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---------------------- Forwarded by Elliot Mainzer/PDX/ECT on 02/12/2001=20
08:50 AM --------------------------- =20 =09Enron Capital & Trade Resources Corp. =09 =09From: "Winston Goodbody" <wgoodbody@hotmail.com< = =20 02/11/2001 07:59 AM =09 To: wgoodbody@hotmail.com cc: =20 Subject: Leg 2 Update Hi, Here is my update from our second leg. Not quite as thorough as the first one I'm afraid, but we're going to be saving our better writing for venues other than the web site. Pictures should go up on the site soon. http://ski.mountainzone.com/2001/yellowstone/html Win =3D=3D=3D Greater Yellowstone Ski Traverse Update for Leg 2: Cora to Jackson The Unbearable Lightness of Skiing By Win Goodbody Joe and I were in good spirits after the first leg. It was a perfect opene= r to our winter in Greater Yellowstone. Despite the brutal cold and a marathon exit day, it was, on the whole, an enjoyable time. Perhaps too enjoyable. After almost 5 days back in town mending gear, mind, and body, we departed for our second leg in the Gros Ventre Range with a cavalier attitude. Though we had budgeted 10 or 12 days for this traverse, we now thought it might take only a week. But we were wrong. Instead of a walk i= n the park, the Gros Ventres were a lesson in how slow and difficult progress can be when the weather turns bad. We were sternly reminded that in adverse conditions, the mountains hold all the cards. We traded sleds for packs on this 60 mile trip from Cora to Jackson. It ha= d been a long time since I carried a full pack, and somehow I forgot there is a world of difference between pulling and carrying weight. Joe wisely trimmed down as he set out what he was bringing. Imagining more stellar sunrises and sunsets ahead, I was determined to tote the same 20 pounds of camera gear I had with me on the first leg. Big mistake. As we hefted our loads and pulled away from the car, I knew I was in trouble. My pack towered over Joe=01,s. I could just barely lift it off t= he ground. It looked like I was setting off for months. In addition to filling every cubic inch of interior space, I had so many items lashed to the outside I felt like a backpacker=01,s version of the Joad family, who f= led the dustbowl with all worldly possessions hanging off their battered truck in =01&The Grapes of Wrath=018. I was to fare about as well on this trip a= s the poor Joads did in Steinbeck=01,s bitter novel. Good weather persisted as we made our way up Rock Creek to the high crest that runs continuously from just east of Bondurant all the way northwest past Jackson to Slide Lake and the Gros Ventre River. We had hard-packed snow machine tracks to follow for the first two days. On day 4, approachin= g the first pass by Hodges Peak, we got a taste of world class wind. It is not for no reason that Wyoming is a prime site for development of wind-generated power, we learned. Like the cold on the first leg, wind was to be our constant companion on this trip. It raged through the gap, knocking over full water bottles left standing on the snow during a break. Luckily the air temperature itself was mild or we would have been turned into frozen statues. After traversing around the west side of Doubletop Peak through worsening visibility, we emerged into clear, calm air and a stunning sunset. We had not known ahead of time whether or not we could get through a gap between two sets of cliff bands. If we couldn=01,t, it was going to mean dropping = a few thousand feet into a steep drainage we would then have to climb back ou= t of a mile or so farther along. But the gap went through easily, and we turned the corner to find ourselves staring at a classic multi-tiered rock shelf that stretched away for two miles toward our next pass. The red glow of evening coated sheer walls above as we made camp among giant boulders. We were now solidly up on the Gros Ventre high route. On the map, it was amazing how little actual distance remained between us and Slide Lake, the terminus of this section. We had simply to cross a high basin, another drainage, and then follow a high plateau to Sheep Mountain, from which it was =01&all downhill=018. The wind was blowing hard as we passed Palmer Peak the next day and set our sights on the Crystal Creek drainage. A little while later it was blowing really hard. We couldn=01,t tell whether the snow flying horizontally past= us was falling from the sky or being stripped off the ground, but either way visibility was poor. We went nonstop for a few hours to get off the expose= d high basin where the Gros Ventre River originates. Descending Crystal Creek we took our skins off and skied at a pleasant pace through nice powder snow to the valley floor. As we went lower and got out of the wind, we could see that it was indeed snowing, and that there was about a foot of new snow on the ground. Whereas up high the wind kept much snow from accumulating and sculpted what little coverage there was into a rock hard surface, down here in the still, densely treed valley the snow wa= s deep and light. That night we cheered ourselves by digging out a large shelter for our floorless cooking tent. The Megamid is a pyramid tent that sets up easily. After digging a square pit several feet down, you erect the tent with one center pole and have a large, warm area to sit in. Sheltered from the wind= , we were very comfortable and drank cup after cup of tea and cocoa as we consulted the map and assessed the route ahead. We hoped to wake and find blue skies. Island in the Sky, the