wgreene
New member
Checked in with the General Store and paid the $3 fee to park in the field in back for the third week straight. The parking lot at the Piper trailhead was totally socked in by 4-6' snowbanks. This is the third week in a row of solo attempts on the low peak, beginning the trek at 4:30PM on the first two occasions, and a early 12 noon on the third. Last time the sky was perfectly clear and the wind was solemnly calm. There were several other cars parked in the lot, perhaps there are others on the mountain. The previous week two hikers descending warned of the lost Piper trail, leading nowhere from the prominent viewpoint about two thirds the distance to the summit. They were good natured men, beer in hand, complimenting the good fortune to be hiking on a Sunday evening. Sometimes you have to call in sick, not a very funny statement, but a good laugh was had all the same. This day was different. Seeing the distinct prints from the same boots as those remarkably fresh looking from the week before. The air was silent except for the sounds of the brooks, breathing, and the crunching footfall. It was just after sundown, the sky still bright, when a strange whoosh coming in from the west, passed overhead like hushed juggernaut, and waning into the soft breeze faded. The sky was empty save a few burning satellites. Score one for the Air Force. At the vantage point where the Piper trail cuts abruptly west, the tracks in the snow led northwest heading up the flank of the middle sister. The week before hailed a turnaround, dark clouds threatening from the west. That night turned perfectly clear. This night was as clear, gentle winds brushing through the trees, the icy chimes breaking free from their silent repose. Not finding any sign of the path heading westward justified an aim to push northwest to gain altitude and search for a line southward to the summit along the ridge. A very interesting place is there. Reluctant to backtrack, pushing forward always to use tracks to find the way back, back at least to the trekking poles jettisoned in favor of an ax and crampons. Moving up, there came a steep face. The ice was now very hard so chopping large steps seemed the best trace back down. Night came on, Orion was arching overhead to the south. In an hour the full moon would rise. Behind a string of lights followed the warm comfort of the homes and businesses on rt 16. Moving upwards, the ice began to glow. Turning off the headlamp revealed a red aura emanating all around. Looking back the sky carried a blood red moon brooding over the horizon. Upon a perch at the top of a steep arroyo, the camera was dead and would not even venture to capture the eerie light frozen in the ice and snow. How many others were staring at the same moon, transfixed on white mountains now cloaked in red. By 10PM the moon was shining white. Yawning atop the middle sister, the northeast flank of Chacorua pressed skyward magnificently, basking in moonlight and propped up against the deep blue-black sky and white red stars. There was a steading sound shimmering as ice cascaded down glistening ice. Each step releasing a new phrase of chimes. Emptying the pack and donning a heavy belay jacket, hand warmer stuffed mittens, secured on the ice and lay down on the ground. This was what the searching had been for, not counting the minutes laying there. A pocket full of scraps of birch bark picked-up on the trail would easily start the wood-burning stove back at the house. An easy descent heading northeast then cutting southeast where the steps chopped on the moderate section came into view. Soon back at a large post hole excavated while putting on crampons, it was well used again to take them off. Still bundled up and decided that keeping the heavy jacket on would regulate a slow careful pace down. Sometime after 1AM there was a hot fire going at the house, sipping hot chocolate and irish cream and well on the way to sleeping soundly and dreaming of more distant places, the antidote to a week in the rat race. Another week, another attempt. More travelers were met on the Piper trail, and finally a path was beat through. Hours of postholes and helpless struggles in the snow bought the bright sun on the summit wall, and friendly meeting with friends on or descending from the peak. For a number of hikers on the Piper trail, it was an interesting day out. Some of whom had been searching for a passage to the Chacurua summit from that side for at least two weeks.
