2020-09-09, Day 5
The bright, still surface of Double Lake gleams with reflected granite domes under mid-day sun after a significant September snow-storm, Fitzpatrick Wilderness, Wind River Range, Wyoming.
Over the previous day and a half, the storm delivered a knee-deep blanket of snow that made off-trail backcountry travel slow, miserable, and dangerous. We eventually gained the trail by wading through an icy, glacier-fed creek, and we managed to locate a place to pitch the tent amongst a byzantine maze of downed Lodgepole Pine near the banks of Dinwoody Creek. Toward nightfall the clouds dissipated and the temperature began to fall accordingly. Once again I put wet, freezing feet into a carefully protected dry pair of woolen sleeping socks, and I attempted to warm myself by wearing all of my clothing, a down jacket, and a hat, and then entombing myself in my down sleeping bag that was rated for 20 ˚F back when I bought it in late 2004. We were protected from any wind, but our position in the bottom of a valley ringed by glaciers guaranteed we would experience the coldest air possible. The low temperature would be especially keen upon waking at sunrise in the cold shade of the pine forest.
Leaving the nearly adequate warmth of the sleeping bag in the morning was just about as pleasant as we had anticipated it would be. We estimated the temperature was probably 15-18 ˚F. However, there was a an additional parting gift from the cold front yet to discover. As I began dressing, my partner looked up from where he lay and said, “I think our boots are frozen solid.” It was true. I picked up one of my boots, which the previous day was saturated from walking through drifts for hours, and I came to the unpleasant realization that the laces were frozen firmly in place; moreover, the leather uppers of both boots were arrested by the gelid clime into shapes that would not readily accommodate a foot. There was only one obvious thing to do: We lit the alcohol stove, and one-by-one, we slow-roasted our footwear so that it might yet be pliable enough to don. The technique was successful, though in this case the meaning of ‘success’ must be widened to include having to put one’s feet into boots that were now exactly the temperature at which water freezes.
Near the bank of the creek we discovered a few patches of granite that were free of snow, and that were bathed in morning sun. We drank cups of hot tea and it seemed to be at least 20 ˚F warmer, which was most welcome as we contemplated the next 6 miles of trail that would take us 2,000 feet up and out of the valley to an 11,000 ft. pass from which we would finally be able to descend 6 more miles to the trailhead and the waiting vehicle. As we skirted Double Lake on our way up to the pass, we paused to make more tea, eat some handfuls of food, and dry out the tent and sleeping bags on the few patches of warm, snow-free granite that we could find by the shore of the lake. The air was completely calm, and the reflection you see here was crisp. We followed bear tracks through the snow and noticed that bears are wont to follow the trail when it suits them, but that they are not fond of switchbacks and would rather cut them to make a more direct route. Perhaps I generalize too much: I can say for certain that this bear did not like switchbacks.
The ascent to the pass after we left the bright mirror of Double Lake was hard work, and the snow got deeper as we pushed above timberline. At length, as we toiled across Burro Flats, horse tracks merged with our direction of travel, and following the horse’s footsteps made the route through the increasingly deep drifts slightly easier than breaking trail ourselves. The other side of the pass presented yet another learning experience. Coming over the pass before the storm several days before, the trail crossed multiple gullies choked with willow, and skirted a good number more. These gullies were now invisible, papered over and filled in with a concealing blanket of white. Most of the snow was less than knee-deep and presented no significant difficulty. However, two times when I was in the lead I found that my footing suddenly vanished, and I was suspended by my pack, waist deep and unable to move. My partner pulled me free and we resolved to walk single-file until we cleared the willows. To walk too far apart introduced the unacceptable risk of us both getting stuck at once. Although our wisdom failed us on many levels, at least it did not desert us at this particular juncture. We returned to the vehicle before dark, and I reveled in the brilliant, luxurious simplicity of dry shoes and dry, warm socks.