boots in the morning. With the vigor of breaking trail, my thought was my feet would warm and thaw the boots in short order. I told myself that if my feet where still cold after an hour I would stop and re-warm. Numbness can easily be confused with warm. We took a break in the sun 3hr into the morning. Upon removing my shoes, I saw an icy layer both inside my shoes and along my sock in several places. Surely not a good sign. I’ve seen a fair amount of frost nip and frost bite during my tenure in the winters of Minnesota, so when I saw the hardened, blanched white skin, I knew I was in for a long recovery ahead. A field re-warm was in order and alternate plans were made for the day to better prepare ourselves for the conditions we were seeing. We took a beeline out of the wilderness around Olallie Lake and spent the next day post holing to the nearest road where we could hitch to Bend to regroup.
Bend has been a great stop to hit the pause button and regroup. There is a great community of hikers here and hospitality and support has been second to none. These kinds of town stops can be dangerous as well, falling prey to the town vortex and never returning the wilds that be. A quick glance at the extended forecast shows potentially for another 2-3ft storm cycle, so you know we’re dying to get out after it.
We’ve been using this time to adjust our systems to the ever changing conditions. We knew going into the trip that the transition from fall to winter would be one of the more challenging times. There’s not enough snow on the ground to ski and too much to hike. Snow line consistently changes with elevation. The temps are hovering around freezing, which can mean either cold rain, or wet snow, and the extended forecasts for predicting future trail tread is unreliable. We both feel confident that we are leaving the harbor of Bend with a better sense of what will work and what won’t. That’s a huge appeal of this trip for me - being constantly confronted with challenges and obstacles and having to overcome and remedy them.
From here we head into a 280mi stretch of more remote terrain through Oregon. All of our resupplies from here until near the CA/OR border will be by remote resort towns. Updates from here will be sparse at best. Looking forward to seeing some of the highlights south of here, namely the Three Sisters Wilderness and Crater Lake.
For more photos from the last section, follow this link to my facebook page.
(Right) Putting in the last few miles before dusk. Trauma traversing under Three Finger Jack in the Mt Jefferson Wilderness.