IBEXtrax.com - Cascade Mountains of Washington State Alpine Lakes Wilderness

The Chiwaukum Creek

Thanksgiving 1975

We planned to go snow camping as a foursome, but then Rudi got a job at First Bank. So, the number was reduced to three. John B, Blain R, and I were going to go in Blain's four wheel drive Scout. But, Blain's Scout was in the shop. John drove his 59 Chevy, and we left on Thursday night. John had been to the trailhead before, but we slid past the turnoff; US2 was a sheet of ice. We tried to drive up to Chiwaukum Creek Campground, but we didn't make it up the first little uphill grade. John eased the big Chevy back down to the abandon fish hatchery buildings, and parked the car under a tree. We pitched the MSR Barn Tent between the abandoned fish hatchery buildings. The two loud parties that were camped down the road had built large blazing fires. The three of us found sleep in a thick smother of goose down.

Friday morning was clear, and my thermometer read 24ºF. After we packed up, John and Blain went ahead while I prepared the bases on my skis. With snowshoes strapped to my pack, I skied up the road. A Blazer went by, and I found some good skiing in his track. I passed the hunters in the Blazer as they were chaining up. The Blazer went by again, and I got a good kick and glide as I neared the campground. Blain and John were waiting. They told me of their talk with the two bow hunters. I tried to ski up the narrow trail, but eventually I had to stop and then change into boots. While following the bow hunter's tracks, we made quick time up the trail. After meeting the hunters again, we continue to hike in the shallow snow. It was 11:00AM when we stopped for peanut butter and jelly on crackers.

We strapped on our snowshoes. John and I got into the pros and cons of snowshoe size. When it came to maneuverability, John strapped on his large Alaskan size snowshoes, and then performs an impressive display. He ran down the trail, dug in a tip, and then buried his head under his big Gold Bar pack. We all laughed hysterically. When it came to trail breaking, the large surface area of his Alaskan snowshoes and John's long stride, carried him far ahead.

When we met at the south fork junction, I confess that I was tiring. Soon after the junction, the trail started to switchback up toward Chiwaukum Meadow. As the day neared its close, the chance to reach Chiwaukum Lake diminished. When we reached the top of the switchbacks, the tent was set on the fringe of snow covered Chiwaukum Meadow. It was 13ºF when the sunset. So, we retired into the Sevea heated tent. We burned fuel in the stove well into the night. We had popcorn and loads of hot water. John accidentally threw the popcorn at me. So, Blain and I kidded him about it. When John and I went to get water, the sky was starry and the temperature was 3ºF. The stove burnt dry one more time, and then we went to sleep. I was fairly comfortable while sleeping in the middle of the tent.

I awoke to find the inside walls covered with ice. So, we evacuated the tent and shook the ice out the door. The morning was a crisp -3ºF and the sun was shining on Big Chiwaukum Mountain. We reheated the tent while cooking breakfast, and then decided to snowshoe up McCue Ridge. My feet were numb as we started up the ridge. But, after leading for awhile, I warmed up. When Blain took the lead, I started to have traction problems. John was having a worse problem trying to make his Alaskans stick on the steep slope. Clouds quickly moved up the valley, and soon the ridge top was devoured. When the snow started falling, we gave up on the ridge climb. We slid back down with the snow shoes on. The technique was a shuffling slide to keep from digging in a tip.

Back at the tent it was 12ºF. After eating a hot lunch, we headed out for a walk up the valley. The snow was falling lightly as we followed the trail around the meadow. We passed through Beaver Dam Camp, then continued around the meadow. The animal tracks were plentiful: snowshoe rabbits, mice, squirrels, and dear. The porcupine track was the hardest track to figure out. It was enjoyable not to be carrying a heavy pack. We drop down, and crossed the frozen creek. John pointed out his choice of campsites. We came to a bridge that provided a view of a frozen waterfall. I looked with amazement at the blue green mass of frozen water. We followed our tracks back to the tent, and arrived as it was getting dark. It was snowing harder as we crawled into the tent. The stove was used a lot; we kept filling the tank. When it came my turn to go get water, I found that the track had been completely covered with fresh snow. I couldn't find the thermometer. I slept in the middle again. So, John and Blain had to deal with the wet walls. During the night, I woke occasionally to shake the snow off the roof of the tent.

Sunday morning it was still snowing hard. The snow level was halfway up the door. I got up and dugout the tent. We had a leisurely breakfast before we broke camp. The snow was wet, so I slipped on my waterproof jumpsuit. John and Blain started out as I strapped on my skis. Soon after I left the campsite, I decided that I was waxed wrong. I herring boned over the crest, and started down the switchbacks. I was soon out of control, and going too fast. I fell over backwards. It was hard to get up with my heavy pack. So, I had to take my pack off before I could get up. I fell again and again. It was exhausting work to just get back up after falling. I found that I could hold down my speed by traveling on the shoulder of the trail. I soon found the disadvantage of skiing off the trail; a low branch just under the surface. My head was buried in the deep snow under my pack. My contorted toes ached. But, I had to remove my pack before I could relieve the pain. I kept trying. I crouched low, gritting my teeth, and with determined concentration, I fell many more times. When a slope became steeper, I started a few avalanches in the unstable snow. Near the bottom of the switchbacks I was improving. I could go twenty or 30 feet between falls.

