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.
In 2016, my wife and I agreed that if I failed to make 100 miles of forward progress through the winter of 2017, I would abandon the Continental Divide winter trip altogether. That failure indeed happened. However, because of the circumstances, I was able to convince Carleen to let me have another year.
Here are those circumstances.
· The first part of December coming off a training trip, I fell and cracked some ribs, which stopped me in my tracks for the next eight weeks. Even then, I knew taking the trip would be untenable if not outright impossible.
· Near the end of January, I caught a virus that cut me down for nearly 3 weeks. More loss of physical conditioning.
· I agreed to stay put until the end of February. With two ailing dogs, one within days or weeks from the end of his life, Carleen was going to be gone for most of February. The dog did pass the middle of that month.
Snowshoes, backpack, and an expedition sled are used to travel on an eight-foot deep snowpack. Location was on a tributary of Odell Creek in the Centennial Mountains.
Now beyond the point where I could physically prepare for the trip, I nevertheless prepared to go anyway. My hope was that pulling a sled would make the trip possible. Without a training trip, something that is a necessity, I left a few days after March 1. It was a failure. I left again one week later. I exited this final trip after 12 days. I claimed that a mushy snowpack combined with the stolen resupplies stopped me. While those reasons were true, they were also not the complete story. Being ill prepared physically carried at least one third of the reason I failed.
What did come out of the winter of 2017 was the realization that with some exceptions, I would be able to use the expedition sled throughout the future trips.
Besides the sled use during most of the upcoming winter trips, another change will be the incorporation of a large summer trip, which will include my wife going with me. The trip will be in the Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness of Idaho and Montana. The distance will be approximately 160 miles, which will take approximately one month to complete. More on this trip later.
In the meantime, the physical training has begun afresh. What I have to mention about that is nothing, considering all it would be is under my breath groaning and grumbling.
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 terrifying approach to Hole in the Wall in Glacier National Park. The Continental Divide is 1200 above the summer trail. The Canadian border is 2.5 miles north of this location.
It is Saturday morning January 24, 2015; the reality of what has happened is beginning to sink in. Almost 81 hours ago, I arrived back in Helena, Montana with the Continental Divide trip almost surely canceled. This morning for the first time, I felt the slam of what that really implies. A huge sense of loss is welling up inside of me, awful to bear, and seemingly with no relief to come from any direction.
On April 29, 2008, after 1.5 months I completed approximately 150 miles of travel in the Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness. Within days, I began to wonder what was next while realizing the trip had demonstrated that my days of winter expedition trips were numbered. My eyes soon fell upon the Continental Divide. By the end of May, I had penciled in the initial route to travel 990 miles along the Continental Divide between Yellowstone National Park and the Canadian border on the northern edge of Glacier National Park.
About 13 months later, I began writing about the Selway-Bitterroot experience. In another year, I had my freshly completed first manuscript and a realization that I needed to take action where the Continental Divide trip was concerned. I could only hope I was not too late. In the early days of September 2010, I began to make plans for a tough strength and endurance-training regimen during the following winter, coupled with the need to research an area of the Continental Divide inside Glacier National Park near the Canadian border, which was supposed to be undoable in winter conditions. I began with three autumn reconnaissance trips. In just over one month ending near the end of the second week of October, I traveled in the backcountry for 17 days.
A little more than 3 ½ months later, I began the first winter trip on the eastern side of Glacier National Park. The date was February 2, 2011, and a La Niña weather phenomenon was strangling the high country of Glacier, with huge snowstorms lining up behind each other. In another 3 ½ months, now near the end of May, I exited the park for the final time, successful at accessing the previously stated inaccessible Hole in the Wall area of the park. I did not realize at the time that I would be writing a book about the four trips, particularly the final trip, 16 days in length, which had nearly taken my life twice, not including the near misses of roaring and camp shaking avalanches. At the time I had no idea of the toll that last trip had wrested from me.
In May 2013, with my second written manuscript now in the hands of a publisher, I broached the subject of the Continental Divide winter trip to my wife. The detailed planning for the 990-mile winter trip began.
So it is that after eight days on the route, and now with one week remaining in January 2015, and nearly 7 years after I began the preliminary plans, I have canceled the trip. Among other reasons, I have waited too long and my age now says no. This morning the heavy reality is nearly suffocating. My chest feels a great weight upon it. Simultaneously there is a sense of loss in purpose and an emptiness. The mourning has begun, although no doubt for more than just the trip. I believe a new chapter has started; the autumn phase of my life has begun in earnestness.
