Moisture is more dangerous in a winter camp than the coldest temperature!
My sleeping system collapsed on the 10th and final night of the last trip. During the journey I weathered two nights with temperatures subzero Fahrenheit, one with a low of 17 degrees below zero. On the final night, the low temperature was 12°, something the system should have been able to handle, but failed.
Building the final camp of the trip. The temperature had just dropped below zero degrees Fahrenheit. (Click on pictures to enlarge.)
For the last week and a half, I have been thinking about what happened so I can determine what I need to do to make sure there is not a repeat, or minimize the impact of a recurrence. Much of what I am about to list I have known in some cases for more than 20 years, but forgot during the trip.
Starting with the last item first:
· There is no guarantee that the failure will not happen again.
· My body is always releasing moisture.
o But for the vapor barrier liner inside the sleeping bag and bivy sack, I can do little about that.
· To prevent moisture from dripping off the tent ceiling and walls, keep the temperature inside the tent as much as possible below 32°F.
· Minimize the use of the stove.
o As much as possible, do not let water boil.
o Turn the stove off rather than let water simmer.
o Open the vents further in the vestibule and the tent interior.
o Close the inner tent door, thereby blocking some moisture from the kitchen inside the vestibule.
· Except in an emergency, do not use heat from the stove to dry equipment and clothing.
· Wherever possible build camps where there is air movement, which will keep the frost down on walls and equipment. Where wind is concerned, it is both friend and enemy.
o Friend: The wind keeps the moisture down by replenishing moisture-laden air inside the tent with the extremely low humidity winter air, thereby minimizing or eliminating frost/moisture buildup.
o Enemy: On the Continental Divide, scoured ridgelines are a sign that the wind up there can tear a tent apart. I know; one destroyed tent in Henrys Lake Mountains, and one blown away tent off a bald mountain in the Centennial Mountains.
After losing 85 ounces of water inside the tent, the only residue remaining while breaking camp was scattered on the tent floor. Most of the water froze inside the equipment spread out on the floor.
· Minimize the amount of stored water. Melt snow only for immediate use except for the water used through the night and for the next morning’s first cup of coffee.
· Add a fleece blanket with a zipper, to place the sleeping bag inside. This extra layer of insulation will slow the frost buildup inside the down of the sleeping bag. Unfortunately, its weight is 26.8 ounces. The blanket is a mere 2 ounces less than the bivy sack and vapor barrier liner combined.
The trip demonstrated to me that my sleeping system is imminent to fail. The only question is how long I can postpone the collapse. This problem could be fatal. The bedroom in the tent is my final defense against the cold. If it should fail, then like so many others who have gone before me, my demise becomes a distinct possibility.
British Antarctic explorer, Robert Falcon Scott and the two remaining members of his five-man Terra Nova Expedition, officially the British Antarctic Expedition team perished on March 29, 1912. Low on food and fuel, and 11 miles from their next resupply, a blizzard arrived. They were so weak the last day they traveled they only covered a couple miles before they hunkered down to wait out the storm. The wind blew for a week before they finally succumbed inside their tent.
In a winter setting, to manufacture heat a person needs numerous items such as shelter, cold weather gear, and two major items, calories and movement. Because at the last moment Scott decided to bring a fifth man, the Expedition only had 4500 calories available for each man per day rather than the original 6000 calories. That eventually slowed the expedition, which simultaneously made them more susceptible to the cold and harsh conditions, which in turn slowed them further. At some point, they were unable to move fast enough to manufacture heat, making them vulnerable to frostbite, which slowed the team even more. It was the classic snowball effect . . . no pun intended.
Their experience was similar to some of my own, except I am still alive, although not because I am better than they were. Au contraire, the only group of expeditioners I have read about that might have been tougher than the Scott bunch was Lewis and Clark’s Corp of Discovery, who probably never experienced temperatures colder than brief spurts of 40 degrees below zero Fahrenheit. For the Scott Expedition below zero temperatures were the norm.
A winter sunset on the summit of Blodgett Pass in Montana and Idaho’s Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness.
