Fighting Forward in the Tobacco Roots
I want to be very direct in saying that this trip was one of the top 5 most difficult endeavors I think I’ve ever had in the mountains. I want to be equally clear in saying that, knowing what I know now, I believe I have devised ways to attempt the same feat again and, with a few notable modifications to my pulk and kit, I should be able to make it to base camp with significantly less difficulty and, conditions allowing, shoot for a summit of Hollowtop Mountain.
First Steps
The adventure began before we even took our first steps up the mountain. I had a sneaking suspicion that my van wouldn’t make it all the way up to Cataract Reservoir from the limited beta I’d found, and that was fine because I accounted for that extra mileage in my plan. What I didn’t plan for, however, was pulling up to the parking area to see a gal trying to get her vehicle unstuck from the same path I didn’t dare drive up and nearly flipping it off the cliff that the unstable snowpack was pressed against on the old mining road. It took about 40 minutes to do enough digging with avalanche shovels and making inches of progress for my adventure buddy and I to get her straightened up and back down on the main road safely. It was a major relief to move forward knowing the day didn’t start with a SAR call, which I’m pretty firmly convinced would’ve been what played out had we gotten there even a half hour later.
A short hike back down to the van to gather our belongings, and even though we were an hour behind schedule we started the long afternoon of climbing up into the mountains in high spirits. The ruts in the road weren’t very conducive to skinning (skis with directional grip that allow you ski uphill, even when dragging a sled) so I booted up the first couple of miles until we made it into deeper snow. Brendan was elated to pass all the mineral claims and abandoned mining lodges that dotted the mountainside. It really was like skiing back in time. The only things in existence were the moose tracks, tailings from mining operations, and snowy peaks that stood above us. This place was a ghost town embedded in a Winter Wonderland.
There were a few bumps along the way up to the village, namely my brand new ski pole snapping less than 0.5 miles in, which was unfortunate, but otherwise things were moving about as well as could be imagined. The sled was heavy, the climbing was hard, and we were moving slowly, but that didn’t stop us from ‘oohing’ and ‘aahing’ at every little mining path, bird in the sky, and ominous cloud that hung over the mountains ahead. It was beautiful, slow going.
Frustrations in the Forest
After making a ton of steady, forward progress we came upon a series of forested climbs that would be the steepest terrain of the day. With a bout of warming sunlight I dried out my skis and slapped on the long skins which would cover the entirety of the bottom of the ski and give me more grip when climbing up hills. This worked perfectly and I was moving uphill with clean, consistent strokes… at least for an hour or so.
Because the trees block so much sun from entering the forest, the snow was significantly deeper, softer, and older than what we were skiing on previously. I’m not 100% sure of this, but it seems to me that having the skis beneath so much powder essentially melted and soaked the snow onto the ski, and when you combine this wetness with the intense pressure I was putting the skin under while dragging my sled uphill behind me, I suppose it makes sense that the skin would blow out. Stuck in a forest with steep hills on either side of you with only 50% of your climbing power is NOT a position you want to be in. With only one long skin still attached I had to do all my climbing solely on my right foot, and that was absolutely exhausting. Imagine doing Bulgarian split squats tied to nearly 70 pounds while ascending a mountain for two hours straight. This finally came to a head when I reached a slope less than 0.25 miles from our intended campsite that was simply too steep for me to move up. I tried holding onto trees, I tried herring-stepping, and even just bootpacking, but the result was me swimming waist-deep in powder and getting very tired and frustrated. Thankfully, Brendan opted to take on this final hill as he had full skins on the splitboard, and I think that last fight to camp gave him some perspective on how the journey had felt on my end because the day ended with more than a handful of “damn, man, I don’t see how you did this all day.”
Darkness in the Marsh and Sunrise on the Cliffs
We set up camp quickly, and rather well despite arriving to camp in the dark. I imagine it took 20 minutes from arrival to being in the tent with the cooker running, which was good because in our fight through the forest we had neglected to eat all afternoon. We were starving.
The evening closed quickly with tons of laughter, riddle-solving, and reminiscing over previous adventures. Brendan had done a bit of scuba diving whereas the majority of my time had been spent thru-hiking. He told me about swimming with hungry sharks, and in turn I recalled snorkeling alligator-filled waters in Florida. Wildy-folk really are strange creatures.
The sun had just come up by the time we got moving. I wiped the ice crystals from the ceiling of our tent, and Brendan got the water boiling for breakfast. We ate, packed up, and traversed the marsh before making our final decision about a summit attempt. Conditions were actually quite good, but with only one climbing skin I knew I wouldn’t even be able to try. Brendan decided to forfeit the summit attempt in solidarity, and so we picked up our equipment from camp and began the return journey. I approximated 1-hour to get back through the forest and then we would be back on direct-line tracks where we could ski down the mountain and pick up some speed. This did not happen.
Our first mile was nearly an hour-and-a-half long as I continually had to backtrack around trees on the slope and recover my sled which had flipped no less than 40 times throughout the endeavor. My arms and core were getting as tired as my legs, and I was admittedly a bit nervous that I’d have to abandon my equipment until I could return with two climbing skins and stability fins to install on the sled. Brendan broke trail while I inched forward with my pulk, now named “Jester,” resting on my uphill hip to prevent it from flipping. It felt like we’d never get out of that forest, and I was losing my temper, continually reminding myself that if I threw Jester downhill or pulled too hard to rip him around trees I would inevitably damage the damn sled and make matters worse.
We emerged from the forest as the snow began pouring down upon us. Honestly, it was really fun and cool to navigate in a whiteout, as I could only see Brendan’s tracks and some nearby trees for the majority of the endeavor. Once on the road it was hard to read the slope of our descent, and so I squatted down with Jester riding on my right heel where I could quickly slow myself to a stop if the situation demanded.
It took less than two hours to descend the entire mountain range, and I thought I’d nearly collapse into a deep sleep the moment I sat down in the driver seat of my van.
All in all it truly was a good experience in terms of lessons learned and time spent with my best friend. I’m sure once the fatigue in my body fades away I may even remember it fondly. Regardless, I’m hungrier than ever to take back into the Tobacco Root Mountains and fight for a summit. All in due time.
