Neil
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- Apr 26, 2004
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There is a well packed trail now leading up Esther from 0.4 miles on the toll road heading due south to the summit. An interesting loop would be to use this trail and continue on to Whiteface and go down the road.
I tried to recruit partners for this bushwhack hike in what were guaranteed to be less than ideal snow conditions. I almost had company in the form of Doug and Alistair but they chickened out at the last minute.
I was going to be all alone, off-trail in winter. For security reasons I decided to bring an imaginary friend. Which I did. His name was Lester, which rhymes with Esther. Lester will be co-writing this report with me. His segments will be in blue.
Sylvie was dropping us off at the gate when Pete Hickey wheeled in. He was skiing. At 0.4 miles up at the first creek crossing Lester and I turned our backs on the road and followed my compass south. The snow was deep and the going slow but that was expected. I pointed out to Lester who had never hiked or been outdoors before that it was a good thing that there was no snow on the trees and that the woods were open. I warned him that this situation would not last.
This is fricking nuts! We were doing fine on the road but now we’re barely moving. I’m exhausted already and I have a pain in my side. I thought we would stay on top of the snow with these snowshoes. Why am I here?! Why am I doing this?
It was very warm and windy so I peeled down to my t-shirt. Lester insisted on keeping his big down parka on and grew very red in the face in spite of doing no trail breaking. Gradually, there was more and more snow on the trees and the slightest tremor caused it to fall. Great wet clumps of snow fell down between our backs and our packsacks. I put my shell on and raised the hood. Lester’s parka was a sodden mess in no time. He didn’t seem to be having that much fun but I told him we were surely getting close to the summit.
It was bad enough at first but now we have something called snow bombs falling off the trees. My parka is ruined and weighs about 10 pounds. Neil refuses to turn back and says we are almost there. I think he’s an idiot, totally out of control. I have a huge runny blister and my left calf is on fire and I have already drunk all of my water. Neil suggests I suck the wet snow but I’m afraid it will make me sick. I feel nauseous and my head is swimming. There is no air.
The north side of Esther has 2 ridges that look like arms on the map. The west arm has a knob on the end with about 50 feet of prominence. I noticed lots of open rock and filed that away for a future trip. This knob probably has killer views, much better than Esther herself. I used the knob for navigation by aiming my compass at it and determining the bearing. Progress was slow and steady but it was easy to get a rhythm going and I felt like I was in tip-top shape
We are at a stand-still. I beg to go back and Neil says to feel free but that he will keep going upwards. Jerk! I know what summit fever is and it has surely caused him to take leave of his senses. He is a madman. He also says that warm weather will waken the bears and they will be on the prowl sniffing out our scent on the trail. I am too terrified to go back alone so ignore the pain in my chest and follow. The mountain goes on forever.
The going got tougher as the snow depth increased and the trees bore more and more unstable globs of it. It was very warm and the water was pouring off the trees. It might as well have been raining. Then we entered a fairly open zone and the snow depth and spruce traps nearly made any progress impossible. I contemplated turning around but didn’t have anything else to do. So, I slowly and methodically plowed my way through it and managed to make forward progress. These are situations where you scrutinize every possible factor that relates to your rate of travel and do your best to micro-manage the route in your favor. I decided to move laterally, ie. west, towards the gulf separating the two ridges. We were high up on the west flank of the east ridge, probably in a zone that had been hit by a microburst and hoped to get out of it. Lester is starting to bug me.
This is too much. I sit down in the wet snow in my ruined parka and start to cry. But as soon as I stop moving I start to shiver. I get a lecture on the deepening stages of hypothermia and my sense of survival takes over and I get up and stagger after Neil who has already disappeared behind a snow covered tree. He seems confused and keeps looking left and right, checking his stupid map and playing with the little plastic compass he wears around his neck. I don’t think he knows what the hell he is doing. I’d like to strangle him with the string that holds the compass.