On March 23, 2008, my first day in Idaho after summiting Blodgett Pass, another storm would arrive before the day’s end. This was Day-6 of the first leg in my attempt at a 106-mile double winter crossing in Montana and Idaho’s Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness. Moreover, today I was supposed to have arrived at the winter-closed Elk Summit Guard Station, where I hoped my nine-day resupply waited. After two nights of below zero temperatures, and sleeping cold in my mummy sleeping bag, I still had 13 miles to travel before arriving at my cache. Only, it had just taken 5 days to complete less than 11 miles, and by the end of this day I would be digging into my 3-day emergency food stores.
In the heavily forested region of the Big Sand Creek canyon, I stopped for a breather near the end of my freshly built trail through the snow. The last time I had eaten anything was at least six hours earlier. Out came the 2/3 empty bags of raisins, prunes and peanuts. Weak and tired, I desperately needed nourishment. Shaking, I fumbled the bag of peanuts, and then dropped it into the snow at my snowshoed feet. Some of the precious contents spilled into the partly stomped snow.
On March 23, 2008, during the descent into Big Sand Creek Canyon, in Idaho and Montana’s Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness, the storm arrived in the early evening.
Even in the pristine woods, I have a zero tolerance rule. Whatever lands on the ground stays on the ground. Not this time. By the sixth day of the trip, I finally realized that I was slowly starving to death. My backpack’s heavily padded waist belt, already cinched as tight as it could go, remained so loose that the pack was dropping off my hips and onto my shoulders. After a few moments of indecision, I stuck my fingers into the snowpack, retrieved and then ate the combination of peanuts and snow. The spilled contents totaled approximately 100 calories. However, I knew I needed everything I could eat, with nothing wasted.
For the next three nights before I arrived at Elk Summit, the temperature dropped below zero for two of them, and I was cold in my sleeping bag. After consuming approximately 3000 calories my first evening with the resupply, in spite of the raging storm that lasted until the middle of the following day, I slept warm and soundly through the night. Besides the continuing storm stopping me the next day, greatly weakened, I was in no condition to travel. I rested and kept eating for one day before continuing the trip. I also slept warm the second night at that camp, although once again the temperature was below zero.
Elk Summit Guard Station during the winter of 2008 in Idaho’s Clearwater National Forest. The second floor bedroom window is below eye level.
Like the Terra Nova Expedition, I had an underwhelming amount of calories for the task. My plan had been to travel the 25 miles to Elk Summit in six days. A few days before the trip began; a storm had dropped about one foot of powder snow on an already deep snowpack. I would endure two storms during the nine-day period, and then one at Elk Summit, and yet a fourth storm 48 hours later. As a result, there was no alternative but to build trail for 5.5 days before hefting my load of 80-95 pounds and carrying it to the end of each built segment. Through those 5 days, I averaged 1.7 miles of forward progress per day although I walked 5.1 miles. I had planned on four miles of forward progress per day. In short, during the first 9 days of the trip, I traveled an extra 18.7 miles getting only half of the calories that I needed. While I survived the mistake, would I learn from it?
On Montana and Idaho’s portion of the Continental Divide, a winter view of Eastern Centennial Mountains viewed from Two Top Mountain in Henrys Lake Mountains.
Near the beginning of this winter’s travel on the Continental Divide, 48 miles is in the Centennial Mountains, 22 miles west of Yellowstone National Park. If the route is all powder snow, which I anticipate will be the case; my supplies dictate that my daily forward progress must be at least 2.09 miles. That is a greater average then when I was building trail during the first leg in Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness in 2008. There are some vital differences though. I am carrying an additional 2625 calories for each day, coupled with a load that is 15-30 pounds lighter.
The proper daily minimum amount is 6000 calories. Based on experience, in heavy powder conditions, I can anticipate my forward progress to be .33 miles per hour. Unfortunately, in a strong ascent, and there will be eight of them in the Centennial Mountains, I can consume 1000 calories per hour. Excluding the ascents, at 600 calories consumed per hour, I have enough food available to travel 7.5 hours per day, assuming I am physically fit. In addition, there are 1500 calories for my 18-hour camps. Since no one has ever traveled this route during the winter, only my upcoming experience will reveal whether I brought enough food.
Reading this, one may question why I failed to place more food on the route. Weight. In extreme winter conditions, there is a balance between how much I can carry and ideal calorie allowances. I suspect Scott decided on an extra man at the last moment because of the weight of the gear and food. Since I am traveling alone, there is no sharing the camp gear’s weight, or getting assistance building a trail through deep powder.
