During the ascent of Sawmill Creek ridgeline on the still visible Continental Divide Trail.
Yesterday, December 1, 2018, the approximate date I was to begin traveling along Montana and Idaho’s portion of the Continental Divide, I sort of did begin. Throughout the last several years, in the Sawmill Creek area I have lost four resupplies to the “Finders keepers, losers weepers” crowd who frequent the area during the autumn. So this year I did a couple things different.
First, in October I located the resupply a much greater distance from the trailhead, and then placed it on a steep forested North face slope. What I did second, yesterday, was make it back up there and ascertain the resupply was still in the tree. Moreover, just in case it was not, I brought a replacement. As it turned out, the cache was still there.
On December 1, 2018, the resupply on Sawmill Creek ridgeline, the first of 25 placed on Montana and Idaho’s portion of the Continental Divide
Last night on the phone, my wife questioned the logic of what I did next. I left the second resupply at the location, giving me a total of 12 days of food and 20 days of fuel. Here is where foolish makes itself known. When I arrive there today with the rest of my load, and then load up what is already there, I will be pushing through the powder snow with a load that weighs 125 pounds. Again, from my previous post, I am clear that that amount of weight is ridiculous in the mountainous terrain I am attempting to get through.
On the other hand, I have known for quite some time that I would be ferrying the load during the beginning of the trip. There is no way that I can pull a singular load with that amount of weight through powder snow up a mountain.
When I break camp on December 3, this view and what is in it, awaits my efforts.
In addition to toting the resupply up the ridge yesterday, I also brought my tent and the entire kitchen. While today’s load getting up to the cached materials will be 80 pounds, that is still a whole lot better than the original 105 pounds I was doomed to bring.
Finally, I will not be leaving Lima Montana until after noon. That is when my ride will become available. In short, it is unlikely that I will make it beyond where my gear and food is presently located. I will lose daylight by 5 PM. Not only is darkness tough to work with getting things done, but it also brings colder temperatures into the mix.
Well, I suppose I won’t be going hungry anytime soon.
In 72 hours the winter journey along the Continental Divide in Montana and Idaho continues. Near Lima Montana, Sawmill Creek Road will take me to the Sawmill Creek Trailhead approximately 12 miles from Interstate 15, if it is still open. Otherwise, I will snowshoe that distance. There is nothing easy here. If I am able to drive to the trailhead, I will immediately have 3 miles to travel in an ascent of 1700 feet, most of it with 114 pounds on board.
Near the end of the winter of 2018 on the Continental Divide in the Bitterroot Range of Montana and Idaho, a 1000-foot ascent with a 90-pound load.
Now I know there are supermen out there, particularly in the movies, books and on the Internet. I am not one of them. In my case, a climb like that in powder snow with this load is utterly ridiculous, likely impossible, yet essential, and therefore requiring a substantial amount of extra travel. I will have to break the load down and ferry my gear and food up the mountainside. I am figuring three days—3 miles.
In my opinion, and it is the only one that really counts here, this is one hell of a lousy way to begin a 3 to 5 month journey. Nevertheless…
If successful, besides the daily forward progress generic message updates, at the end of 40 miles I will place another update with photos on my website.
From a meadow, at an altitude of 8800 feet, Sawmill Creek Canyon ridgeline, a pleasant July view of Garfield Mountain (10,961 feet).
…. And then it was 2022!? WTH!!
An update is coming, right about when the last vestiges of summer are passing. I’ll be back shortly. Hint: A Thousand Miles of Winter has continued throughout the last three winters. RGL
In the summer of 1968, the year I turned 17, I visited a friend at his parent’s ranch in Montana’s Bitterroot Valley. It was June or August; I am unsure which. The reason I know it was one of those two months was because they were bucking bales of hay, 85 to 95 pounds of twined grass for the following winter’s feeding of their cattle. A difficult job, throwing those scratchy, heavy and awkward bales onto the flatbed trailer, where someone else stacked them neatly in layers. The work required lots of upper body strength, leather gloves and regardless of how hot the day may have been, wearing a long sleeve shirt.
Day-7 of 11 during the final leg of travel in the Centennial Mountains of Idaho and Montana.
On the ground strolling next to the moving trailer were three men. They were throwing the bales up to the man on the growing stack of hay. One of these men was a shocker for me. My friend’s grandfather, and he was old! I said nothing as I watched this guy stay up with the younger men. To me he was a phenomenon. All the people I knew that were his age, the World War I generation, had retired, were drawing pensions and sitting around waiting for that last breath and the stilling of their hearts.
Not him! He was strolling on that field at about 2 miles per hour picking up those bales, throwing them, and occasionally cussing when one would penetrate his long sleeve shirt and scratch his arm. He absolutely did not belong out there and yet there he was refusing that rocking chair.