The compass bearing to the knob was changing very, very slowly. But, it really was changing and then the woods changed and it was back to a speedy ¼ mph. I had an ice axe and used it constantly, hooking it around trees, hoisting myself upwards and closer to the goal. My mitts were soaked and every 30 minutes I stopped and wrung a stream of filthy water out of them onto the snow and put them back on. I regret having created Lester and think about removing him.
Disgusting!!!!! I want to throw up. But, I have made a big decision, the next time Neil stops I will very quietly sneak up on him and -
My imaginary friend Lester was getting on my nerves with his incessant whining so I terminated him. Peace at last - or so I thought. It turns out he was “a terminate and stay resident” imaginary friend. Then some thick clouds descended and blocked out the views to my navigational aid knob. The lay of the land made it easy to keep track of our - I mean my - position and by following the most open woods I gained the east ridge, which is very broad.
On the broad ridge the forest was beautiful and open but the snow was heavy and deep. Lots of strong wind. Finally my hands were too cold to continue so I changed into thick wool mitts and fresh shell mitts, which improved my outlook on life instantly. By plugging along and using frequent 30-second rests (especially when confronted by snow at chest height) I stepped onto the trail about 15 feet from the summit. Now the wind was in a wild frenzy.
I checked the time (5 hours from the toll gate and about one mile of whacking) and began the return trip along my trail. I knew the trail’s appearance would make it look as though the climb has been a lot easier than it had been and sure enough it did. I was soaking wet, completely drenched and I could feel water running down my legs into my boots, and down my arms into my wool mitts. The best way to keep warm was to move as quickly as possible and I got back to the gate in 1½hours. I thought of fully reviving Lester, taking his coat and terminating him again but changed my mind considering it was a sodden mass. I was 400 yards from the gate and thinking about my next move. I had no car but Sylvie would show up eventually. Then I saw someone walking around so I ran as fast as I could down the road and who was there but Pete Hickey, in his bare feet! He gave me half a donut, a cup of hot tea, a ride back to the motel and some of his excellent home brew.
If you take this route and here a disembodied voice moaning and groaning in the tree-tops don’t worry. It’s just Lester the new caretaker on Esther. I think he hates me.
I tried to recruit partners for this bushwhack hike in what were guaranteed to be less than ideal snow conditions. I almost had company in the form of Doug and Alistair but they chickened out at the last minute.
I was going to be all alone, off-trail in winter. For security reasons I decided to bring an imaginary friend. Which I did. His name was Lester, which rhymes with Esther. Lester will be co-writing this report with me. His segments will be in blue.
Sylvie was dropping us off at the gate when Pete Hickey wheeled in. He was skiing. At 0.4 miles up at the first creek crossing Lester and I turned our backs on the road and followed my compass south. The snow was deep and the going slow but that was expected. I pointed out to Lester who had never hiked or been outdoors before that it was a good thing that there was no snow on the trees and that the woods were open. I warned him that this situation would not last.
This is fricking nuts! We were doing fine on the road but now we’re barely moving. I’m exhausted already and I have a pain in my side. I thought we would stay on top of the snow with these snowshoes. Why am I here?! Why am I doing this?
It was very warm and windy so I peeled down to my t-shirt. Lester insisted on keeping his big down parka on and grew very red in the face in spite of doing no trail breaking. Gradually, there was more and more snow on the trees and the slightest tremor caused it to fall. Great wet clumps of snow fell down between our backs and our packsacks. I put my shell on and raised the hood. Lester’s parka was a sodden mess in no time. He didn’t seem to be having that much fun but I told him we were surely getting close to the summit.
It was bad enough at first but now we have something called snow bombs falling off the trees. My parka is ruined and weighs about 10 pounds. Neil refuses to turn back and says we are almost there. I think he’s an idiot, totally out of control. I have a huge runny blister and my left calf is on fire and I have already drunk all of my water. Neil suggests I suck the wet snow but I’m afraid it will make me sick. I feel nauseous and my head is swimming. There is no air.