If four persons were traveling this route, consuming the same amount of calories as I, using the leapfrog method, they would be able to travel between 7 and 10 miles per day, all forward progress. Moreover, they would be less tired at the end of the day. That is important since winter is far less forgiving about mistakes or shoddy work. There can be no shortcuts when building a winter camp, which takes at least double the time of any other season.
Other factors will challenge the trip, such as blizzards (days of no travel), extreme cold, busted equipment, and missing resupplies. My biggest question remains to be whether I will have enough food and fuel for each leg of the 270-343 miles of travel.
During the winter of 2016, freshly socked in by a blizzard on an unnamed peak in Eastern Centennial Mountains. The wind had taken my tent a few hours earlier. After a futile search for it, I built a snowcave nearby and nearly died that night.
Note: because a strap broke on one of my snowshoes during the winter of 2008, seeking a replacement I briefly exited the trip 20 miles north of Elk Summit. My wife picked me up and we spent the first night in a nearby motel. In our room when I removed my shirt, she gasped and said I looked like a concentration camp victim. Apparently, for a short-lived period in 2008 I was very skinny.
Note two: after the Selway-Bitterroot trip was successfully completed, I reworked out the calorie numbers. I was shocked to discover that instead of approximately 5000, I only had 3375 calories available per day.
On the Continental Divide, Bald Peak (10,200 ft) in Henrys Lake Mountains, Idaho and MontanaBitterroot Range-Continental Divide in the Big Hole Valley
One of the main issues I am grappling with on the Continental Divide route, one that is only going to be behind me when I travel through the area, is the steep avalanche slopes in Henrys Lake Mountains (HLM), near West Yellowstone, Montana and Island Park, Idaho. One might expect that the Bitterroot Range, due to its much larger size of hundreds rather than 20 miles, would be far more vicious, which it would but for the powder prone snow of February when I will be in HLM. I will enter the Bitterroots in March and April, a time when the snowpack will likely have a crust to snowshoe on and a stable snowpack that is less prone to avalanche.
Traveling with a load of 90 and more pounds is no longer a viable alternative for this aging traveler.
Getting my load weight down is part of the key to a successful undertaking of HLM in February. However, if I remove too much food, fuel, or equipment, more than jeopardizing the trip with another failure, the question of survivability might arise. On the other hand, too much weight with backup supplies and equipment could make the already difficult ascents and descents impossible to get through in the deep powder of the higher elevations. In addition, the heavier the load the more prone I will be to injury during descents.
I love the challenge, to use what God has given me, the practiced brain, fit body, the incredible equipment, and afterwards should I fail, not blame God or anyone else. The challenge is to get it right before the trip begins, or close enough where I will only need to make small adjustments on the route to be successful.
In spite of my concern, the reality is that this area is only a sub-challenge, part of a series of confrontations that together make up the main event, over 300 miles of snowshoe travel, #WinterOnTheDivide.
The Centennial Mountains, located on the Continental Divide, 10 miles beyond Henrys Lake Mountains in Idaho and Montana.
Now down to mere days from venturing into Montana’s backcountry and beginning the winter training trips, which will eventually transpire into the actual Continental Divide trip, I am worried. Because of the sheer length of the trip, 418 miles, I will begin the trip 30 to 60 days earlier than the previous winter trips normal beginning near the end of February or beginning of March. For that reason, a crust on most of the snowpack is unlikely. Although wearing snowshoes, I may find myself pushing through powder snow for at least the first month and a half.
That is a problem. I will have to build a trail through the powder sans backpack, which interprets into three miles of travel for every mile of forward progress. I have plenty of experience that says under those conditions I will average one mile of forward progress every 2 ½ hours.
With only a 91-day supply for the entire trip, I have to average a minimum of 4.59 miles per day. In powder conditions that interprets into having to travel approximately 11 ½ hours per day, which is not going to happen.
Here is why. I have 6200 calories available per day. In a 12-hour camp, I will need at least 1200 calories. On the trail, I will consume a minimum of 800 calories per hour, which restricts me to traveling six hours per day. That interprets into 2.5 miles of forward progress each day while traveling in powder. Nor does this include the slower pace of the ascents inherent to mountain travel.