That year also marked the 50th anniversary of when the Doughboys fought in France, thereby ending the Great War. He was one of those soldiers or marine.
Watching the old man and seeing the difference, inwardly I shook my head. I figured I would be one of those who would quit; claiming old age, rather than go down like him pushing the envelope to the very end.
A year after that momentous occasion I joined the Army and went to Vietnam. Now 50 years later, I may have been wrong about me.
In a matter of hours, I will connect the sled to the backpack, slip into the snowshoe harnesses, throw the backpack on, and travel into the great and barren wilderness of the Bitterroot Range for an unknown number of weeks. This will be my longest leg yet with 52 miles to travel and 28 days of supplies to get me through 11,000 feet of ascending and descending.
Quit hell! Maybe tomorrow.
Day-6 of 11, north face travel, 3 days of it in steep and forested terrain. Final leg of travel in the Centennial Mountains of Montana and Idaho.
With the collapse of my most important protective gear, in particular the sleeping system, but also the down coat and my active clothing, which includes my boots and torso layers, there have been additional alterations made. As a result, when I continue the trip along the Great Divide, probably Wednesday, February 21, the weight of my load has increased to 91 pounds. This leg, the third this winter, will begin in Montana in the Centennial Valley, taking me up to Pete Creek Divide in the Centennial Mountains, and then west to the Monida Pass area and Interstate 15, a distance of 20 miles.
After an overnighter at the Mountain View Motel in Lima Montana, the next leg will take me west of Monida Pass and Interstate 15, which will be much tougher. At 52 miles in length, this leg will require a heavier load.
West Camas Creek Road near Pete Creek confluence, Centennial Mountains, Idaho
Later, with winter’s worst behind me, where temperatures will have been capable of dropping to forty and more degrees below zero Fahrenheit, I will shed some of the necessary protective gear, eventually getting the load down to 83 pounds. The lighter load will happen after mid-March, when the lowest temperature will only be capable of dropping to ten below zero.
In April, the coldest temperatures will remain above zero. At that time however, it will become necessary to carry climbing gear, approximately 15 pounds of additional weight.
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.
As the result of the back off/go around of Big Table Mountain two weeks ago, I now face a resupply dilemma. The distance between Kilgore, where I will begin again, to Pete Creek Divide is greater than any other area to the 241-mile distant Chief Joseph Pass. In the powder snow condition now present on the Continental Divide, I will average less than two miles per day of forward progress.
Leaving the backpack and sled behind, as I build a trail through the powder snowpack.
For those of you unfamiliar with travel conditions in deep powder, I have to drop my pack and sled, and then build a trail through the snow before progressing forward with my gear. If my journey remains the same as two weeks ago, I will travel an average of 4.5 miles to gain 1.5 miles per day. This is the penalty of traveling alone and for making the attempt during the period between December and at least mid-February. In addition, the remainder of February through March is still a threat for powder travel conditions. There are no guarantees.
To get through this area, I plan to carry 12 days of supplies from Kilgore, Idaho to the next resupply. That tallies to a substantial weight, almost 90 pounds. In spite of this large supply, if the resupply near Pete Creek Divide is missing, I may be down to three days of supplies to get me to the Monida Pass area. I could find myself without supplies for four days.
A resupply located at least 12 feet above the ground.
Needing to address this threat as I see it, I have two options. Both look and smell like a bag of rotting groceries. The first option is to skip the ascent to Pete Creek Divide, thereby saving two days of travel, including a 900-foot climb. The other option, should I find that the resupply is missing up there, I could dive off the north face of the Centennial Mountains, down to Centennial Valley on the Montana side of the mountains, and arrive at the winter maintained road. Unfortunately, neither option may be enough. I might still run out of supplies before arriving back on the edge of civilization.
Fortunately, the only decision I need to make today is when I leave to continue the trip. The next decision can wait until I arrive at the first fork on the route, approximately six days into the trip. Unfortunately, much also depends on how quickly I get to that first fork. With the incoming storm, I can only give a partially educated guess concerning how much powder I will encounter, which is likely to be substantial.
I almost lost my life in Glacier National Park during the night of February 16, 2006. The temperature dropped to 30 degrees below zero Fahrenheit. My down bag was damp from six nights of use, and the down had approached the level of useless. As if that was not enough, in the cold an O-Ring in the stove cracked, pouring fuel near the flame of the stove, making it useless.
Never, I decided, after having survived that night, would I enter the backcountry without the gear to handle whatever that particular area was capable of throwing at me.
Well now.
The NOAA seven-day extended forecast has nothing extreme in the forecast . . . just like February 2006. So here I am, prepared for the first leg of the trip, 16 days in length, having packed a 47-ounce sleeping bag rather than the battleship 77-ounce bag. That is about to change.
