Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Went back to the dunes with the girls again. Weather was cold and cloudy, and the light was marginal most of the time. Overnight the rain turned to snow and marbled the dunes in interesting ways. Coldest overnight the dogs have been on, and they did great. Moose tried to climb all the way into my sleeping bag with me. She got about halfway in and went right back to sleep. Goofball.
Sky and sand have just about the same tone
Sky and sand have just about the same tone
Sand waves... (There are also waves within the waves. Dunes are fractal in nature- the ripples on the surface mirror the overall shape of the dune fields. The snow adds yet another dimension.)
Deer tracks traverse this steep wall of sand so precisely. Its neat how the dune drops to the stream so steeply and then just ends. There are no little 'foothills' or piles around, just an edge a few inches above the shallow waterline. This stream is only a few inches deep at its deepest point here - just some braided rivulets thru the sandy mud.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Goose Creek>McCurdy Park>Bushwhack Trip Report:
I checked out some maps and put together this ~23 mile loop. In the summer, you could do this loop in a day, or a chill overnight. In the winter, (and after a recent snowstorm) its a slightly different animal.
I suppose at this point I should refer you to Topo Map #1 below, so that we're all on the same page if Im describing stuff. I drew the loop onto the map in red. The trailhead is in the lower right hand corner of the map, at about 4:00. I planned on hiking the loop in a counter-clockwise direction. I have hiked north on the trail about 3 or 4 miles with the dogs already, (north to about 3:00 on the map) so I knew at least that much of it should be free of snow.
I left the trailhead in the afternoon on Friday, and had a completely blissful hike. The first part of the trail heads thru incredible open Ponderosa pine forests, with the ever present bizarre rock formations all around. I passed thru many pockets of sun-warmed air that were heavy with pine and the sweet vanilla smell the Ponderosas put out. It was one of those times where it would be good to be a dog. The first bit of snow was on a northwestern facing descent (at about 2:00 on the map). Nothing more than ankle deep and mostly consolidated, which was what I was hoping for, but it was a sign of what was ahead. Just after that descent, I popped into a grove of some of the biggest aspens I've ever seen. They were amazing. I took a picture with my hiking poles propped against one to show a little scale.
The snow started getting deeper and more and more consistent, (around 11:00 on the map) particularly on the northwestern facing switchbacks along the climb to McCurdy Park. I began occasionally postholing, which is annoying, even when its occasional. Im not sure how many of you have postholed for any appreciable distance. If you haven't, I'll sum up the experience- You might be on snow that you think is firm and consolidated. It is bearing your weight, until without warning, it doesn't, and you suddenly sink to your knee or thigh, or even further. Sometimes there's a nice ice crust in there that rakes the skin off your shins. (like on this trip) Sometimes there are rocks or branches hiding within the rotten, weak snow, which do the same. It becomes exhausting to haul yourself out only to punch back thru with the next step. It can be a great way to get hurt.. Do this for hours, miles.. Even a light pack becomes a burden. You will curse yourself hoarse.. Even if you are wearing boots, heavy socks, and gators, the snow will eventually work its way into your footwear. I was wearing mesh running shoes with pants and gators (I rarely wear hiking boots anymore.) Anyway, you get the picture.
So I got to camp (between 8 and 9:00 on the map) and set up my tarp. It was breezy and occasionally gusty. Pretty standard weather at 10,000 feet. Took some sunset pictures, and off to bed. An hour later it gets gustier. Suddenly my tarp, which had just been 'humming' in the wind, was suddenly flapping. Turns out the wind was blowing so hard it actually bent one of my stakes and the guyline came loose. I fixed it and got back to bed. An hour after that the tarp starts flapping again. I get up to check it out, and one of the webbing loops on the tarp had actually snapped. Never seen webbing fail like that. Since the damage to the shelter was basically irreparable at that point (and since it was a mostly clear night) I just took the whole thing down, and dragged my stuff over to a cluster of rocks and tucked in there for the night. No problems after that.