The distance between Raynolds and Monida Passes is 66 miles, which encompasses most of the Centennial Mountains, an area I will enter near Yellowstone National Park at the beginning of the trip. I will encounter powder snow throughout most if not all of these mountains. I have 18 days of food and fuel available for the area. For that reason, as I have already said, I am worried.
Last thing, this is a part of the adventure. I will need to find a way to overcome the problem, which by the way I am not waiting for God to solve. Without my cooperation, God does not perform miracles in the naked backcountry. The soon to begin 4 to 6 winter training trips, with a total of 29 days in the backcountry, will show me whether I have successfully surmounted the problem. There is no substitute for experience.
Mile Creek Canyon located on the west side of Henrys Lake Mountains in southwestern Montana. (Click on any picture for clear enlargement.)
Now the beginning of September, assembly of the caches or resupplies for the winter snowshoe trip of 2015-2016 have begun.
The gear and resupplies for the winter trips on the Continental Divide.
This is my third attempt at the first of three sections on the Continental Divide from the Wyoming border to the Canadian border in Glacier National Park. It is also the third time I have prepared resupplies for this area. Frankly, I have grown weary of placing the packages in the autumn only to retrieve them the following spring and early summer. With that said, numerous alterations continue with the resupplies, the load, and the trip itself. Here are the main changes.
• Continued to become more familiar with the route.
• Altered portions of the route to avoid bringing mountaineering gear.
• Shortened the distance for the upcoming winter.
• Made photography gear changes.
• Altered the food variety.
Camped on a saddle on the Continental Divide in Henrys Lake Mountains. Bald Peak (10,180 ft.) is in the background.
During the first days of June, on a receding snowpack I traveled in Henrys Lake Mountains. In July, I was in the southern portion of the Bitterroot Range near the Big Hole Valley. In August, I traveled in the Centennial Mountains. As a result, I altered three areas of the route.
Black Mountain (10,237 ft.) on the Continental Divide in Henrys Lake Mountains
Although it will still be necessary to bring mountaineering gear in Henrys Lake Mountains, I changed the route at two locations in an attempt to get through the most hazardous 15 miles of it with a greater margin of safety and perhaps more quickly.
Red Rock Mountain (9500 ft.) and Mt. Jefferson (10,203 ft.) in the Centennial Mountains.
While it may be a mistake, I will omit the mountaineering gear when I travel through 60 miles of the Centennial Mountains. Rather than an ascent between Red Rock Mountain (9500 ft.) and Mt. Jefferson(10,203 ft.), my route will take me through the much milder Hell Roaring Canyon two miles west of the original ascent, which is also where the official Continental Divide Trail (CDT) is located.
The view north of Goldstone Pass in the Bitterroot Range near the Big Hole Valley.
Approximately 150 miles later, in the southern Bitterroot Range, north of Goldstone Pass, and once again carrying mountaineering gear, I will drop off the Continental Divide and follow the summer route of the CDT. These changes combined will shorten the route by seven miles.
In addition, I shortened next winter’s overall route by 120 miles. Rather than attempt to arrive on Interstate Highway 15, 30 miles southwest of Butte Montana, I will stop at Chief Joseph Pass on Highway 43. The distance I will attempt to travel through one winter is now only 338 miles rather than the original 460 miles. It had been my intention for the last two winters to include the 60 miles of Anaconda-Pintler Wilderness (APW) during the latter part of the winter season when the snowpack is the most stable.
Goat Flat area and Storm Lake Pass in Anaconda-Pintler Wilderness.
The steep and treeless slopes of the APW are nothing to trifle with between January and March. Oh well, I suppose it will be good practice for when I return to Glacier National Park a few winters up the trail.
Over the last several years, I have been incrementally shedding my load of professional photography gear. This year I took what I consider a giant step in this area. I started carrying a consumer level camera and lens while still carrying a wide-angle professional lens. The weight of my camera gear dropped to five pounds. During the winter of 2006, I carried 16 pounds of camera gear. While I am unsure how this will turn out, if I am wrong I can always retrieve the pro gear at one of the four road crossings during the trip.
Through the last two winters, my heaviest loads were more than 100 pounds. This upcoming winter my heaviest load, which will occur only once along the route, should be less than 70 pounds. Unfortunately, it will happen in some of the most dangerous terrain of next winter’s travel, Henrys Lake Mountains.
Near Lionhead Mountain in Henrys Lake Mountains with a load approaching 100 pounds.
