A Winter Dream

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Reilly

Mountain climber

The Other Monrovia- CA

Topic Author's Original Post - Dec 9, 2011 - 01:06pm PT

A Winter Dream

It had been a dream climb so far. First was the delightful snogo ride up
the otherwise endless logging road. Then the snowshoe slog in good snow
on a perfect winter day to the ridge. Yes, snowshoes - Steve didn't ski
and it is tough to climb fifth class rock with skis on your back. Now the
two noobs were doing the first winter ascent of one of the premier routes
in the Cascades!

The lower part of the ridge was easy and conditions were perfect. We
reached the start of the difficulties with time to dig a deluxe snowcave
into the top of a couloir hard against the rock wall. There was even a
nice veranda where you could stand unroped. With food for a couple of
days and fuel that could last a good three we had no worries despite the
high cirrus that had begun to show. Life was good.

I awoke in abject terror. I don't remember the dream's plot now but I
definitelty recall being relieved that I had awoken. Naturally I still
imagined myself in that bad place in my id. Then I opened my eyes to
utter blackness and felt the cold rock wall at my elbow.

"Oh, right, I'm in a snowcave at 8000' in the Cascades. That's a
relief!" Then I heard it - the sound from my nightmare. Only now it was
real, that is if I was really awake. But the cold rock at my elbow
surely felt real. Certainly as real as The Sound. I listened keenly in
my black tomb. It was the sound of pitter-pattering on the snowcave
roof. Then the truth hit me with a devastating wrench of my guts. It was
the sound of rain outside! How could that be? I well knew. The cirrus
we had seen was the advance guard of a Pineapple Express winter storm. It
was not unprecedented. Then I realized that our cozy little getaway could
likely be our undoing. Judging by the vehemence with which it was coming
down I was convinced the rain was percolating down through the early
winter snowpack and it was just a matter of time before the whole thing
slid off of the slabs at the head of the couloir.

What to do. Steve was sleeping the sleep of the just beside me. Should I
awaken him or let him go peacefully? Did we stand any chance of heading
down in such a wet maelstrom in the dark? I laid there for seemingly
forever tormenting myself with the options. Finally I decided to go
outside and see how bad it was. Without turning on a light I snuck out of
my bag. I pulled our packs away from the entrance and stuck my hand out.
There was no out. There was a solid wall of snow. Oh, the initial front
must have been colder with snow and now it was raining. I shoved my whole
arm into the wall but still felt nothing but snow! Shit! We were well
and truly entombed!

I crawled back into my bag not bothering to put our packs back up. Maybe
something would come to me. Then I noticed that there was a variation to
the pitter-pattering. There were sounds of more substantial impacts
interspersed with the more regular ones. Some of them sounded very
substantial indeed! Then it hit me, though I was oblivious to the pun at
the time. The sounds I was hearing were chunks of rime ice being torn
from the ridge crest above us. I wanted to awaken Steve to share my joy
but thought better of it. I didn't want to ruin his image of me, such as
it was. I went back to sleep, lulled by the pitter-patter of the vicious
storm outside. Suffice it to say we had 5 feet of snow to tunnel through
to exit the cave in the morning. 5 feet of snow mixed with chunks of
rime stalagmites.

The n00bs in retreat

mastadon

Trad climber

crack addict

Dec 9, 2011 - 04:42pm PT

Steve who, big boy???

The Cascades were (are) good for misadventures like that. Had a few myself...

BooDawg

Social climber

Butterfly Town

Dec 9, 2011 - 05:35pm PT

Lovely Dream! Thanks for sharing!

Fritz

Trad climber

Choss Creek, ID

Dec 9, 2011 - 07:16pm PT

Thanks for the story!

Brrrrrrr!

I need a drink!

I specialized in ending winter droughts in the NW by trying to climb the North Face of Mt. Hood.

The two trips both ended in a January night of very high-winds on Cooper Spur, and a retreat through the storm the next morning.