In the last week, the weather has changed in Western Montana. We have gone from moderate snowfall (between 6 inches and 3 feet, depending on the elevation) and subzero temperatures, to an extended forecast with a mixed bag of scattered rain and snow, including temperatures up to 40°F. Even the elevation of 10,000 feet along the Continental Divide has an extended forecast with a low of 20°F.
Could this be the beginning of the El Niño weather pattern? The NOAA is staying quiet. That could be the smart thing for them to do. I, on the other hand, am not part of the NOAA. Indeed, where the weather is concerned I am a hands-on kind of guy. For that reason, any attempt I would make to cross an avalanche slope after the recent snowstorm would be dangerous, even foolhardy. If it were to rain on the slope, that same attempt would likely be fatal. On the other hand, this weather can also settle the snowpack while creating a crust I can walk on with my snowshoes and crampons. This latter condition is exactly what I am hoping to have for the Continental Divide trip.
In addition, 50 miles into the Continental Divide trip beginning in January 2015, I will encounter my first slopes that require technical climbing gear to ascend and descend. Besides the peril of possible avalanches, proper placement of snow pickets in powder to anchor my rope would be difficult if not impossible.
Yesterday, I drove north for my first winter training trip, which I intended to undertake in the Dearborn River Canyon of the Scapegoat Wilderness. With the nonstop rain soaking into the snowpack at the trailhead, I canceled the trip. Forget the avalanches. Rainfall during the winter on my equipment and on me is dangerous. Nevertheless, go I will, just not up there. This morning I leave for Bannock Pass on the Montana and Idaho border to the south. According to the weather forecast, any moisture I receive down there will be snow.
To be clear, during the 90-day trip, which begins in approximately 30 days, with the exception of rain falling on the snowpack, it makes no difference what the weather conditions are. I will travel through most of it.
With that said, you know I sort of feel like I’m playing poker with the totally emotionless old man winter. Regardless of what I do, his stare never changes. I look into his eyes, at his protected card hand, and then glance at the wall behind him. There is no perceptible movement in his eyes or on his face. Finally, I place my cards on the table. In turn, he places his on the table. Then while his blank, yet cold eyes continue to stare a hole through me, his hand smashes mine to a pulp. Oh boy.
After a November snowstorm in Helena Montana, from the Prairie Trail a wintry scene of the cliffs of Mount Helena City Park.
November 1, 2014 marked the beginning of my third and final phase of training for the Continental Divide winter trip. This was also the start of the winter training. In a growing snowpack, I will undertake at least three multi-night backcountry trips. Here in Helena Montana, I have increased my daily training regimen. I am now exercising at least twice a day in the basement for approximately one half hour per segment (the physical therapist says where my back is concerned, it is critical to do the exercises three times a day). The daily minimum exercise on Mount Helena includes carrying a 53-pound load 3.5 miles with an ascent/descent of 800 feet.
Although the announced plan is to begin the Continental Divide winter trip on February 1, 2015, I have to be ready to go by January 1. If there is enough snowpack coupled with a crust on the surface after the New Year begins, that is when the trip will begin. In short, 46 days might be all that remains before the trip begins.
On Monday, November 17, I will begin my first winter training trip 75 miles north of Helena with three nights in the Scapegoat Wilderness’s Dearborn River Canyon. Although there will be snow on the ground, I am unsure whether snowshoes will be necessary. Make no mistake; I will have the flotation gear with me. Skimping during past winter trips has afforded me plenty of opportunity for some costly lessons, one nearly fatal. Weather wise, as of the morning of November 13 the extended forecast calls for moderating temperatures with a low of approximately 14°F on Monday and a high of 32°F by Tuesday, excellent traveling temperatures. The load weight will be approximately 75 pounds, not counting the nearly 6-pound snowshoes. Unfortunately, less than one week ago I began training with a 53-pound load. That Dearborn trip load is probably going to feel like a wheelbarrow load of batteries. Uggh.
This trip will also mark the first time I have been in the beautiful Dearborn Canyon since January 2002. If the next two winters go according to plan, I will travel through this canyon again in 2016, during the second leg of the Continental Divide winter trips.
I will be using the satellite connected personal messenger device. All Facebook and Twitter users will be able to follow my daily progress. That is, you will be able to locate my camp at the end of each day on a provided map.
After the Dearborn trip, I will attempt to do two more training trips, likely in December before beginning the main trip. Although unsure of these other trip locations, I suspect one will be to Lionhead Mountain in Henrys Lake Mountains near West Yellowstone, Montana.
Finally, yesterday the physical therapist made clear that where my back is concerned, the pain free days of travel with a load are behind me. All the training I am doing, particularly the strength and endurance training concerning the small of my back will only lessen the pain, not eliminate it. That interprets into a slower pace. Simultaneously it shortens each day’s travel time. The challenge continues to grow.