The changes in my food will not necessarily lower the weight of the load. Nevertheless, it has become necessary to do something different. The dehydrated food I have been using for almost 10 years turns my stomach. This year I have replaced it with four varieties of freeze-dried food. In addition to palatability, the freeze-dried food gives me increased calories and protein. Losing backpack weight, as necessary as it obviously has become, is a moot point if I do not have the energy to travel due to a lack of eating what is in the pack. I need a minimum of 6000 calories per day to sustain me for approximately 2.5 months of winter travel. My previous supplies failed to do that although there was always more than 5000 calories per day in the food bag. Hell, what good is a larder if I am unable to eat from it?
After the last two winters of failures, I have little doubt that the original 460 miles is out of reach in a single winter. Admittedly, this decision to shorten the distance comes with plenty of hesitation. What if, as remote as it might be, what if there are still three weeks of winter remaining when I arrive at Chief Joseph Pass?
On December 21, 2014 in the parking lot of Chief Joseph Pass.
Hmmm, this is familiar ground; too often, I have bitten off more than I can chew. The last two winters have more than amply demonstrated that. The 338 miles will have to suffice.
The Continental Divide in Henrys Lake Mountains, Montana and Idaho. (Click on any photo to enlarge)
June 2015 Update
During the last two winters, my attempts to travel along the Continental Divide of Montana and Idaho have proven to be elusive. I am now convinced that for me to have any chance of completing the trip changes must happen.
Yes, I have heard the naysayers’ statements and endured a few lectures concerning the impossibility of the undertaking. I’m wondering though, when the words “challenge” and “easy” became synonymous.
With two winters of experience on the route, I am coming to understand why the trip has never been successfully undertaken. Everything about it including the logistic and physical preparations are daunting. Clearly, the trip’s challenges are more than holding their own with me. Frankly, I am getting my butt kicked, which, by the way is no good reason to quit, but remains a good reason to change what I am doing. Two alterations are in the works. They concern the food and certain areas of the route.
On the Continental Divide in Henrys Lake Mountains, Montana and Idaho, an 85-pound load.
The winter load for an extended trip is huge. On a two to three night winter trip, one may get away with going into the backcountry with a lighter load. However, having less equipment on an expedition trip could prove fatal.
An example of this is the down sleeping bag. Each night of use, the body evaporates approximately one pint of water straight into the down, where it freezes near the surface and collapses the fill power of the natural material. Within one week, the sleeping bag approaches uselessness for retaining heat. Then along comes a subzero cold, placing the traveler in peril.
Many have died as the result of this condition. The Scott expedition to the South Pole killed Scott and his men because of the nightly retention of moisture, which eventually neutralized the heat retaining properties of their sleeping gear. To his credit, Scott recognized they would be unable to use the down sleeping bags because of this handicap. However, the much heavier furs and wool blankets, besides slowing their pace, also eventually failed. When Scott was located, he was in his tent and in his sleeping gear, having succumbed to the cold.
I carry a -20 Fahrenheit down sleeping bag. Before beginning the Continental Divide trip, I used a zero Fahrenheit rated sleeping bag. On numerous occasions after several nights of use, I have felt the chill inside the sleeping bag. At the beginning of a winter trip using this earlier sleeping system, I have been completely toasty regardless of the cold, only to feel the chill seeping into the bag after three or four nights. One such occasion occurred in Glacier National Park. On the seventh night of a trip, I almost lost my life, which was a result of this increasingly dangerous condition. Because most of the trips were so short though, seven days or less, through the years I continued to use this sleeping system, which included a light bivy sack, two pads, and occasional fleece blanket.
Waiting for the exit of the storm on the bench near Brown Pass, Glacier National Park.
Regardless the length of the winter trip, the bedroom is the final bastion against the winter cold—when all else fails the bedroom must keep me safe. For this reason, the length of the Continental Divide trip, a long-term exposure to the cold, changed things. I was going to need a stronger bedroom setup.
Thus, I purchased a much warmer system, at a price though beyond the steep financial cost. In addition to the heavier sleeping bag and bivy sack, I also purchased a thicker pad and a vapor barrier liner. The latter item protected the down from my body moisture. My entire bedroom including the camp chair now weighed 10 pounds. The consequences came with a slower pace, enough to need more food and fuel for the extra days of travel, which increased the weight even more, whilst slowing me further. What I am describing is the snowball effect that affects all travelers regardless of the season or the length of the trip, and in particular the winter expedition trip.