I had camped as high as I could the night before so that I would be hitting the snow early while it was hopefully still frozen (if it was consolidated to begin with). Up and over a saddle, no problem. Then up the west facing 11,500 foot pass. Trail was now buried under the snow. No trail? No problem. I know where im going and where the pass is. Snow was firm for the most part until I hit the ridge. For the next three miles, I wallowed in hip to thigh deep powder. Not a surprise really, but I was hoping for firmer snow. The first mile steadily climbed just below the main ridge line. I slogged along until I came out of the trees to a vantage point where I could more or less see what the next few miles would look like. More of the same. I took a moment to consider my options. I had no desire to return thru the hell I had already plowed thru. No desire to continue on in conditions that did not look like they were going to improve any time soon either. Busted tarp, unsettled weather. I could have rigged something that would do in a pinch, but why tempt fate? So as I saw it at that moment, my best option was to shoot an easterly compass bearing that would get me to a ravine which would eventually dump me out relatively close to the trail I took on the way in. Topo Map # 2 shows the improvised route in blue. (all of day two's hiking is in blue)
So here we see the improvised route in blue. From the rocky bluff I could see a ravine that descended in an easterly direction. I shot a bearing in that direction, and dropped back into the trees, where navigation gets more challenging. So began the downhill wallow down the steep wooded slope that dumped me into the even steeper ravine. The next few hours were spent trying to remain upright. The snow gradually got shallower, but more slippery. There was a tremendous amount of deadfall, boulders, and brush to plow thru. At one point I felt a rush of fluid run down the back of my leg after thrashing thru a tangle and thought, 'thats too cold to be blood'.. Super, I punctured one of my platypus water bottles. They may weigh almost nothing, but they cant withstand much of a bushwhack. Eventually, (at the very bottom, lol) 3,000 vertical feet later, the ravine leveled out and the unnamed creek I had been following merged with the larger Lost Creek. I crossed the larger creek, and since I was now at a known location, shot another bearing for the direction of the main trail. I quickly found a faint path along the creek, and followed it thru the boulder piles that were along, and piled over the creek, at times having to take my pack off to squeeze under, through, and between the rock piles. It would have been slightly more fun without the preceding ordeal. lol. Anyway, eventually that path hooked up with another that led me back to the main drag heading back to the trailhead.
I hope this description doesn't sound negative. I was having a blast 98% of the time. I was 'concerned' for about 2% of the time where, even though I was pretty darn sure where I was, (i.e. Colorado, ha ha.) navigation in this type of terrain can be tricky at times..
I will return to complete this loop after the snow melts. :)
Quick note on the pics: You will notice most of these are black and white or sepia. Most of these shots were taken in full sun and in less than ideal lighting situations. I find that black and white lends these types of shots more oomph, and sepia brings more warmth. Its not that I like black and white and sepia more, I just do whatever I think will make the pictures look good. So there you have it.
I checked out some maps and put together this ~23 mile loop. In the summer, you could do this loop in a day, or a chill overnight. In the winter, (and after a recent snowstorm) its a slightly different animal.
I suppose at this point I should refer you to Topo Map #1 below, so that we're all on the same page if Im describing stuff. I drew the loop onto the map in red. The trailhead is in the lower right hand corner of the map, at about 4:00. I planned on hiking the loop in a counter-clockwise direction. I have hiked north on the trail about 3 or 4 miles with the dogs already, (north to about 3:00 on the map) so I knew at least that much of it should be free of snow.
I left the trailhead in the afternoon on Friday, and had a completely blissful hike. The first part of the trail heads thru incredible open Ponderosa pine forests, with the ever present bizarre rock formations all around. I passed thru many pockets of sun-warmed air that were heavy with pine and the sweet vanilla smell the Ponderosas put out. It was one of those times where it would be good to be a dog. The first bit of snow was on a northwestern facing descent (at about 2:00 on the map). Nothing more than ankle deep and mostly consolidated, which was what I was hoping for, but it was a sign of what was ahead. Just after that descent, I popped into a grove of some of the biggest aspens I've ever seen. They were amazing. I took a picture with my hiking poles propped against one to show a little scale.
