Arbitrarily Close to Heaven, Part n + 1

After deciding to stay west for the weekend, I pieced together a list of things that I might do for fun. Things that made the list were ice hockey on one of the many frozen bodies of water in the area, a trip back to the Purple Fiddle, a long road trip south to where rivers are flowing in liquid form, and a ski or snowshoe excursion to Dolly Sods. The last item on this list prevailed, thanks in part to a website I found called HikeSite. Last minute calls to potential partners-in-crime produced a handful of excuses not worth mentioning. (I know, Trevor and Max, you both had very good excuses).

I discovered that WVU has a rental facility for outdoor gear, and after visiting the folks there, I was set to "knock the bastard off." That's what Edmund Hillary said after coming down from the first ascent of Mt. Everest. This was arguably a far less severe bastard, but it ended up feeling like real, honest-to-goodness mountaineering (I think).

The plan I set Friday evening was to get up at 5:30 am, drive the three hours to the first hairpin in FS 19, ditch the car, and start skiing. It was approximately 3 miles to Mark and Margot's cabin from there, and I'd pack in gear to stay the night. Get the woodstove going, eat something, and take a small pack 2 more miles to the summit, beyond where no vehicles were permitted to proceed. A few hours along the ridgeline, double back, and back down to the cabin. I'd stay the night if possible, and ski down to the car in the morning. This last bit was contingent of the amount of wood that remained in the cabin from the last time it was used because that's the only way the cabin is heated.

I parked the car at about 9:30 am, hoisted on the pack, and began the uphill climb, which was a mix of hiking and skiing thanks to the high winds that this mountain receives. On exposed parts of the mountain, there was only bare sand and rocks. Otherwise, the snow was somewhere between a packed surface left by brave 4x4'ers and deep drifts.

The cabin was clean and lifeless. I'm often a bit anxious as I approach the cabin, imagining that either somebody has recently broken a window to get in or critters have taken up residence. The former would have meant there was no way to heat the cabin, so I was doubly anxious. Two of the traps I set last time had dead mice in them, but otherwise there was little evidence of critter activity. I fired up the crematorium (aka, woodstove) to get the place heated up. There was only one small heap of wood in the cabin, and I was not able to find any dry wood around the cabin, as most of it was buried under drifts. I didn't decide it at this time, but it would not be possible to stay the night. The most tragic part of this was that I'd hucked a full-size pack up the mountain and I'm not one to pack light. I would be lying if I said that the weight of the thing combined with a raised center of balance didn't leave me squirming like an upside-down turtle in the middle of the forest road at least a few times.

After a snack, I headed out again. It was refreshing to get on skis with no added weight. I schlussed along out to the forest road, and started ascending. In the two miles to the summit, I'd pass at least four spots on the road where a 4x4'er got stuck and turned back, creating a dense maze of tire tracks. Otherwise, I was able to stay in the tracks of some apparently well-equipped vehicle. However, even this vehicle was stopped by a 6-foot drift just before reaching the summit, and was parked. It turned out to be a Hummer H1 (talk about being well-equipped!), and I skied on past the mess made by its attempts to get through.

The adventure really began at this point. I wasn't the only one out here, but the only others were obviously wearing snowshoes. The sun was bright and there were no clouds. The wind was whipping violently from the west (my left as I started north). If I had to imagine what it would be like to visit Pluto, this would be it. The sound of strong wind coupled with the stinging cold made it feel devoid of life, and even the trees seemed to be having a rough go at it. They have no branches on one side; all of them, the same side. I bumped into a trio of snowshoers who are WVU students, and afterward thought that any of the three could have been my students, and neither of us would have recognized it. We looked like astronauts with very little exposed to the elements.

After about 90 minutes, I turned around and headed back south along the ridgeline, stopping more often this time to take photos and video. I was surprised to find that a vehicle had blasted through the big drift that had stopped the Hummer, and the owner (drinking Milwaukee's Best) and I pointed out the fact this his 70's vintage purple Chevy pickup with some serious lfts to make room for (I'm guessing) 45-inch wheels and some tire chains probably cost about a thirtieth of the cost of the Hummer. He didn't really laugh, which made me wonder if he understood, or just didn't like tree-hugging skiers.

Skiing to the cabin was fast and incredile, aside from the lack of edges on the skis. I only went down once, but it was enough to make me want backcountry skis. My decision to leave was reinforced when I saw that the fire I'd created about four hours earlier hadn't even heated the place enough to melt my original snowy footprints, and I'd used all the wood. I made myself some food, cooled off a bit (ok, a lot in a short amount of time), huffed on the big pack, and headed for the car.

I got back to the car at 5:30, just about eight hours after leaving it, and right as the sun was going down. What a fantastic shift. Check out the photos and video.

Git 'r Dun.