As a result, my quandary of the last two winters is a too heavy load. Now entering the summer of 2015, I know very well that at 64 years old, time is short. I will find a way to lighten the load or give up the trip. The changes are already in motion.
Preparing climbing gear, backpack, and ferry pack for traverse to Hole in the Wall, Glacier National Park.
Out for the winter of 2015 and 2016 are my previous plans for an intentional challenge of areas requiring climbing gear along the route, which precipitates an immediate 13-pound drop in the load. At the most, on occasion I will carry the ice ax and crampons, a weight increase of 3.92 pounds. For the most part, my route is now more in line with the actual Continental Divide Trail.
There is also a change in the food I eat. I have already purchased over 500 freeze-dried meals. While the weight loss is not large, there is a substantial and necessary increase in the calories and protein, with the cooking time dramatically lessened. I will talk about this necessary increase shortly.
The vegan stew.
The dehydrated vegan stew, my main hot staple for the last nine years, takes approximately 44 minutes to boil and then simmer before being ready to eat. The water for the freeze-dried food takes three minutes to boil, and then turn the stove off, creating a huge drop in fuel needs by approximately 10 ounces per day. In addition to the jump in the palate, the freeze-dried food also increases the daily calories and protein by over 1100 calories and 70 grams respectively, while dropping the load by another seven ounces per day.
Before the change to freeze-dried food, my main fare lost its tastiness. In addition to this were the doubts my wife and I shared concerning the 6000 calories I was supposed to consume daily on the trips. If I traveled 4 hours using 1000 calories per hour, I would only have 2000 calories for the remaining 20 hours of the day. Because of my refusal to eat more than a small amount of the nourishment each day, if any at all, came the minimal backpack weight loss, along with the lack of being re-energized. Each day within the first hour of travel, I would be tired. For the remainder of the day I would struggle to make any distance whatsoever. While a great body weight loss program, this also figured large in the failure of my previous trips.
I have no doubt the freeze-dried food has remedied my eating problem in the backcountry. I base that off the last trip, which was seven days in length. I had six freeze-dried food packets, two per day, leaving me four days of eating my old fare. I consumed the freeze-dried food with relish, and then almost stopped eating for the remaining four days. Therefore, two things have happened because of freeze-dried food. I am finally eating the food that is with me and I will be consuming over 7300 calories per day next winter.
The ferrying of two loads during the ascent to Targhee Divide (10,016 ft) in Henrys Lake Mountains, Montana and Idaho.
I would like to conclude this by saying that one week ago; I exited Henrys Lake Mountains with the climbing gear and snowshoes attached to the backpack. I weighed the entire load when I arrived back home. While the spreadsheet said the load should have weighed no more than 82 pounds, the actual weight was 85. Too damned much, I felt like I was carrying my own cross to the crucifixion.
As it stands right now having reduced my full load to approximately 70 pounds, I can live with that. With this altered load during the winter trip, on the day I arrive at each resupply I will be carrying 55 pounds, damn near angel’s wings.
With more alterations to the trip coming in the next several months, these two changes have already recharged my hope for completing the trip.
An autumn morning at the entrance to Mile Creek Canyon in Henrys Lake Mountains. This location is near Yellowstone National Park. The ridge line in the photo is the Continental Divide, which is also the Montana and Idaho border.
Yesterday on the Montana and Idaho border near Yellowstone National Park, Gus (our black dog) and I hiked up Mile Creek Canyon inside Henrys Lake Mountains. At the lower elevations of 7000 feet the autumn colors were past prime, but still gorgeous. If I had not been carrying a load, I am certain the 12-mile round-trip hike to the Continental Divide would have been much more enjoyable. Gus however might not agree with my assessment. Almost 24 hours later, he is still lying in the TV room recovering. He wasn’t carrying anything, but his aging body.
For my part, while it could have been worse, I too failed to come out of the canyon unscathed. My left back thigh hurts the same as does the small of my back. There is a monster blister with the skin already ripped off on the absolute front of the middle toe on my left foot. There is also a quarter coin sized large blood filled blister on the left side of my big toe on the right foot. The foot problems are compliments of a pair of mountaineering boots I had not worn for at least one year. I wore the damn things because my other non-winter pair developed a hole in the leather just above the rubber sole. Yes, and it would appear that I sometimes need to go back and relearn a previous harsh lesson.
