The Lion Head Trail is memorable for another incident that occurred during that training time for Aconcagua. Our group of six ascenders met two Canadian hikers who were descending slowly with one injured hiker. He had ruptured his Achilles tendon. It took all eight of us to transport him down that tortuous and steep trail. We carried him down but more often slid him like a log on the compacted snow and ice. Mountains are no place to lose one’s mobility.
As I ascend, the soft raindrops turn into even softer snowflakes. Beautiful snowflakes. Giant snowflakes. By the millions, no doubt billions, they slowly and gently settle on the path, adhering well to the dirt and rocks. Taking a few moments from my ascent, I toss back the hood of my anorak, remove my glasses, and turn upward to allow the snowflakes to whisper on my face. Slowly, they melt, merge into droplets, and stream down my face as tears—heavenly tears, happy tears. Beyond seeing and feeling these snowflakes, I must taste them. I extend my tongue and simply wait as snowflakes land and melt. Fresh, sweet water.
I study these large snowflakes as they land on my gloves. It was Snowflake Bentley in Jericho, Vermont who studied and photographed snowflakes about 100 years ago… claiming that every snowflake is different from all the others. Amazing.
Usually, during an ascent from rain into snow, one expects a band of freezing rain or sleet, with a resulting slippery trail, causing one to turn around. This is not the case now, for this new blanket is not at all slippery. No doubt, this quick change in the weather in the area is due to one or two possible factors: I am ascending into pre-existing colder layers of air; or more importantly, layers of colder moisture-laden air are moving rapidly into my area—perhaps just a few hundred feet above me. Winds have a laminar flow, layered like water in pipes or streams, like blood in arteries and veins.
There is no wind in my immediate world. The thinning forest, now primarily black spruce and balsam fir, falls silent, for the snowflakes are like sponges that absorb sounds. The only sounds are of my footsteps on the new-fallen snow. The gloom and darkness of the rain is now quickly transforming into the joys and brightness of a winter wonderland, and so early in the season. What is it about the first snowfall of the season that captures one’s attention and emotions? For me, the lure of alpine skiing and winter hiking trails, including the circuitous trails over treacherous glaciers, have been a major part of my life.
Snowflakes, marvelous snowflakes: I’m back!
In Celtic myths the legendary hunter is lured into the unknown, forbidden forest to track and bag the largest stag he had ever seen. Are these millions of marvelous snowflakes falling on a mountain trail the “call to adventure” for me? Am I entering an unknown world of wonder, even danger, as the lure of snowflakes turns my simple hike into a mythic quest?
Ascending rapidly up the trail I notice that the snow is deeper and in places crusty. I am entering a zone of snow from previous snowfalls. I am now about one hour underway on Lion Head trail as I reach the “Lion’s forehead.” Here the gentle winter wonderland changes abruptly. Roaring in from the west, over the rim of Tuckerman’s Ravine, and carrying an increased amount of snow, high winds slam into my face.
It’s decision time: turn back down the steep Lion Head Trail or continue on. In less time that it takes to turn around, I realize that I know, from previous hikes, an established shortcut trail from Lion Head Trail that will get me sooner to the Alpine Garden Trail so I can complete my new plan to hike to the Auto Road and home.
Comments