Just mentioning what happened on that trip continues to choke me up. PTSD, I suppose, except here it may save my life inside the next two weeks or so.
The picture of Mount Kitt, Pyramid and Cathedral Peaks, taken during the trip near the head of Glenns Lake, showed a high-pressure Arctic cold replacing the exiting 36-hour storm. I remained unaware, the result of calloused thinking, for another 50 hours. Throughout most of that time, the temperature continued to fall. When I broke through the ice during the crossing of Belly River, the temperature had just disappeared below zero degrees Fahrenheit. From that moment until 36 hours later, I was fighting to survive.
Lessons hard learned yet remain so easy to forget. In my case, this one has all the markings of my ego. It is never too late to bushwhack oneself after becoming an expert.
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.
The Scott Antarctic Polar Expedition of 1911-1913 used the teepee type, single pole, and single walled tent. I used a similar four-season tent throughout my solo 150-mile winter trips in Montana and Idaho’s Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness.
During my first subzero cold with the tent, I discovered that the heat congregated above my head just before making a too quick exit through the single wall. Whenever I sat up there was virtually no heat from the floor up to my neck. This was a critical defect, since one normally sits up to sip hot drinks and eat hot meals. The best I could do was to lower the tent, an action that partly solved the problem, but increased another problem, which I will soon describe.
The interior of a pyramid tent with the outside temperature approximately zero Fahrenheit. Note the rivulets of water on the tent wall threatening my gear on the footprint. (Click on photo to enlarge.)
In addition, the floor space 1.5 feet away from the tent’s edge was useless due to melting occurrences on the walls, which happened twice a day with the use of the stove. The built up frost on the tent walls soon became dripping, but mostly pouring rivulets of water streaming onto the tent’s footprint and into my gear. As if that was not enough, the center of the tent was useless because of the single pole occupying that area. Due to the restricted area, practical usage would have prevented it from ever being more than a cramped two-man tent rather than its four-man tent status.
Eventually I lowered the single pole to bring the built up heat in the tent down to my head and torso. Unfortunately, the lesser angle and lowered tent walls removed more of the living space, which set me up for another cardinal “do not”. No part of the bedroom should ever touch a tent wall. In a winter camp, a damp sleeping bag is a step toward freezing to death. In a double walled tent, the normal tent of today, the moisture on the outer wall also pours, but not into the survival area, umm mostly.
A pyramid four-season, single wall, single pole tent. The best tent I have experienced for shedding heavy snowfall.
I should mention that the tent of 100 years ago was not waterproof like all of the modern tents, but then Antarctica is the driest continent on Earth, where it never rains. The point I wish to make is that the porous cotton material greatly reduced much of the frost on the walls of yesterday’s tent. There are other distinct advantages to the pyramid tent. Properly setup, piles of falling snow, and there was plenty of that throughout the La Nina winter of 2007-2008, failed to collapse this tent. In another plus, the Scott Expedition, as with other expeditions of that time, demonstrated the strength of the tent against the wind. It handled 90 mph winds!
What convinced me to continue to use the tent in spite of its deficiencies was the phenomenally low weight, something I have no doubt Scott failed to experience. His tents likely weighed in at approximately 50 pounds while mine weighed less than 5 pounds.
In the end, the remaining three men of the five-man Scott Expedition, after attempting to wait out a blizzard for seven days, froze to death. While a mixture of circumstances brought about their demise, lack of food and fuel, with built up moisture in their sleeping gear, another may have been this type of tent.
Finally, I want to note that the manufacturer description of my tent said it was a four-season tent, which I maintain not so much. However, if one could handle insect infiltration, it would make a fine three-season tent. I do not mention the name of the company or the tent because this is a critique of this particular style of tent, which remains readily available with different companies throughout the world.
For my part, after 39 nights of winter use in 2008, I quit the single wall, one-pole tent.
A four-season, single-pole pyramid tent on a pass in Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness
On the Continental Divide, Bald Peak (10,200 ft) in Henrys Lake Mountains, Idaho and Montana
Bitterroot 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.
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.
August dawn on the Mission Mountains Wilderness and Swan Valley in Montana. Scene viewed from unnamed peak (8771 ft) in the Albino Basin area of the Swan Range, Bob Marshall Wilderness.
In 48 hours, it will have been three weeks since I sought medical help for my left leg, which had been troubling me for a week and a half. The swift diagnosis of the blood clot was unexpected and more than a little unsettling.
Besides the anticoagulation shots that began immediately through the weekend, it was Saturday evening when they began; I have been on a regimen of anticoagulation pills since then. In addition, I received directions that the only exercise I could do was walking inside my home every one or two hours. I lasted until the following Friday. That is when I did a small walk of just over one mile into the basin area of Mount Helena City Park in Helena Montana.