On the upside, the photo opportunities were close to excellent. The hike also placed me one more notch closer to being ready for the 460-mile winter trip. Out of the 27 autumn trips to be undertaken, only 5 remain.
In the meantime, a replacement pair of mountaineering boots will arrive the first part of next week. There is also a good possibility; they will be leaving their first hike tracks in freshly fallen snow. I will be traveling to the southern Bitterroot Range near the Big Hole Valley of Montana on October 1 or 2. Once again, I will be on the Continental Divide, this time near the Darkhorse Lake area.
No, Gus will be staying home with the other old dog, Reverend. Like most of the previous trips in the last month, this aging dog will be going solo. I will miss my companions and don’t relish being alone.
Three peaks on the Continental Divide in Idaho and Montana’s Henrys Lake Mountains. From left to right, Black Mountain (10,237 ft), Targhee Peak (10,400 ft), Bald Mountain (10,180 ft). One camp will be on Black Mountain in February, 2015.
After the haphazard trips along Montana and Idaho’s portion of the Continental Divide during the winter of 2014, I was uncertain of being able to continue them in the upcoming winters, or for that matter, any backcountry trips, regardless of the season. There was the illness in the beginning of February that some in the medical field thought was high-altitude sickness, which was a mimic of carbon monoxide poisoning, a potentially deadly condition that occurred in my tent. Throughout the recently passed summer, I was at high altitude numerous times with no negative effect. Then with the continuation of the trips in March, there was the increasing pain in the left knee, which brought me to a halt by the end of the third day. There was also the old nonstop pain that at the time, and for the last several years, I erroneously thought was the sciatic nerve in the small of my back. Finally, there was my increasing doubts of being able to do any kind of winter trip at my age, 62 years at the time.
Within days of my return from the final trip near the end of March, I began to prepare for the following winter. I exercised and climbed diligently, but seemingly for naught. By June 1, I was convinced all my efforts were having no effect on my back. At my wife’s persistent suggestion, I finally sought medical help.
The doctor ran me through several physical tests. It only took a few minutes for him to conclude that I do not have a sciatic nerve problem. Instead, the MRI and x-ray he ordered confirmed that I have arthritis in my lower back, a deteriorating condition, only slowed, never stopped, or reversed. While I refused his recommended cortisone steroid injections and painkilling drugs, I went with the doctor’s additional recommendation of physical therapy.
Since the middle of June, I have been seeing two different types of physical therapists. The first is involved in a holistic method known as structural integration or Rolfing. The second therapist is instructing me in stretching and strengthening exercises such as the “plank”, designed to cause much pain in my elbows, shoulders, and deep down inside the small of my back, three times a day.
In addition, a yoga therapist gave me exercises that addressed those same muscles in the small of my back that extend into my hips. It was her recommendation on the proper positioning of the spine that eventually made it possible for me to walk with a load, even on a rough and rock-strewn trail. This last development took place a mere month ago during the first week of August in the southern Bitterroot Range, near Montana’s Big Hole Valley. At the time, my morale was probably at its lowest. I was all but certain that my days of carrying a load were over. Yesterday, exactly one month later, I traveled several miles and ascended/descended 1500 feet with a 60-pound load. The manageable pain was intermittent and only occurred when I ceased paying attention to my posture as I stood or walked. I am now convinced that it can only get better from here.
To make the trip more possible for a person of my age, or really, any age, without sacrificing safety I have streamlined my load and the resupplies along the route. In a one-time occurrence, the largest load will weigh 94 pounds. That will occur about 400 miles into the trip in the Anaconda-Pintler Wilderness, between Johnson Lake and Queener Basin. And like all the loads, this weight will drop by approximately 5 pounds per day.
Now in the beginning days of September 2014, I am firmly resolved to continue the trips no later than February 1, 2015. Nor does this announcement come lightly, or should I say haphazardly? Although I have no doubt some would like to argue with me about the real meaning of that word.
Glacier National Park personnel repeatedly stated that during the winter the high mountain cirque, Hole in the Wall was inaccessible. They were almost right.
This is the story and photos of four trips that almost took the author’s life twice.
