Monika C
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The impetus for this trip was to make sure that my late husband's gear cache had been cleared out. I had gone in with a handful of friends the summer after he died, but there was too much snow. We had found the site, dug as much snow out as we could with just trekking poles (I, fortunately, had snow baskets on mine) and I was lowered, head first into the hole, then pulled out by my ankles with the requisite amount of snow going up my shirt. We, it turned out, were about a foot short of being able to access the cache. One of his climbing partners contacted one of the people on the trip a year or 2 later to find out if we'd cleared the cache. I forwarded the descriptions & pictures of where it was, but never got any confirmation that he had successfully located & cleared out the cache. Not knowing niggled at me until last year I knew that I had to go back in to check it out. So here is this year's trip:
Supine in the Wind Rivers
Now, I love sleep. Sometimes my fondest memories of road trips include being rocked to sleep in the back of my FJ by winds buffeting as only Colorado Plateau winter/early Spring can do. But there is such a thing as too much tent time. As a young climber, my then boyfriend had given me a list of (to him) required classic mountaineering literature. My background became filled with tales of being tent bound and brewing endless cups of tea, winds so strong that tent poles had to be held up in place by the climbers and my own epics over the ensuing decades.
Having become disheartened by the sheer numbers of people going into the Winds who have no backcountry ethics, I decided this year to spend the bulk of my time off trail: Knifepoint Glacier and the North Fork of Bull Lake Creek. Entry is shared with the immensely popular (for good reasons) Titcomb Basin. An old climbing partner and pro photographer joined me for the walk in and expense of being packed in by an outfitter. Glenn’s Winds resume was limited to having been to the Cirque of the Towers once back in the day so he was planning on spending his time in Titcomb. Though we hadn’t seen each other in probably 35 years, we immediately fell into the easy rhythms of having shared a rope numerous times.
Our first night was spent at Island Lake as it was the logical jumping off point for him to go to Titcomb and me to go over Indian Pass. He decided to spend 2 nights there for a good chance at sunrise/sunset shots. The weather didn’t sound that good but I decided to go to Indian Basin for 2 nights and be poised for the pass on day 3.
I can’t say that I’m all that impressed with the weather reports on the Garmin devices. Upon arrival at Island with 0% chance of rain, we had each barely erected our tents, gotten and filtered water and eaten when it became thunderstorm induced nap time. Hail had piled up on the east side of our tents, and when the storm passed and the sun came out we awoke to being in a sauna. The first night at my high camp, the wind rocked the 12 or so pound rocks I had reinforcing a key tent peg completely off (not the 9 mph winds with gusts to 18 mph that was predicted) not to mention the hours of thunder storms that maneuvered directly overhead). The next afternoon it was repeated (with the same forecast), this time breaking a tang on the buckle that attached the fly door to the cord that was now very securely anchored by a number of heavy (could barely lift with 1 hand) rocks. When the wind , rain, thunder and lightning eased up, I tied it in directly as I didn’t feel I could trust the broken buckle. For entertainment during these storms, if I was awake, I recalled the alpinists pinned down in their tents under much more dire conditions or simply watched the pea-sized hail bounce merrily on the ground. A weather update prolonged that weather pattern for 3rd day so I decided to descend. I was not up for round 3. The next storm was predicted for 11 am, enough time to get to the bivy caves I knew of in Titcomb. But not when it started at 8:45 am. I comforted myself by recalling how on the walk in that I told Glenn that I did better walking in the rain than in the heat. And that it was only rain and not thunder and lightning. I didn’t make it to the bivy caves at the foot of Mt Helen, but did snag a previously coveted camp spot (at the time, it was because of a very large overhanging boulder that provided shade. Happily, it was oriented so that it also protected from the rain.
For the next 2 days, I pretty much had Titcomb to myself. I saw 13 other people and heard maybe 4 others (2 groups of 2). Once the rain stopped that afternoon, it was dry with the usual clouds moving through in the afternoon. I started walking out as the hordes began to descend, emphasizing that rare, magical experience of having had Titcomb Basin all to myself.
NB: the cache had been cleared.
Paintbrush
Monkeyflowers
Fireweed
Indian Basin Clearing Storm
Harrower sunrise
Titcomb after storm
Woodrow Wilson, the Sphinx, Miriam Peak in the light
Titcomb from the west
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