FreezeFest III, Hemlock Canyon, UT
Day 1 Randi is right... it was a magical day.
I know she was having a good time that evening, for the conversation lasted until 1 AM instead of the usual 11 PM, in which time we solved all the troubles of the world, except the tsunami, which we had not heard of yet. And of course we talked about all of you, saying only wonderful (mostly) things about everyone.
The next AM we were to meet Sherpa and his partners at 7:30 AM, at our campsite. Wait and wait and wait... It's cold waiting around, but here they come at 8:30 AM. Where have they been? A mere half mile away, in another turnout, wait and wait and waiting for us. Feeling awfully bright on this gray morning. Rush, rush and run the car shuttle at super sonic speed and we are off before 9 AM. With the trip longer than the allotted daylight, the loss of another hour doesn't matter toooo much, does it? I convince myself.
A typical Freezefest Morning - gloomy clouds and a smiling Ram. All photos this page: Matt Smith (Hemlock Canyon)
A typical Freezefest Morning – gloomy clouds and a smiling Ram. All photos this page courtesy of Matt Smith.
Old friends getting reacquainted, new friends being made in the brisk air, walking and talking on approach. No snow except in the shadow of northern exposure, where a crunchy type makes noise under our feet. How many names do northern natives have for snow and ice? The day would leave me feeling the desire to name 4-5 different types. Before I knew it, the landscape was snow-covered and a tad different from what I remembered. I am no fan of the GPS. I feel it dulls my senses and skills. Like depriving yourself of the mental exercise of doing math, with the use of a calculator. You can't "get skills" if you don't practice. It is an art form to take in all the observations, some of them always seemingly contradictory, and allow yourself to go forth, with a comfort in your uncertainty, adding ideas and observations and changing your analysis as you go. This slight "wandering" cost us 15 minutes and brought a smile to my face, as the pieces fell in place. While we couldn't afford the loss of time, good fortune gave it back to us, for if I had gone the standard approach, we would have had to rap the gentle, but exposed entry slopes to the canyon, as it faced north and were snow coated. My detour had slipped us around the canyon head, giving easy and safe access, with only a three step "running of the slab" into the drainage, at a steep spot.
Rappels were set up and with some efficiency, we darted down drops, stemmed well off the deck, squeezed through narrow gaps and generally had a ball. The many narrows, which alternate with the openings, were snow free, but when the openings came, we arrived at a world covered in snow. Walls, canyon bottom, trees alike all shining in the white stuff. Not many come here to begin with, but with the snow, one felt like the "first of all souls" to enter. It was almost painful to leave our prints in the snow. There were many frozen pools, that held our weight. Some cracked to reveal that all the water in them were in a frozen state. One pool was frozen but 2 inches. Thought 2 inches would hold you, but perhaps the edges were stepped on and crack it did into big plates. The water was waist deep and it was hard to balance up on the plates to exit the pool. I found that moving them around and sliding them up on each other did the trick. The exercise kept us warm.
Rappel into the darkness, early in Hemlock Canyon.
A narrow part.
Randi seems to be enjoying herself.
Perry and rope in narrow section.
At one of the many "partner assist" downclimbs, I tried the climb facing the other way and when nearly down, over I went, crashing to the ground. It was odd and I did not feel as if falling. I had surrendered myself to my partners assistance, which is more often the correct approach. It just didn't sink in that I was falling, horizontally and then upper body first to the ground. SMACK. A tad stunned, I noted the look of concern on the faces of everyone and sat quite still, taking inventory. The obligatory "Are you all right?"s were answered, after a pause, with concern for my elbow. 10 days later, it is still scabbed and tender, still twinges if moved the wrong way. What didn't hurt at all, was the crack my helmet made on the canyon wall. A big crack! Just a friendly reminder from your friendly neighborhood hard hat wearer. Would have been bad... real bad without one on this day.
The gang preparing for the ultimate rappel (Hemlock Canyon)
The gang preparing for the ultimate rappel
The final rap spills out into a huge cirque, in the Colorado Plateau tradition of a "grand finale." The spring, making up the last 25 feet of this 175 foot drop was frozen solid. Fun to rap down the ice. Too bad that I could find no way not to break the 6 foot long icicles hanging down an overhanging part. They were lovely.
Final rap.
Normally the place to take the wetsuits off, the descent below spoke of a need for a different strategy. The 1/2 mile long, steep boulderfield descent is generally fun. Does require some caution. On this day, much more than a little caution. The boulders, varied in size from dresser-size to school bus-size. In the past, the "dance" from boulder top to boulder top is easiest and great sport. Today? Ahhhh, the boulders were covered in 4-6 inches of snow that had the consistency of sugar. What was worse and hidden was the fact that the crests and for a foot down the sides, all the apexes of the boulders were covered in a verglas coating of ice, hidden by the sugar snow. A new approach was called for. Randi had started off first and when I caught her, I found that the system she had devised, was both the fastest and the safest. Not the warmest! With wetsuits still on, she slid on the side of the boulders and in grooves between them, fanning out with arms and legs to clear more snow. Sort of like a "human broom." I took turns, on lead, to share the cold, wet work. It was slow and required some searching around for route, at times. Following was faster, warmer and easier. The thought of getting hurt here, miles from anywhere, on late December afternoon, led to a "patience" and 45 minutes later the 1/2 mile was over.
Out of the suits and it is normally a ramble, at 3 miles per hour, but with 6 inches of the crunchy, hollow snow and long stretches of ice, it was harder and slower than normal.
A pleasant stroll to the exit. Yellow Klister?
Hiking in fading light is an interesting experience. The eyes adjust and you are able to hold off using the headlamps for a surprisingly long time. Alas, 5:50 PM was the call for artificial light. Sherpa and I prod each other. Fast hikers, we get faster together, pushing each other. Chattering away, we would occasionally wait for our partners, by stopping periodically. Must say, that the legs would have liked to keep going. The stopping stiffens up the old wheels.
At last, the road and off to a restaurant. We were all cold, once indoors. Hadn't been while hiking, but when we stopped, the cumulative effects of the day, gave a chill somewhere below the surface. A big dinner warmed us and the boys headed north. The amazing Randi started the finish of her sprint marathon. 10 hour drive, campfire for 5 hours, 5 hours of sleep, 11 hour canyon and a 10 hour drive home. Love those with spirit. Me? a 3 hour drive, part way into the Roost and a tarp set up, under cloudy skies, had me ready for bed just before midnight. Ryan Cornia showed up an hour later and Tom Jones was 5 hours behind, but that is part of Day 2's tale.
