Frigid tent in the shadow of Molas peak.
My Dad and I left the house at around 3 p.m. with the bed of our pickup truck filled with skis, backpacks, and a few bits of camping supplies. We were looking for the kind of adventure only dangerous, semi-irresponsible situations can give you. We were going snow camping. We pulled into the Molas parking lot and pulled out our gear. I noticed some discoloration on the side of my pack and ventured my hand forward for further inspection. Turns out I had put a faulty water bottle lying on its side the whole car ride up. Rushing to minimize further moistening I tightened my mostly empty water bottle and we began our skin up the hill. At around 5:15 p.m. we reached our base camp with a view of all the surrounding high alpine magnificence. Thanks to the time change, the sun was still hanging just barely above the horizon which gave us enough time to stomp out a tent spot in the crusty, week old snow and set up our shelter for the night. A small yellow tent in the midst of a sea of white, green, and grey wilderness. As soon as the sun set, the cold bit into us like a predator and our only defense was the extra layers we had lugged up on our backs. My Dad wandered around outside for a time while I sat in the vestibule of our tent enjoying the view until we decided dinner was nigh. Dad removed his old camp stove from, "back in the golden days" which must have accounted for around a quarter of the weight of his already sizable backpack. We screwed it together and fired it up-- but wait, nothing happened. We tried again and still nothing, the air temperature was to cold for the fuel to remain in a gaseous state. No matter for we had brought along those 20 cent bags of Ramen noodles which are equally inedible both cooked or raw. We enjoyed our crunchy noodle blocks and synthetic chicken powder under the multitude of stars suspended over the bowl of mountains in front of us. Without any hot food, or real warmth of any kind we were definitely cold, so we buried ourselves in our down sleeping bags (my father's filled with an avocado, 3 oranges and the fuel canister in hopes of warming it enough for hot tea the next morning) and we fell into fitful sleep.
The next morning we awoke slowly from a night of cold noses and strange dreams to the sun peaking ever so slightly over the mountains across from us, and it truly was indescribably beautiful. As Dad tried again to light our camp stove and again, did not succeed we put on our frozen ski boots, ate some frozen apple and folded up our frozen tent. Our plan was to ski from the peak closest to us down what looked liked a knife ridge down to our car. All told, it would be a 2,000 foot vertical descent. We knew our packs were too heavy for the skin up so we found a fairly secluded little tree well and dumped all the gear we would not need. From there we began our ascent. All the while I taught my Dad information about route finding, avalanche precautions, safety practices and other various bytes of information I had learned in my Avy 1 course. We were about half way up when we decided to dig snow pits. We each dug our own, no small feat when the snowpack is almost 5 and 1/2 feet deep. We conducted an isolated column concussion test and there was a 2 and 1/2 foot slab that broke off at 23 hits. From this information, I explained to Dad, we would be fairly safe skiing most pitches of a similar aspect provided we stayed to slopes of degrees below 30. From our pits we moved upward seeing only a couple crows and a group of snowmobilers highlining on an opposing face. As we reached the summit the snow beneath us was becoming much like the consistency of grits and began sticking to the bottom of my skins. I advised Dad that we should not stop at the summit for lunch as we had originally intended, and instead should ski right on down in order to avoid further avalanche problems resulting from rapid heating and melting of the snowpack. He agreed and we had an excellent ski down. We found our stashed gear first try and ate sourdough bread covered in avocado slices and finished off a bag of milk chocolate M&M's. Unfortunately, we had to re-weight our bags with all the gear we had stashed and my Dad's pack was equivalent to a man of comparable size to his own, riding on his back for the rest of the way down the mountain. He managed but not without cautious, low angle route finding and more than a couple tumbles. At long last we got back to our car and begrudgingly rejoined society. Lucky for me, my internship will take me on a similar trip, for 4 days, starting this Thursday. Obviously, i'm stoked!
The next morning we awoke slowly from a night of cold noses and strange dreams to the sun peaking ever so slightly over the mountains across from us, and it truly was indescribably beautiful. As Dad tried again to light our camp stove and again, did not succeed we put on our frozen ski boots, ate some frozen apple and folded up our frozen tent. Our plan was to ski from the peak closest to us down what looked liked a knife ridge down to our car. All told, it would be a 2,000 foot vertical descent. We knew our packs were too heavy for the skin up so we found a fairly secluded little tree well and dumped all the gear we would not need. From there we began our ascent. All the while I taught my Dad information about route finding, avalanche precautions, safety practices and other various bytes of information I had learned in my Avy 1 course. We were about half way up when we decided to dig snow pits. We each dug our own, no small feat when the snowpack is almost 5 and 1/2 feet deep. We conducted an isolated column concussion test and there was a 2 and 1/2 foot slab that broke off at 23 hits. From this information, I explained to Dad, we would be fairly safe skiing most pitches of a similar aspect provided we stayed to slopes of degrees below 30. From our pits we moved upward seeing only a couple crows and a group of snowmobilers highlining on an opposing face. As we reached the summit the snow beneath us was becoming much like the consistency of grits and began sticking to the bottom of my skins. I advised Dad that we should not stop at the summit for lunch as we had originally intended, and instead should ski right on down in order to avoid further avalanche problems resulting from rapid heating and melting of the snowpack. He agreed and we had an excellent ski down. We found our stashed gear first try and ate sourdough bread covered in avocado slices and finished off a bag of milk chocolate M&M's. Unfortunately, we had to re-weight our bags with all the gear we had stashed and my Dad's pack was equivalent to a man of comparable size to his own, riding on his back for the rest of the way down the mountain. He managed but not without cautious, low angle route finding and more than a couple tumbles. At long last we got back to our car and begrudgingly rejoined society. Lucky for me, my internship will take me on a similar trip, for 4 days, starting this Thursday. Obviously, i'm stoked!