Drinkable glacier water one half mile below the source in Montana’s Swan Range, Bob Marshall Wilderness. Reminiscing about an area that may no longer be available to me.
Tomorrow, it will be two weeks since I began walking again. Walking? More like an easy stroll. For most of that time, I have kept my heart rate below 130 BPM. The last two days I have kept it beneath 137 BPM. The route I have been walking for five days has a distance of 3.65 miles in an ascent/descent of 850 feet. It takes me approximately 1.75 hours to complete— yes, an easy stroll.
The only adverse effect I have felt during the walks is a tiredness in my left leg. It is my understanding that is a side effect of the blood clot. For some people that condition appears to be permanent. I am unsure whether it will be for me.
What is certain is my increased tempo beginning tomorrow. I will be adding another mile and 600 feet of ascent/descent to that easy stroll. I will also take my maximum heart rate up to 140 BPM. Since medical personnel have not sanctioned my exercises, if this turns out to be my last blog, then apparently I suffered the consequences of strolling a little too hard.
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.
On February 4th, 2014, in Yellowstone National Park, the latest storm had just dumped another three feet of snow. Within hours of this photo, a -40 F temperature would arrive.
Is it time to say goodbye to the El Niño forecast and alter my travel plans accordingly? As of November 20, 2014, the three-month extended outlook along Montana’s portion of the Continental Divide predicts from 33% up to a 40% chance for above normal temperatures. In addition, the NOAA (http://www.cpc.ncep.noaa.gov/) is now predicting an equal chance for a normal winter to 33% chance below normal moisture.
This interprets into an increased chance I will encounter powder snow until near the end of February 2015. The winter of 2014 also had the label of “equal chance” for a normal winter. The snowpack was huge and the powder nearly untenable for extended snowshoe travel throughout the month of February.
It has been and continues to be, albeit with less hope, my plan to begin the trip near the end of the first week of January. This close, 44 days until beginning the 90-day trip, however means the likelihood is growing that I will not begin the trip until the first part of February 2015.
Last autumn I placed my resupplies at locations where I could take on traveling in deep powder snow. While I have a tremendous amount of food and fuel to get me to Monida Pass on Interstate 15, there may still not be enough. In deep powder snow, I average between three and four miles of forward progress per day. There is also the possibility that I will have to use technical climbing gear at six separate locations, where my daily progress measurements will be in feet rather than miles. Additionally, there will be down days due to storms and bad avalanche conditions.
I have 39 days of supplies for the first 140 miles of the route. If I only average three miles per day I will run out of supplies eight days before arriving at Monida Pass. Should that happen, I will lose three and four pounds of body weight per day. To encounter a weight loss like that after already being on the route for one month would be devastating.
Throughout the 462-mile route I have alternate routes to be used to get around avalanche areas and if needed, to shorten the route. One such route is located at Red Rock Pass. However, that would only shorten my route by two or three days. After that alteration, my options would be limited, and my supplies would still fall five days short of Monida Pass.
With that said, I have always known the trip carries risks. As much as I have prepared, it may not be enough. Only traveling the route will clear the air. Nor is there anyone in front of me who has experience with this route to advise me. My most experienced advisor too often has also been my greatest enemy—my head.
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.
Two days after a snowstorm, the snowshoes were dropping through the powder snow 1.5 feet. Another storm would arrive later this day and drop another three feet of snow. The location was the western edge of Yellowstone National Park, on Madison Plateau and near the Continental Divide.
In another indication of the rapidly closing date for beginning the 93-day winter expedition, Montana and Idaho’s mountain snowpack has begun to accumulate. Being early winter however, it comes as no surprise that the NOAA SNOTEL site near Darkhorse Lake (8700 feet), located in the southern Bitterroot Range, shows that in the last five days the snowpack has dropped from nine to six inches. More is on the way though. Beginning tomorrow evening, November 1, another 12 inches could fall. Moreover, with our going into November, the average daily temperature is continuing to drop. Most of that snow is going to remain on the ground until next June.
Of far greater interest to me than the increasing snowpack is the weather phenomenon known as El Niño. I am hoping it plays a strong role in next winter’s snowshoe trip. As of this date though, there is some uncertainty of how strong it will be, or for that matter, when the event will begin. The latest extended forecast, released on October 16, 2014 called for a 67% chance of a mild El Niño beginning by mid-November. From Yellowstone National Park to Butte Montana, the area I will be traveling through next winter, the impact of this weather pattern normally means less snowpack and more importantly, warmer temperatures. Those higher than average temperatures could create a crust I can walk on sooner than the latter days of February.
The reason I don’t begin extended winter trips until at least the beginning of February, is due to the condition of the snow. Although I relish the idea of having enough snowpack to cover brush, timber fall, and rock fields, the real reason I wait until later concerns whether a crust has formed on the snowpack. Traveling in deep powder is a nightmare. It can cut my daily average of 6 and 8 miles down to 3 and 4 miles.
