Craig and Ray's Epic Adventure

So the ice climbing season's pretty much over and the rock climbing season is just beginning, but the whole point of all of it is for Craig and I to increase our magic bag of tricks to we can tackle anything the mountains throw at us. I'm talking about big mountains here; sure, it's fun to do dainty little climbs up waterfalls and cliffs, but we want to bag some summits.

That's why we decided to tackle 10,941 foot Mount Black in the Absoroka (pronounced, for some mysterious reason, "absorkee") Range south of Livingston. And not just the easy way up, either; no, it's still winter in the high peaks, and we wanted to go straight up the steep northwestern snow couloir. That's the lower molar root-looking thing on the upper tooth in the topo map above.

Please forgive the lack of photos. I need to get new rechargable batteries, I guess. The ones in the camera were dead, as were my backup ones. I brought along a backup spy cam, just in case, but that was dead, too. So, no photos! Suffice it to say it was quite lovely in the morning, and we wanted to give it the finger in the afternoon. There's a Google Earth image below (opposite orientation from the topo; it's looking southeast), which includes some of the approach; just imagine the whole thing covered in snow.

Give it the finger? But why? Isn't it a beautiful, snow-covered peak?

Ah, yes. Yes, indeed.

You see, the thing with mountaineering is that you have to be kind of speedy. You don't wanting to be waiting around for the snow to melt. Because it will... or, at least, it'll get soft. And that's a bad thing.

Craig and I knew this. So, when we reached the 9,000 foot Pine Creek Lake, the beginning of the de facto climb, we had to assess. It was 11:30. We had started at the 5,500 ft. trailhead at 7 a.m. We were way the hell behind schedule. Bunch of slowpokes. Any self-respecting mountaineer should summit by noon. There was no way.

We looked at our couloir. The sun had hit it, but it was already going back into the shade. It probably didn't get more than about an hour of sun all day. That's not enough to melt it and make it all mushy - which would make for an extremely dangerous descent - right?

We decided to carry on, knowing the danger and assessing as we went along. We would shoot for a 2 p.m. turn-around time, meaning if it was 2 p.m. and we weren't at the summit, we'd turn around. Two p.m., or 2:30 p.m.

Or why not even later than that? After all, the snow was fine. It was reasonably firm, and the sun had already gone behind the mountain. Plus, with daylight savings time it doesn't get dark till like 7:30 or 8 p.m. What was there to worry about?

We kicked steps up the steep approach to our couloir, and decided to go for it. The weather was nice, we were feeling good.... and when else would we get this chance? To lighten the load and speed things up, we deposited our packs - including the rope, snow pickets, and extra clothes. The altitude was starting to tire us out, so we wanted to make the going easier. And it was good - plunk in the ice axe, one step, two steps. Straight up.

At 3 p.m. we were greeted by a decidedly fierce gust of wind - we had reached the ridge. The summit was just a ten minute walk away, and we couldn't resist. Craig and I zipped up, leaned into the wind, and clambored over wind-blown rocks and alpine grass to the summit. After a high-five and about six seconds of taking in the view, we headed back.

And still, it was wonderful. I strapped on my crampons for this stretch; the snow in the couloir was firm and the descent was easy-breezy. We made it to our packs, and everything was just as we left it. After donning our snowshoes we descended to the lake, and had a nice little break. The rest of the trip would be all downhill.

Downhill, of course, has various connotations. There's the literal lowering of elevation, which is appropriate, and there's the feeling often connected with that that the hardest part is in the past. We figured that to be true as well.

But that was not the case. At all. Which is where the third meaning of downhill comes in: things good, things good no more. Situation disintegrating. Snow disintegrating. Turning to mush.

It's true that the hardest, most dangerous part of the expedition was behind us. We were now on a regular Forest Service trail; there were no 65 degree couloirs to slide down. Maybe a few snowy slopes in which you could twist an ankle or maybe break a leg, but nothing where death is a real issue.

The real issue, it turned out, was snow holes. The kind you make when you put your weight on your foot and the snow won't hold you, and you sink up to your waist. While the sun hadn't been shining for long in our couloir, it had basically been cooking the south-facing meadows of the approach. Even with snowshoes we couldn't stay up - and we had about six miles of it to deal with.

I don't really know how to explain how annoying it is to continually be falling in up to your waist in these slushy holes. And, with our heavy packs, it made pulling up and out of the holes quite a chore. Especially when you have to do it over and over and over, and then follow some schmoe's ski tracks down to a dead end and have to backtrack out of it, only to have your snowshoe come off because it's wedged in under the snow...

What an ordeal. Then it got dark. I always bring a headlamp when I do anything outdoorsy, just because you never know. I actually brought two that morning, one for Craig... but when I offered it to him before we set out, he said he didn't need it. I suppose it made sense - who would have thought we'd be hiking for more than twelve hours? He didn't want it, so I left the extra headlamp in the car.

Bad move! I wasn't long before Craig was apologizing, pleading, vowing to change his ways. "I swear, I'll never leave home without a headlamp again!" He wanted me to illuminate the trail - which at the lower elevation was covered in ice, not snow - so he could follow behind. I think the combination of altitude, exhaustion, dehydration (we kept running out of water, by the way), and walking on mud and rocks with snowshoes at the lower elevations was getting to him. We were at Pine Creek Falls, less than two miles from the trailhead, and he suggested abandoning our packs and coming back for them the following day. He was going a little loopy.

I ended up giving my headlamp to Craig and following him. He switched into his crampons for a better grip on the ice, and we slowly plodded along.

We made it to the trailhead at 10:15 p.m., a little over 15 hours from when we began. I was pretty impressed with myself for my stamina, especially carrying the unused rope the entire way. Craig, meanwhile, was ready to pass out. At some point I think he vowed never to climb another mountain again.

I think he's over it now, though. After all, it was a success. We reached the summit!