The snow started getting deeper and more and more consistent, (around 11:00 on the map) particularly on the northwestern facing switchbacks along the climb to McCurdy Park. I began occasionally postholing, which is annoying, even when its occasional. Im not sure how many of you have postholed for any appreciable distance. If you haven't, I'll sum up the experience- You might be on snow that you think is firm and consolidated. It is bearing your weight, until without warning, it doesn't, and you suddenly sink to your knee or thigh, or even further. Sometimes there's a nice ice crust in there that rakes the skin off your shins. (like on this trip) Sometimes there are rocks or branches hiding within the rotten, weak snow, which do the same. It becomes exhausting to haul yourself out only to punch back thru with the next step. It can be a great way to get hurt.. Do this for hours, miles.. Even a light pack becomes a burden. You will curse yourself hoarse.. Even if you are wearing boots, heavy socks, and gators, the snow will eventually work its way into your footwear. I was wearing mesh running shoes with pants and gators (I rarely wear hiking boots anymore.) Anyway, you get the picture.
So I got to camp (between 8 and 9:00 on the map) and set up my tarp. It was breezy and occasionally gusty. Pretty standard weather at 10,000 feet. Took some sunset pictures, and off to bed. An hour later it gets gustier. Suddenly my tarp, which had just been 'humming' in the wind, was suddenly flapping. Turns out the wind was blowing so hard it actually bent one of my stakes and the guyline came loose. I fixed it and got back to bed. An hour after that the tarp starts flapping again. I get up to check it out, and one of the webbing loops on the tarp had actually snapped. Never seen webbing fail like that. Since the damage to the shelter was basically irreparable at that point (and since it was a mostly clear night) I just took the whole thing down, and dragged my stuff over to a cluster of rocks and tucked in there for the night. No problems after that.
I had camped as high as I could the night before so that I would be hitting the snow early while it was hopefully still frozen (if it was consolidated to begin with). Up and over a saddle, no problem. Then up the west facing 11,500 foot pass. Trail was now buried under the snow. No trail? No problem. I know where im going and where the pass is. Snow was firm for the most part until I hit the ridge. For the next three miles, I wallowed in hip to thigh deep powder. Not a surprise really, but I was hoping for firmer snow. The first mile steadily climbed just below the main ridge line. I slogged along until I came out of the trees to a vantage point where I could more or less see what the next few miles would look like. More of the same. I took a moment to consider my options. I had no desire to return thru the hell I had already plowed thru. No desire to continue on in conditions that did not look like they were going to improve any time soon either. Busted tarp, unsettled weather. I could have rigged something that would do in a pinch, but why tempt fate? So as I saw it at that moment, my best option was to shoot an easterly compass bearing that would get me to a ravine which would eventually dump me out relatively close to the trail I took on the way in. Topo Map # 2 shows the improvised route in blue. (all of day two's hiking is in blue)
So here we see the improvised route in blue. From the rocky bluff I could see a ravine that descended in an easterly direction. I shot a bearing in that direction, and dropped back into the trees, where navigation gets more challenging. So began the downhill wallow down the steep wooded slope that dumped me into the even steeper ravine. The next few hours were spent trying to remain upright. The snow gradually got shallower, but more slippery. There was a tremendous amount of deadfall, boulders, and brush to plow thru. At one point I felt a rush of fluid run down the back of my leg after thrashing thru a tangle and thought, 'thats too cold to be blood'.. Super, I punctured one of my platypus water bottles. They may weigh almost nothing, but they cant withstand much of a bushwhack. Eventually, (at the very bottom, lol) 3,000 vertical feet later, the ravine leveled out and the unnamed creek I had been following merged with the larger Lost Creek. I crossed the larger creek, and since I was now at a known location, shot another bearing for the direction of the main trail. I quickly found a faint path along the creek, and followed it thru the boulder piles that were along, and piled over the creek, at times having to take my pack off to squeeze under, through, and between the rock piles. It would have been slightly more fun without the preceding ordeal. lol. Anyway, eventually that path hooked up with another that led me back to the main drag heading back to the trailhead.
I hope this description doesn't sound negative. I was having a blast 98% of the time. I was 'concerned' for about 2% of the time where, even though I was pretty darn sure where I was, (i.e. Colorado, ha ha.) navigation in this type of terrain can be tricky at times..
I will return to complete this loop after the snow melts. :)
Quick note on the pics: You will notice most of these are black and white or sepia. Most of these shots were taken in full sun and in less than ideal lighting situations. I find that black and white lends these types of shots more oomph, and sepia brings more warmth. Its not that I like black and white and sepia more, I just do whatever I think will make the pictures look good. So there you have it.
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