The La Niña winter of 2008 brought the opposite effect of El Niño. With the storms lining up behind each other, I traveled through three feet of powder during the latter days of March. That occurred during the double crossing of the Bitterroot Range west of Montana’s Bitterroot Valley. The average day was eight hours of travel with my forward progress between three and four miles. Because I was compelled to build trail without the backpack, I actually traveled between 9 and 12 miles each day. I needed nine days to travel the first 25 miles, which included going over Blodgett Pass. By the last day, even my three-day emergency food supply was at the crumbs level. Fortunately, the resupply bucket was where it was supposed to be.
A crust would have changed the character of the Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness trip (although I wonder what I would have written about if the trip had gone smoothly). As it were, the snowshoe portion of the trip was only 115 miles, but still took one month to complete.
Using primarily snowshoes, the distance I will travel on the Continental Divide during the winter of 2015 will be 462 miles. I have to be able to average approximately 5 miles per day for 93 days. That is not possible in deep powder. Granted, I will have 107 days of supplies out there, but I will have to make up the days of downtime from the inevitable storms. More than that, for as much as 12 days I will be traveling on rope and crampons, where the measurement of forward progress is in feet rather than miles.
Another troubling consideration is the Anaconda-Pintler Wilderness, which I will enter 375 miles into the trip. During the winter of 2007, I undertook five trips in this wilderness, where the final trip included crossing it and the Continental Divide. As the result of that experience, I consider it vital to get through the wilderness near the end of the winter rather than begin the following winter’s trip with the Anaconda-Pintler Wilderness still in front of me.
So yes, I am watching with a keen interest in what the future holds with the El Niño weather pattern.
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.
You got to know when to hold em know when to fold em know when to walk away
know when to run
You never count your money when you’re sitting at the table
there’ll be time enough for counting when the dealing is done
now every gambler knows the secret to surviving
is knowing what to throw away and knowing what to keep
cause every hand’s a winner and every hand’s a loser
and the best you can hope for is to die in your sleep.
The Gambler
Sung by Kenny Rogers
The sore ligament on the inner side of the left knee announced its existence on the third afternoon with just a touch of soreness. By 5 PM of the fourth day, and now on the Continental Divide Trail for 24 hours, the pain had increased sharply. Alarmed, as I built camp, my doubts began to gnaw at me concerning my ability to continue the trip. A mental shrug. The following morning would be the time to consider this train of thought. For now, it was enough to get the camp properly built in the semi powder on the 6-foot deep snowpack. Tonight was going to be chilly again, this time with a brisk wind.
I slept fitfully through the night. Depending upon which shoulder I lay on, that particular hand and arm would grow numb and painful. For the first time on this trip, lying flat was painful to the small of my back. At 2:30 AM, with 5 ½ hours of sleep, I gave up and crawled halfway out of the sleeping bag, up for the day. With the first flex of the left leg I let out a gasp, as pain shot out from the knee joint. I was still unsure of what would come of this. After several moments, the pain subsided and I went to work on erecting my camp chair.
After daylight, with my outer clothing on and my gear ready for the backpack, I crawled out of the tent, stood up, took two steps, and with the painful jabbing in my knee, I knew I was finished and dropped back into the tent. Bob Stantus of Island Park, Idaho and president of the Fugowee Snowmobile Club, was already aware of the trouble with my left knee, and was standing by to extract me. I sent him the message with my satellite connected personal locator device. At 1:48 PM, he and one other rescuer arrived. The Continental Divide winter trip of 2014 along the Montana and Idaho border was over.
While waiting for my rescuers I contemplated the future of the Continental Divide winter trip to the Canadian border. No, I was not done, or maybe I was and was unaware of it. What was certain, I would first have to heal up that knee, which hopefully I had not damaged, but only strained. I also knew I would be unable to approach the trip in the same preparatory manner that I had leading up to the winter of 2014. My lack of physical preparation was the main reason my left knee was in trouble. I had spent thousands of dollars preparing the food, replacing equipment and scouting the route through the summer and autumn of 2013. What I failed to do, something years of experience made clear, and was critical to any winter expedition trip, was proper physical preparation. Two months of exercise combined with the lackadaisical exercising of several other months did not cut the mustard. My body needed an approximate period of one year of strength and endurance training, starting with two hours on Mount Helena of ascending and descending at least 2000 feet per day. My knee had collapsed under the strain of traveling for only a few hours while carrying approximately 70 pounds. In Glacier National Park three years earlier, during the March trip, my load had been over 90 pounds. I had traveled 19 miles in four days and ascended 3200 feet. Then I exited in three days. It was a normal load for this type of trip, replaced two trips later by over 100 pounds of pack weight. Clearly, I was not in the same physical condition in the snowpack around Yellowstone National Park in 2014.