With that said, the morning exercises are front and center. Although I am unsure what the results will be, I will continue to prepare for the Continental Divide trip. In other words, where the trip and its preparations are concerned, all is normal.
I have begun to progress strongly with the strength and endurance training for the continuation of next winter’s trip on the Continental Divide. However, one part of my body is not progressing. The painful sciatic nerve condition in my lower back continues to hamper me. Yesterday I did what I now consider a light walk by ascending more than 1700 feet over a distance of 5.3 miles in approximately 2 hours.
I came off the walk feeling okay. With a 500 square feet carpet-cleaning job in front of me though, I was unsure how the rest of the day would go. As it turned out, by the time I left the job site in the latter afternoon, pain was piercing through the small of my back. For the remainder of the day and then in bed last night the back wobbled between painful and uncomfortable.
With that in mind, for today and tomorrow, I have two larger sized carpet-cleaning jobs to complete. For that reason, there will be no training today and likely none tomorrow. The largest job, at 1200 square feet combined with 15 stairs that have to be hand cleaned on my knees, is today. Tomorrow’s work is approximately 2/3 that size, and fortunately is without stairs.
This route has a resounding familiarity. It looks like last summer’s training, which is how I ended up ill prepared in 2013 for the winter Continental Divide trip that was to begin in February. Besides the two illnesses in September and November, there were other substantial interferences through last summer, autumn, and early winter with my daily exercising, which in turn contributed heavily to my failures last winter.
I note that until the winter of 2008, which was when I completed a 150-mile double crossing of the Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness, I exercised two hours every day, that included an additional 10 to 12 minutes of resistance training. Often I would do this while carrying a 45-pound backpack. Afterwards I would clean carpet for much of the day. Now with my aging body and in particular because of my back, I am unable to maintain that schedule. Yet that is exactly the level I have to be at if I am to have any chance at continuing the Continental Divide trip next winter. While I will not be walking or resistance training today and probably not tomorrow, I will have to get to that level this summer, in the next 30 days. Beyond that, at some point I am going to have to start training with a load on my back. Hell!
In addition this summer, I must hike 254 miles of traveling along sections of the Continental Divide in Montana and Idaho. My daily exercises and carpet cleaning is similar to the regimen of climbing mountains with a load on my back. That is why I must be able to exercise daily on Mount Helena and then continue the rest of the day carpet cleaning. If I am unable to maintain this daily level, there is ample reason to doubt my ability to climb with a heavy pack on for multiple days and weeks this summer, much less next winter when the load is far bigger and the travel conditions are far worse.
Through the years, I have found that regardless of the doubts and feelings of hopelessness, which is the state of my present condition, I must continue exercising, work through the pain, and attain that higher level of physical fitness. It almost goes without saying that at times like this it becomes necessary to use the action of one day at a time, or if need be, break it down to just putting one foot in front of the other.
In the pre-dawn light on May 15, 2011, the swirling clouds lifted—and my heart sank. In the distance, my destination beckoned: Hole in the Wall, a large, snow-filled, bowl-shaped cirque rimmed by ragged, black peaks and saw-toothed arêtes. From where I stood—alone, beyond help, beyond reason, in front of my tent just west of Brown Pass—I knew that the gleaming, untracked snow of Hole in the Wall awaited, an oasis of gently rolling terrain in an otherwise near-vertical world. The distance from my camp to Hole in the Wall was a mere three-quarters of a mile. But I knew that those 4,000 feet were tilted 70 degrees or more, punctuated by cliffs, ravines, and avalanche debris. The snow there was deep and untested—poised to crack, primed to fail. The pit of my stomach went hollow with fear.
The approach to Hole in the Wall, Glacier National Park
The only reason I was standing in this spot was to traverse the slope ahead and enter Hole in the Wall. During summer, hikers stroll here on a well-worn trail cut back into the steep angle of the mountains’ flanks, skirting cliffs and contouring easily into the cirque, then on to Boulder Pass and the Kintla Lakes drainage to the west. But May in Glacier’s high country is still winter. Seven months of accumulated snow rest uneasily on the mountains, temperatures dive well below freezing, and fast-moving storms dump more snow on the unstable slopes. Park rangers and managers had warned that Hole in the Wall was inaccessible during winter; no one had ever entered the cirque under winter conditions. No one was crazy enough to try. If the deep snow and miserable weather didn’t stop an intrepid backcountry traveler, surely the trackless plunge of the traverse from Brown Pass to Hole in the Wall would bring a person to his senses. The sheer slope offered no protection, no safe haven. In short, if you didn’t fall to your death, one of the frequent earth-shaking avalanches would surely finish the job.
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.