The north side of Esther has 2 ridges that look like arms on the map. The west arm has a knob on the end with about 50 feet of prominence. I noticed lots of open rock and filed that away for a future trip. This knob probably has killer views, much better than Esther herself. I used the knob for navigation by aiming my compass at it and determining the bearing. Progress was slow and steady but it was easy to get a rhythm going and I felt like I was in tip-top shape
We are at a stand-still. I beg to go back and Neil says to feel free but that he will keep going upwards. Jerk! I know what summit fever is and it has surely caused him to take leave of his senses. He is a madman. He also says that warm weather will waken the bears and they will be on the prowl sniffing out our scent on the trail. I am too terrified to go back alone so ignore the pain in my chest and follow. The mountain goes on forever.
The going got tougher as the snow depth increased and the trees bore more and more unstable globs of it. It was very warm and the water was pouring off the trees. It might as well have been raining. Then we entered a fairly open zone and the snow depth and spruce traps nearly made any progress impossible. I contemplated turning around but didn’t have anything else to do. So, I slowly and methodically plowed my way through it and managed to make forward progress. These are situations where you scrutinize every possible factor that relates to your rate of travel and do your best to micro-manage the route in your favor. I decided to move laterally, ie. west, towards the gulf separating the two ridges. We were high up on the west flank of the east ridge, probably in a zone that had been hit by a microburst and hoped to get out of it. Lester is starting to bug me.
This is too much. I sit down in the wet snow in my ruined parka and start to cry. But as soon as I stop moving I start to shiver. I get a lecture on the deepening stages of hypothermia and my sense of survival takes over and I get up and stagger after Neil who has already disappeared behind a snow covered tree. He seems confused and keeps looking left and right, checking his stupid map and playing with the little plastic compass he wears around his neck. I don’t think he knows what the hell he is doing. I’d like to strangle him with the string that holds the compass.
The compass bearing to the knob was changing very, very slowly. But, it really was changing and then the woods changed and it was back to a speedy ¼ mph. I had an ice axe and used it constantly, hooking it around trees, hoisting myself upwards and closer to the goal. My mitts were soaked and every 30 minutes I stopped and wrung a stream of filthy water out of them onto the snow and put them back on. I regret having created Lester and think about removing him.
Disgusting!!!!! I want to throw up. But, I have made a big decision, the next time Neil stops I will very quietly sneak up on him and -
My imaginary friend Lester was getting on my nerves with his incessant whining so I terminated him. Peace at last - or so I thought. It turns out he was “a terminate and stay resident” imaginary friend. Then some thick clouds descended and blocked out the views to my navigational aid knob. The lay of the land made it easy to keep track of our - I mean my - position and by following the most open woods I gained the east ridge, which is very broad.
On the broad ridge the forest was beautiful and open but the snow was heavy and deep. Lots of strong wind. Finally my hands were too cold to continue so I changed into thick wool mitts and fresh shell mitts, which improved my outlook on life instantly. By plugging along and using frequent 30-second rests (especially when confronted by snow at chest height) I stepped onto the trail about 15 feet from the summit. Now the wind was in a wild frenzy.
I checked the time (5 hours from the toll gate and about one mile of whacking) and began the return trip along my trail. I knew the trail’s appearance would make it look as though the climb has been a lot easier than it had been and sure enough it did. I was soaking wet, completely drenched and I could feel water running down my legs into my boots, and down my arms into my wool mitts. The best way to keep warm was to move as quickly as possible and I got back to the gate in 1½hours. I thought of fully reviving Lester, taking his coat and terminating him again but changed my mind considering it was a sodden mass. I was 400 yards from the gate and thinking about my next move. I had no car but Sylvie would show up eventually. Then I saw someone walking around so I ran as fast as I could down the road and who was there but Pete Hickey, in his bare feet! He gave me half a donut, a cup of hot tea, a ride back to the motel and some of his excellent home brew.
If you take this route and here a disembodied voice moaning and groaning in the tree-tops don’t worry. It’s just Lester the new caretaker on Esther. I think he hates me.
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