Now 62 years old, and according to some, in denial about my capacity to travel with a winter expedition load, I am nevertheless aware that people 60 to 80 years old, have with proper preparation, ascended Mount Everest. Considering what happens to the body at those high altitudes, this is an incredible testimony of what the body is capable of, if properly prepared. I failed to do that.
Sitting on the backpack waiting for Bob and Dan, I realized that the training for the continuation of the winter trip along the Continental Divide in 2015 had to begin now. There was only 11 months remaining before the trip would begin. For this reason, the two failed trips in February and March 2014 were themselves not losses but wake up calls about the preparation required to complete this project. In short, back off, alter the route through preparations, and return in February or March 2015. Because like the gambler said…
On March 17, 2014, I will attempt to continue snowshoeing along Montana’s portion of the Continental Divide. The trip began on February 1 and abruptly ended on February 6 with the snowmobile ride to West Yellowstone, Montana. There were a number of reasons for the exit, any one of which would have required my postponement of the trip.
The yet to be resolved issue of whether I had high-altitude sickness or carbon monoxide poisoning. Since I was at the elevation of 8200 feet for most of those days, I am leaning toward the carbon monoxide poisoning.
I was not in good enough shape to carry the nearly 100-pound load.
Snowstorms in February dropped exorbitant amounts of powder snow, which from the outset prevented my movement in spite of the large backcountry snowshoes I use.
Because I will begin traveling from Macks Inn, Idaho, there is now an additional 15 miles. However, I may alter the route further on in the Eastern Centennial Mountains that will undo the extra miles. With that said, I still have approximately 462 miles to attempt to complete no later than the middle of May. With at least a 70-pound load, it is unlikely I will complete that distance in 60 days. I would have to maintain a daily average of 7.7 miles. The more realistic average will be five miles per day for the first 30 days and possibly eight miles per day for the second 30 days.
Coming up short could be a blessing though. With the above average snowpack in the Anaconda-Pintler Wilderness, the last segment I will travel through this winter, after the middle of April and into May the raging spring avalanches could be fatal. Less than seven days ago, the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) predicted a possible El Niño weather pattern for this year. Where the Continental Divide in Montana is concerned, that interprets into a low snowpack and warmer temperatures for next winter, something I would much prefer while traveling through the Anaconda-Pintler Wilderness.
Having lost 1 ½ months of travel time, in an attempt to increase my pace to a five mile per day average, I have lowered the backpack’s weight to below 75 pounds. West of Monida Pass and along the Southern Bitterroot Range, I will try to increase the daily distance to 10 miles per day. Once I arrive at the Anaconda-Pintler Wilderness however, this level of mileage will be impossible.
Because the travel will be half again to double the normal pace, I will only need one-half to three quarters of the caches along the route. A four-day cache with an allotment of 7150 calories per day will now become an approximate eight-day supply. That means, barring any delays, there are far more supplies along the route then I can possibly consume. In short, a lighter load to carry.
Although it will increase the peril of the trip, with the exception of the crampons and ice ax, the climbing gear will remain behind. Additionally, I will no longer need the heavier sleeping gear that protects me from prolonged winter travel combined with temperatures down to 40 degrees below zero Fahrenheit.
Meanwhile battery power for my equipment continues to be an issue. For that reason, using the personal locator device I will only send a progress report once a day to Facebook and Twitter. I will also exit overnight at Raynolds Pass, 63 miles into the trip, Monida Pass at 149 miles, and Chief Joseph Pass at 351 miles each to upload files and recharge the batteries. By leaving three camera batteries behind, I will save 17 ounces, but lose half of my ability to take 4800 digital captures. Finally, I will carry less AA and AAA batteries for such equipment as my head lantern.
Near the Montana, Idaho and Wyoming border in Yellowstone National Park
What happened?
Six days after it began, the Continental Divide trip may be off permanently. As of this date less than one week later, what happened out there remains unresolved. It is however, something that cannot stay a mystery.
Within minutes of beginning the trip, why did I have difficulty breathing?
Why was there no evidence of the months of strength and endurance training before the trip?
Why did I have a headache for over 36 hours that ibuprofen and water was unable to remove?
Why was I dizzy throughout that six days, and continue to be to this moment?
Why did I continue to want to throw up one day after the snowmobilers transported me to the lower elevation of West Yellowstone, Montana?
Why did food taste off including the day after my extraction?