John and Blain were waiting at the Y in the trail. John had been breaking the trail the hole time and he had come to a stark conclusion. John informed me that what lay ahead was many hours of drudgery. From the junction we stayed together. We traded the lead, and I stayed with skis. At the bottom of the logging slash I bogged down. A did my best to make it up a small hill, but I failed. I changed into snowshoes, and took my turn it breaking the trail. It was hard work breaking the trail. John, then me, then Blain; that was the order of fatigue. When my turn would come, I had to push myself to make 300 steps. Then John would pass me and push on.

After a while, I would be almost too tired to keep up with John. Blain was in worse shape; he could only lead a few steps. I was in agonizing pain while pushing through the waist deep snow drifts. I cut back to 250 steps. Blain was having trouble just moving in our track. So, he could no longer lead. The three of us, and the day were exhausted. I was soaked with sweat in my jumpsuit. The snow had been falling hard all day and there was no sign of it letting up. I broke out my headlamp, and then John and I traded the lead and the head lamp. The trail seemed endless. I dreaded the thought of being off route. Each step became a battle of mind over body. I set a goal to make it to the road, and hoped for less snow.

At one point, John wallowed on a steep side hill above the roaring creek. I visualized him riding an avalanche into the creek and me being too exhausted to save him. The complaints were many as we struggled on; but such is life. I thought of John as an asset of strength as I stumbled along in his trench. I knew my job was critical. I had to spell him when he needed a break. Because if John when down, we would all be doomed. When John would step aside and hand me the head lamp, I would swallow my complaints, and dutifully count out my 250 steps. It seemed like eons passed, but we finally reached the campground. The snow was still depressingly deep. John started taking shorter leads, but still his lead was many times more than mine. I tried to encourage John as I stepped aside to relinquish the headlamp.

Surprisingly we finally reached the car. I was miserably cold and totally exhausted. I was shaking uncontrollably which I recognized as a symptom of hypothermia. Blain was strangely quiet, and once he sat down in the snow, he refused to get up. John's futile attempt to drive the car out from under the tree was cut short in just a few feet. We quickly decided to pitch the tent and stay the night. I am notoriously known for over exaggerations, so as I was overcome by second stage hypothermia, I produced a rash comment about death. John's double take evolved into action, and the tent was soon set inside the building near the car. John cooked a meal while I shivered in my sleeping bag. I forced down the food and then fell asleep. During the night, Blain was sick. Once inside the tent and many times just outside the tent door.

In the morning came the rain. It was almost a quarter mile to the highway, and I knew it would be a long day. After eating the rest of our food, we dug out the car for the first of many times. We tried chains, boards, and pushing, but it all seemed impossible. John talked about leaving the car. But, we knew the car would be trash by spring. We packed down the snow in front of the car; section by section. First we use snowshoes, and then we packed with our boots. Hope increased as we rocked the car forward a few feet. Blain thought it was all futile, so he said good bye and went for help. We packed the snow up to the tree and dug under the car. It took many re-excavations, but progress was made. Rudi arrived in Blain's Scout and immediately got stuck. There were many more hours of jacking, then digging, and pushing. We reached the highway just as darkness fell. While we were removing the chains, the Sheriff came by, and wanted to know if we were the missing hikers. We were 24 hours overdue. As we drove to the Squirrel Tree Inn, John's generator warning light was glowing bright. At the Inn, I bought an awful tasting Reuben sandwich, and then called home.

As we drove over Stevens Pass, the car headlights got dimmer and dimmer. It had been raining all day after the heavy snowfall, and when we went down the west side of the pass, we found a river of water flowing down the road. When we reached Deception Creek, John had to pull off the highway. The car battery was too weak to push both the windshield wipers and the headlights. A man in a highway truck came to our rescue. We followed his flashing yellow light, with windshield wipers only, down to the Timberline gas station. We frantically waved at Blain and Rudi as they drove by, but they didn't stop. We drove down to the Skykomish Chevron station, and put in some gas. The car did not restart, and a service station attendant was no help. So, I called my dad to bring a battery. We waited in the Sky Chalet until it closed. When dad arrived, we changed out the batteries. As we drove toward home, it was still raining hard, and all the rivers were high. When I got home, my bed felt so good that I skip work another day. I later read in the newspaper that there was much flooding, and a landslide that closed Stevens pass .

It had been a brutal introduction to snow hiking and camping. I was thoroughly discouraged to delve into any like experiences until much meditation had transpired.

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