plateau that was to be our highway for the remaining 5 or 6 miles before we descended toward Slide Lake was not fa= r away. The storm wasn=01,t over the next day, but it had stalled a bit. We moved = down the valley through deep snow and then started to climb up an adjacent fork. Dense woods slowed us to near a standstill, but by nightfall we had reached a spot where, at least in clear weather, we should have been able to see th= e final climb up onto the Island. The storm was now back on track, and as we got higher we could feel the first brushes of what was undoubtedly a screaming wind up on the Island. Again we excavated a deep pit for the Megamid and passed a warm evening inside, wondering what the weather would do tomorrow. The next day, as was now becoming the pattern, the morning was almost clear= . We got ourselves going and continued traversing up the side of Crystal Creek=01,s West Fork headed for Island in the Sky. As we passed over steep= er terrain, we noticed how fragile conditions had become with the additional load of new snowfall. Everywhere we went we heard the snow collapse, and shooting cracks ran in all directions. Sloughs moved on even the smallest hillsides. We sincerely hoped we would be able to find a route that did no= t cross any open slopes. By afternoon, true to form, the storm was back in high gear. Trailbreaking was knee deep. If film had been taken of us at this point, maybe replaying it at fast forward speed would have looked like a normal pace. The weight of my pack was becoming painful. My left leg had strange tingles running down it and was slightly numb. Joe said that happened to him sometimes whe= n he carried a heavy pack. =01&Have you been carrying a heavy pack recently?= =018 he deadpanned. Despite the storm, we could see the edge of the Island. We were right at the base of it, and only a few hundred feet of climbing would be necessary to get on top. We were now at the head of the West Fork drainage, and as w= e approached treeline, the wind increased. Though it was only 2 pm, we decided to camp and wait one more day to see if the storm would abate. If we were going to venture up high in these conditions, we wanted to start first thing in the morning to have a full day to make our way across safely= . For the third night in a row, we built a snug Megamid shelter. I was awake most of that night listening to the wind and snow, sometimes thinking it was easing. But by morning the four day old storm was coming o= n strong. It was day 8 of our trip. We weren=01,t getting any breaks this t= ime. Knowing it could in fact go on like this for days, we decided the sooner we got up and over, the better. Trailbreaking was difficult as we left the trees to negotiate a few small cliff bands. At one point Joe set off a little slough that moved him downslope about 50 feet. The terrain was such that we were in no real danger, but conditions were flashing a bright red light at us. We knew we had no steep slopes to reckon with, so we continued on, hugging a scoured ridgeline where grass poked through the snow. Soon we were on top. Island in the Sky is a featureless plateau that runs for three or four mile= s just south of Sheep Mountain and due east of Jackson Hole. It is as high o= r higher than anything to the immediate west, and is thus exposed to the full force of the prevailing wind. As we shuffled onto this no man=01,s land, I felt like a bug on a windshield. The wind was shrieking. Visibility was almost zero and we were navigating by compass alone. I found that looking straight down at my skis was the best way to maintain balance, as otherwise there was nothing to see but white and it was hard to tell whether you were standing or falling. We leaned into the wind with poles splayed out on either side. Sharp gusts or sudden pauses would precipitate frantic movements as we tried to readjus= t our stances. We were in the thick of it. I think we both realized the seriousness of our position, though we didn=01,t talk about it. Of course = we could always retreat and wait another day, but the desire to get out was strong. As we continued, four or five times, just when we really needed some guidance, we caught brief glimpses through the clouds of a ridge or valley far below. These moments were enough to figure out where we were. After two or three hours of feeling our way, we made it to the base of Shee= p Mountain. Visibility was too low to see down the slope we thought we could descend, so we set up our tent prepared for a windy night. Waking up to clear skies in a place where you went to sleep unable to see anything is an interesting feeling. Down below was Jackson, and we were eight miles from the road. It all seemed so much simpler now that we could see. Of course we ended up making a wrong turn, and a six hour bushwhack through enormous downfall and dense woods ensued. Reminiscent of our last exit, darkness saw us staggering onto a packed snow mobile trail. A few more miles and darned if those weren=01,t headlights coming toward us: a fr= iend picking us up, and just in time. We really have to stop driving on those trails. Taking that weight off my back for the last time was a relief. As blood flowed and feeling returned, I resolved to never again overload myself that way. No more stuff hanging every which way off my phone booth-sized pack. Never again. I would be a Joad no more. _________________________________________________________________ Get your FREE download of MSN Explorer at http://explorer.msn.com
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