On February 1, 2014, the Fugowee Snowmobile Club from Island Park, Idaho dropped me at the designated location 2.8 miles from the Montana, Idaho, and Wyoming border. Under a partly cloudy sky with a breeze, I stepped off the snowmobile tracks on the road and into what appeared to be one and two feet of freshly fallen snow. Using snowshoes to get through the powder, it was as much as I had ever experienced, though nothing extraordinary. Through the years, I had encountered plenty of deep powder snow. Nor was the terrain extreme. I was on the western border of Yellowstone National Park in a combination of slightly rolling hills and near flat terrain.
Within minutes and in spite of being on some older snowmobile tracks, albeit now snow filled, I began to realize I had a problem. I couldn’t get enough air into my lungs. It worsened when I pushed through the untouched powder between one set of old tracks to the next while continuing a general northeast direction toward the tri-border. Inside of 10 steps, the deeper untouched snowpack between the tracks turned the struggle into a bad dream.
Ascending the gully on the first day.
When I finally arrived at the end of the last set of tracks inside a small gully, without hesitation I dropped my at least 80 pound pack. Then still carrying the more than 7-pound chest camera bag, I began to build trail through a virgin snowpack. Within half a minute, I was again struggling to catch my breath as I pushed through more than two feet of powder. The gully was no more than a 15° grade, yet in less than a minute, I began to take the type of breaks reserved for carrying a load up a steep slope. Granted I was plowing through an increasingly deeper snow with my large backcountry snowshoes, but this just didn’t seem right.
I continued up the gully for approximately half an hour before I turned back to retrieve the backpack. In spite of the broken trail and the descending grade back, I stopped for numerous breathers.
With the pack back on, I headed back up the gully on the fresh and twice-packed 2-foot deep trench. Once again, I stopped every 30 seconds and breathed for a minute and a half, often longer. After almost 3.75 hours of travel, exhausted, I was approximately 1 mile from the drop off point on the snowmobile road when I stopped for the day and built camp. The elevation of my camp was approximately 8200 feet. This was almost double what my body was used from 24 hours earlier in Helena Montana.
Lying on my back later that evening, I checked my heart rate. It was still over 100 bpm. In addition, for 59 minutes out of the 219 minutes I traveled my heart rate had been over 155 bpm. Experience said that number should never have gone over 140 bpm, much less for nearly an hour. More alarming was my present heart rate. An unhealthy person sitting in the recliner watching television will have a heartbeat of approximately 90 bpm.
As twilight settled on the early evening of the first day, the storm began.
In another unusual turn, I slept fitfully through the night and then every night thereafter. In the backcountry during the winter, I normally slept 10 and 12 hours. The 36-hour headache woke me at 1:45 AM.
The following morning my tracks of the previous day had almost disappeared under the continuing snowfall. In spite of the difficulty of the day before, I continued toward the Montana, Idaho, and Wyoming (MIW) border. I broke camp and then left my loaded pack behind as I built a quarter mile length trail up to the Continental Divide.
Snow storm on the second day.
Once again unable to catch my breath, during my return, I began to doubt there would be any travel with the pack that day. I reunited with my backpack breathing hard, and the day was over. I built a camp 300 feet up my new trail; one I would stay in for the next two nights. I now believed that for me to get to the MIW border, a crust I could walk on would first have to form on the snowpack. In addition was my now strong alarm at my inability to breathe at an elevation of only 8200 feet.
Using my personal locator device, I established contact with Bob Stantus of the Fugowee Snowmobile Club while in the second camp. He proffered whatever assistance was in his power to give, including delivering more fuel, which was now in short supply. Although I was unsure what I would be doing in the near future, an extraction was beginning to look like a distinct possibility.
In addition, although I brought approximately one week of fuel, after the unexpected large consumption at the first camp, I curtailed the hot meals. Fruit and nuts are nourishing. Nevertheless, within a short time, perhaps a day, eating only this cold food became difficult and at times downright nauseating. My appetite soon fell to almost nothing.
On the morning of February 4 the storm had exited, leaving behind two and three feet of snow.
With snowdrifts building, over a 36-hour period the storm dropped two or three feet of snow on my camp. The trail I built to the Divide ceased to exist, as did the one coming from the road. On the fourth day, I sent a message to Bob that I would leave my camp intact and build a trail part way back to the road and requested that he extract me within the next few days. He asked if I would be able to get back by Wednesday, the following day. I got his responding message at the turnaround point where I had just built the trail toward the road.
I had to rest five minutes before I could send the responding message. Based on what I had just experienced building the trail to that point, with the snowshoes dropping through the powder sometimes down 3 feet, still approximately half a mile from the road, I had strong doubts I would be able to arrive until Thursday, 48 hours from this afternoon. My wife had also sent a forecast which among other things called for wind. I told Bob if a wind came in and destroyed the trail I had just built, which I would not be using until the following day; I might play hell getting back to the road by Friday.
Arriving back at my camp, besides being breathless, I was now gagging. I collapsed inside the sleeping bag and continued to want to throw up. That night the fitful sleep was interspersed with many hours of wakefulness.
