It's not really a hike if you don't fear for your life, right?
Oh, maybe that's a better definition of a death march.
Or, in my case, either. The two often seem to be one and the same.
After a failed attempt to find Marshall Pass with Don several days ago due to excessive (in my opinion) vertical bushwhacking, Scout demanded a mulligan. Who am I to say no do such a sweet dog? I suggested we climb Big Odyssey and she was agreeable.
The weather forecast said that Bob (the Big Orange Ball in the sky) was going to win the battle and dry up the rain for a day or two, so it seemed like the perfect time to head to Thompson Pass. We parked at the top of the pass about 10:30 and headed up into the sun and wind.
I've been up Big Odyssey once, a few years ago, so I knew it was within my capabilities. What I'd forgotten is that I'd tried before to go on my own and failed.
The lower part of the climb is definitely a climb to Little O, but it's not really difficult. Well, in my opinion it's not as it doesn't require scaling any rock faces or bushwhacking vertically. The wildflowers were lovely, the sky was blue, and the rocks were hikeable - those that weren't were at least interesting. Scout had a great time racing across the tundra after ground squirrels. At least she didn't catch one this time...I think.
It took us about an hour and a half to get up the mountain, an elevation change of just over 1,000 feet. Scout, no doubt, ran at least triple that distance. Unfortunately, once atop Little O, I couldn't see a clear way to the summit of Big O. (And no, I wasn't having a very personal moment on the tundra.) There was a ravine between me and the mountain, one with a long snowfield at the bottom of it. I wandered around a bit, trying to find a way across when I finally noticed a steep, narrow cut through the rock. It was scree-filled, but looked possibly passable.
I sent Scout ahead - it was about time she lived up to her name. No, really I sent her ahead so she wouldn't be behind me pushing me down. As she took her first step down the cut she hesitated and glanced back at me. I urged her on, but I should have heeded her warning. If even the dog is hesitating to go down a slope, it might be a clue. What I couldn't see from the top was that the scree extended steeply much further than I realized. It was also very loose. It took me a good 10 minutes or more to pick my way down to the snowfield I then had to cross.
On the other side of the snowfield was another scree-covered slope. I could see what I thought looked like the beginning of a possible route up Big O, but I had to climb that slope first. About that time, Scout ran up it, kicking down a small boulder, big enough to crush my skull. It passed a few feet to my right, but it was the last straw, so to speak. As had happened the last time I attempted this ascent on my own, I ran out of will. I knew I had almost 900 more feet to climb, and already had 1,100 feet to descend. I became far more interested in getting back down than continuing my way up.
In retrospect that was the right decision...maybe. Maybe if I'd continued up I'd have found a more reasonable way down. As it was I started descending from where I was.
The elevation it had taken me a mile and a half to climb I think I went down in less than half a mile. I spent the next hour or so doing my best to cling to what felt like a vertical mountainside. There are no pictures of this part of my hike because I was too busy driving my hiking poles into the ground in the hopes that they'd hold when my feet wouldn't.
You’d think that someday I’d learn that if there’s no vegetation growing on a slope, it’s not because it would be a good route, but because it’s so freakin’ steep! This was not apparently my day to learn that lesson. And honestly, even when there was vegetation, the slope was still freakin' steep! Almost none of the rocks I was trying to brace my boots against were actually attached to the ground, and where there were crowberries and blueberries, it's not as if their negligible root systems would have held me.
My adage that I'm willing to go up things I'd rather not go down was once again proven true.
Eventually, I made it down alive. Not that I'd likely have died if I'd fallen, but I'd probably have been badly hurt. Luckily, my pride is not above a few well-timed butt slides when needed.
At this point I was directly above Blueberry Lake, a couple of miles south of where I needed to be to get my truck. I gazed at the slopes ahead of me, trying to strategically pick a way across the swale to the next ridge line. After last week's bushwhacking adventure, I was willing to do almost anything to avoid the willow and alder thickets. Including pick my way down more rocks.
I finally dropped down to the same elevation at which I started. All I had left was an "easy" stroll back to my truck. As easy as walking on tundra ever is. At least I knew there were no more cliffs in my path.
After five miles, five hours, and 1,222 feet of elevation gained and lost, we made it back to my truck. Tomorrow is also supposed to be a nice day. I was thinking about climbing up to Loveland Glacier. Now I'm thinking I might just drive my riding lawn mower around my yard and drink a beer.
(Oops, I just checked the weather forecast again. Now it's calling for rain. Whew!)
