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| Backpack | 18.60 Miles |
2,040 AEG |
| | Backpack | 18.60 Miles | 2 Days | | |
| 2,040 ft AEG | | | | |
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| no partners | | Four morons went backpacking. Actually there were six intelligent individuals before the snow started to fly. After two people wisely abandoned us, however, we were left with four morons.
The weather forecast was for rain, with 6"-12" of snow above 4,500'. Our plan was to backpack 9+ miles from the Reavis Ranch 109 North trailhead at roughly 3,600' to Reavis Ranch at about 4,800'. If the forecasts were right, we'd see a little snow, which I was excited about. I had wanted to do this trip for years and after rescheduling it twice in the last two months I wasn't changing the date again. Besides the possibility of snow only made the trip more alluring and nobody thought we'd see more than 4-6" of the fluffy white stuff anyway.
There was two inches of snow at the trailhead when we arrived and it was really coming down. You might think that the steady stream of powder pouring from the sky would be a deterrent. It wasn't. We grabbed our packs without any mention of bailing and hit the trail.
To watch from afar, a sane individual would've questioned our decision making. One of us was wearing shorts - did I mention the snow? Another was wearing running sneakers and cotton sweatpants. Then there was the idiot who couldn't figure out how to use the GPS that Denton had preprogrammed with the trail coordinates. The topo map was left unprotected and got soaked, and thus was unreadable and while the snow continued to pile up, we continued to push deeper into the wilderness.
What I remember about the hike in was how uneventful it was. We pushed on, through heavy snow, with almost zero visibility. The hood of my jacket pulled over my head and the melting snow soaking my cloths. We were all soaked. We passed Castle Dome, climbed over Windy Pass and dropped into Plow Saddle but didn't really see any of it.
In Plow saddle I figured out the GPS enough to keep us on the trail and moving in the right direction. We should've stopped but we didn't. We kept moving, skirted a ridge and dropped down to the intersection of the Frog Tank trail and the Reavis Ranch trail.
At this point we'd been hiking for 4.5 hours, it was 3pm and there was 8+ inches of snow on the ground. Looking at the trail dropping into the Reavis Valley and thinking about hiking back out through more snow tomorrow wasn't so appealing. We had a quick discussion and decided to make camp in the shelter of some trees. This might've been the first good decision of the day.
Once we stopped moving it got cold. Really cold. Ryan and Rich struggled with one tent while I set up the other one. After the tents were up, everybody changed cloths and hunkered down. We scarfed some food and sipped the spirits to improve our moods. I tipped back the Beam while the Ryan, Rich and Brian enjoyed the Jagermeister.
With a few hits of Beam warming me up I braved the blizzard to dig out the tent and melt snow for water. After melting 3 liters I ran out of fuel. This wasn't good. I was drinking a ton of water on the hike in and was stopping every 15 minutes for a pee break and wasn't sure 3 liters would be enough to get me out. I was hoping Ryan had enough fuel left to melt more in the morning.
It was a long, stressful night. The snow just kept coming. It never relented, not for a minute. Everything was wet and I began to wonder how much snow could actually fall and how we were going to get out. There was nearly a foot on the ground when we went to bed, how much could fall in one night? 2 feet? 4 Feet? Was 5 feet possible? And what would we do? Would someone call Search and Rescue? Would we need to be rescued? We didn't have enough food or water to spend several days so we had to get out, if it was possible.
Dawn couldn't come early enough for me. With Mr. Beam screaming to get out of my dime size bladder and my intense desire to avoid getting out of the tent in the middle of a cold, snowy night, I was forced to relieve myself into an empty Nalgene bottle. This was sheer brilliance but required 3 separate attempts to remove all the fluid from my system. I'm not sure how Brian felt about this but he didn't say anything so I think he was just hoping I didn't spray him.
3 feet. 3 feet of snow fell in the central Superstition Mountains. I was in awe. I crawled out of the tent at 7am to an amazing sight. The mountains were wearing a think blanket of snow. It looked pristine. A few dark clouds passed on the horizon but for the most part the storm had passed and the sun was out. Did I mention I forgot my sunglasses in the truck?
Decision time. Do we stay and hope to get rescued or push through the waist deep snow and try for the truck? And if we were successful in reaching the truck would the road be clear enough for us to drive out? It wasn't a long discussion. With limited food and water we weren't sticking around. Besides who wants to make the news and be known as the four morons who went backpacking in a blizzard?
The first couple of hours were rough, but, almost sublime. The views were amazing. The mountains and the sunlight playing off the snow was surreal. We kicked, single file, through a light, fluffy powder that had us begging for snowboards. As the man on the front tired, he'd fall to the back and the next person would take his place. In this fashion we spent most of the morning.
Post holing got old fast. As the day wore on the snow became, wet, and heavy. We were boot packing through thigh deep snow with chest deep drifts. Uphill or downhill made no difference. We dug it out and pushed through making terrible time. At one point it took us nearly 2 hours to cover a half mile. By the time we reached Windy Pass we'd covered almost 3 miles in 6 hours. It was demoralizing.
The ranges of emotions you feel in these situations is incredible. One minute you're stoic and facing the challenge head on, like a man. The next moment your throwing a hissy fit any 3 year old would envy. We kept plugging. The beauty of the moment contrasted with the pain, exhaustion and feelings of endless walking played with my mind. I saw things - people, a car, heard voices that weren't there. I wanted to be done.
But at the same time, it was beautiful. The views of Four Peaks and the surrounding mountains clad in snow were something most people would never see. Not like this. Not from our vantage point. This was special and inside I enjoyed it a little. When I wasn't crying.
We worked through the snow. It didn't recede. Everyone was struggling. Cramping. Tired. The afternoon slipped into evening. The setting sun lit the mountains on fire and a nearly full moon rose to illuminate the peaks. We donned headlamps and kept trudging.
It was nearly 8:30pm when Ryan, who was 20 yards ahead, yelled back "truck"! It was a wonderful moment. We rushed down the last few turns in the trail and into the parking lot. I had been pushing the group to stop and pitch the tents but was now happy we kept hiking.
It didn't take long to clear the truck of snow, 6"-8" and hit the road. Negotiating the mountain grade, however, took some time. I didn't want to roll us into a ditch after we spent 11.5 hours getting out of there. It took more than an hour to be back in cell phone range and we started calling people to tell them we were alive. |
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