The three-foot length snowshoes were nearly buried by the storm.
The following day in what seemed like a turn in fortune; my hard built trail was still intact. Grateful, I needed 30 minutes to get my pack down to the end of the trail. I figured I would be building camp there, but decided to continue down the ravine in search of a location that would provide a more level camp and trees to anchor the tent. Leaving the pack behind again, five minutes later the gully entered a larger valley. And I was standing on fresh snowmobile tracks, which had plowed through the powder I could barely travel in! I knew then that I was going to make it back to the road that day.
When I stopped in the late afternoon, I had traveled approximately two thirds of one mile on the road toward Island Park, Idaho.
That night the temperature dropped to approximately 40 below zero Fahrenheit in West Yellowstone and Island Park. My watch thermometers only functioned down to 29 below zero making it impossible for me to know how cold it got inside the tent. While I was nearly unaffected by the cold, my gear did not fare as well. Most of the water froze. Simultaneously it took 20 minutes to get a flame on the gas stove.
As the outside temperature rose above zero, I came up with another plan. I would stay on the official Continental Divide trail, which was also the snowmobile road I was presently on, and continue the trip. With the packed road to travel on, I attached my 5-pound snowshoes to the pack rather than wear them. In a great mystery, the flotation devices garnered too much weight for me to heft the load. Cursing at the pack and my lack of strength, I reattached them to my boots and began traveling on the road in a northwest heading.
I traveled 100 feet on the almost level track before I stopped to catch my breath. Thereafter I stopped every 30 seconds for a minute and a half or more to calm my breathing. In half an hour, the gagging began again. The dizziness had been with me for the entire trip, but now seemed to increase. Sensing something was very wrong 75 minutes after beginning the walk, I sent another message to Carleen and Bob letting them know that I was dizzy and gagging.
Although there was a slight breeze to cool things down even more, at 16°F the temperature was perfect for the type of walking I was doing. Unfortunately, I could not walk fast enough to warm up with my standard layers for that temperature. Approximately two hours into the walk, I dropped the pack for the third time and struggled with retrieving my pullover fleece jacket. That’s when the Canadian snowmobilers coming in from West Yellowstone arrived and offered assistance. For the first time in my decades of backcountry travel, I accepted the aid. It was there that I first heard the mention of high-altitude sickness. I said nothing while completely disbelieving that was the problem. For heaven’s sakes, we were only at 8000 feet!
The snowmobilers got me back to West Yellowstone and a warm facility in approximately 1 ½ hours. Later that evening Carleen revealed that after talking to a friend who is a doctor, on his advice she had called the Island Park Search and Rescue. After hearing from her some of my symptoms that she had learned about through my messages, our friend declared that it was essential to get me out of there that day that I was probably suffering from high-altitude sickness. Again, I quietly disbelieved what I was hearing. Had these people forgotten the elevations I was at during extended periods of travel?
The following Monday (I refused medical attention until Monday morning four days after the extraction) a nurse stated my blood pressure was on a par with a teenager’s during the medical examination. Later after blood was drawn and an EKG performed, the physician’s assistant began leaning heavily toward my problem being HAPE (high-altitude pulmonary edema) or HACE (high-altitude cerebral edema). As of this writing, the final diagnosis is at least 48 hours out while I continued to take a regimen of ibuprofen as a means to lessen any swelling. Meanwhile . . .
Unless medical personnel say otherwise, by this upcoming weekend I will be on McDonald Pass carrying at least a 50-pound load and training at 6325 feet with the snowshoes for 2 to 4 hours per day. I will wait long enough, perhaps two weeks for a crust to form before returning to the Continental Divide near Yellowstone National Park. I am now leaning toward continuing the trip beginning at Targhee Pass and completing the Henrys Lake Mountains section of the trip, a distance of 15 miles, which has a number of avalanche chutes to surmount. Of more importance, the elevation is 9000 feet or more while at least two locations will be over 10,000 feet. I reconnoitered this area the previous June without incident.
I am also holding out the possibility that my backcountry trips are over. While I plan to continue the trip, if it becomes conclusive that I suffered from high-altitude sickness, I may cancel the trip. However, I will not pretend. I want to complete the trip and must continue preparing my body and mind for the eventual continuation of the winter travel along Montana’s portion of the Continental Divide.
There is plenty of snow on Montana’s Continental Divide as of January 10, 2014. When I return from the two training trips in Henrys Lake and Centennial Mountains approximately January 27, I will throw some photos up of what I saw.
This is the two part interview on KTVH concerning the book Inaccessible. The book concerns 47 days in four trips during the winter in the backcountry of Glacier National Park. In addition the upcoming 90-day winter trip along the Continental Divide is discussed.
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.
