The
weather was incredible on Friday and forecasted to be just
as good on Monday. As my luck would have it, the weekend promised
rain. Yet one last look on NWAC and their typical 3:30 update
indicated hope. Early Saturday, partly cloudy with rain
in the afternoon. Phil and I optimistically left Friday
night and arrived at Mount Washington in the Buckhorn Wilderness.
That
night we slept under stars and awoke to clouds. Worse yet,
the North Face of Washington looked harrowing at best, and
I didn't like the upper cornice hanging over the face. "Phil
this doesn't look like a good ski route," I would
mater-of-factly say. Sitting in Phil's Subaru, we flipped
through the Climber's Guide to the Olympic Mountains finding
the sketched drawling a poor remedy for a wilting excitement.
Plan B became Buckhorn Mountain which looked to begin on the
Big Quilcene River. Our sinisterly low motivation mounted
as it began to rain. "Let's just go home, sit on the
couch and watch TV." This stirred a laugh, but not any
viable action.
I
felt better as we put feet to the trail and pounded our way
toward Marmot Pass. Unlike my previous hike to the NE Face
of Constance with skis, this one was generously kind. Only
a few fallen trees easily skirted separated a wonderful trail
from our destination.
We
followed snowshoe tracks when the snow deepened. They suddenly
ended maybe a mile before Marmot Pass. Above looked to be
a fine snow gully so we switched plans and quickly booted
our way 2000-ft up hard, crusty snow. Motivation was again
difficult to muster under such conditions. This southerly
aspect held little snow and the rock was terrible, blowing
chunks of sharp volcanic rock on us several times.
The
summit has two high points, the tallest one was what we were
shooting for. At least I was. Phil wanted to stop, uninterested
in searching hopelessly in the fog and blowing snow. Not willing
to give up, I continued forward to see what I could of the
Northern Face where, conveniently, I happened upon stones
marking a trail. "Hey Phil, the trail!"
We continued on the trail for only a few feet before it was
lost. We kept traversing the ridge until the highest point
was satisfactory reached. "Oh Yeah."
"Ha.
It figures the North Facing snow is amazing, doesn't it Phil?"
Deciding on a sit start Phil posed for a photo on the tippy
top. After which we both patched route back down to the pass.
I was excited to ski off my first summit in the OLYMPICS,
even if it was a bit contrived to do so! I hollered like a
fool like I am apt to do when I'm skiing.
We
made fast work of the gully and found that terrible hard snow
not as bad as we expected it to be. I don't think that I dropped
the knew once and made any telemark turns whatsoever. My knee
has fallen into painful disrepair like last year. I wasn't
happy about that. Trail skiing in a wild, feral-like descent
disseminated that worry. Doesn't fear do such a great job
of that. Die worry! Live risk! The snow was gone or at most,
a few inches were left in places. As long as you didn't try
to slow down, most of the scratches would be horizontal. Not
that I worry about scratches. Enjoyment takes precedence over
gear...always. By gods, it was worth it, what a thrilling
ride!
I
rested on the trail looking up at the forest canopy while
waiting for Phil. Before I could fall asleep he happened upon
me, breaking my nostalgic thoughts. We continued mindlessly
down to the Big Quilcene trailhead. At the register where
Phil had actually registered it asked for you to mark climbing,
fishing, or hiking. Not to be prejudiced, Phil added 'freeskiing'
to the list and in the comment section where two hikers had
said, 'Too much snow, too little time,' he laughingly
detailed, 'To little snow, too much time.' I felt
a slight bit shameful for our elitist comment, but I have
to admit it was very funny.
The
trip ended anti-climatically, gear in the car and back on
the road. I can't say that this was a spectacular trip, but
I think that it could be. Marmot Pass and surrounding environs
must have something worth skiing. My interest has been sufficiently
piqued and I will return. We crowned Buckhorn a 'RAISAN' and
made amends to come back and ski some of the surrounding Plums.
I know that the Olympics must have some and I'm willing to
put in the effort to find them.
Alpine
State OF Mind.
Or CONTACT ME.
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