1/12/97 - The Loch, Rocky Mountain National Park, ColoradoClass 1 Snowshoeing/Skiing, Elevation at the Loch, 10,180ft (940 foot gain)Trekkers:
For the previous three days, Estes Park had been locked in a deep freeze — I’d just finished shoveling about 4" of snow off the driveway, and the temperature was about 15 below zero (F). Brrrr. My friend Ernie came by and mentioned that Dan was heading up into Glacier Gorge that afternoon, and asked if we wanted to go. At first, I thought he was joking since it was so cold (and it’s usually 5 degrees or so colder in the Park). Ernie assured me they were serious, and that Dan wanted to go up to The Loch. Dan and Ernie both use cross country skis, and I snowshoe. When I heard this, my desire to see the Loch for the first time in winter overcame any concerns I had about the cold. Plus, we’d had about 10" of new snow in the past couple of days, and I was thrilled at what the conditions must be in the Park at higher elevations. I got my gear together, then Ernie and I headed to the Park headquarters to meet Dan. We took Dan’s Subaru wagon since it was the only 4WD vehicle. Dan had taken the backseat out to hold his skis and stuff, so Ernie volunteered to lay/sit in the back with our gear. We left for the Glacier Gorge TH, arriving about 2:00pm. As we drove in, we saw that this area had really gotten dumped on! There was at least 2 feet of new snow since I’d been there on Jan 4. It was beautiful, still snowing, no wind (!), and about -12F. I wore Capiline long-john bottoms and tops, fleece pants, then wind pants over that; and on top, wore a fleece stretch shirt, a fleece vest, and my Solstice shell. A pair of wool socks and a second pair of Ultimax socks, combined with my Vasque hikers, and OR Gaiters kept my feet comfortably warm and dry all afternoon. The OR Windstopper fleece hat kept my head and ears very warm. I had a balaclava, but didn’t need it. We geared up and hit the trail a little after 2:15pm. I couldn’t believe how much snow there was. Many markers and wooden bridges were totally buried in snow. We headed up the trail and turned right to go up the drainage/winter trail. Dan and Ernie, both on skis (without skins) initially set a blisteringly fast pace, quickly leaving me behind. I was soon huffing and puffing, trying to keep up. Finally, they stopped so I could catch up, and I asked if we could slow down a bit since neither of them was named in my will anyway. The trail was beautiful with all the new snow and the conditions were just fantastic, despite the very cold temps. There was so much snow I sometimes barely recognized the features of the drainage, even though I’d been there many times this winter. The trees were just beautiful. The snow was falling straight down, and because there was no wind, the snow just stacked up on the branches, piling up in little cones and pyramid shapes. Many of the trees had a conical cap of snow on top. Sometimes, the snow from one cone would drift down onto the cone below it, forming a line of snow going up the tree. Really pretty and very unique. All it would take is one gust of wind to disturb these delicate formations. Though we’d slowed down, we were all working up a sweat, despite the temperature. We stopped near the top of the drainage so we could remove/rearrange layers, drink some water, and take a break. I was really sweating, even though huge globs of ice were forming on my beard and mustache. When I unzipped my shirt, I could see steam rising out of the opening! I told Ernie and Dan that this was the warmest I’ve ever been when it was this cold. Dan also stopped to apply some wax to his skis. The picture at right shows us standing there without hat and gloves in -10F degree weather. We were quite comfortable, though. Soon we headed on up the trail, passing the open area where we knew there was a hitching post, but it was totally buried by snow. Shortly after taking the trail branching up the Loch (rather than Mills Lake), Dan lead us off the main path to an area where he’d seen ice climbers the day before. Sure enough, 3 minutes up the trail, we saw a group of four climbers, with one of them rappelling down an ice formation. We then cut a new trail back to the main trail, going through knee-deep powder. As we started up the drainage to the Loch, we came up on this log with snow piled high on it. Amazing! The last stretch up this drainage is very steep and somewhat tough. This was probably the only time on the trek that I was really glad to be on snowshoes instead of skis, as Ernie and Dan fell behind me as they side-stepped up the trail. Just a few hundred feet later, we came to a snowcave someone had dug, and a bit farther up, was the snowcovered expanse of the Loch (frozen solid, of course). Because it was still snowing, visibility wasn’t very good, but the mountains around the lake made for a truly splendid scene. We stood at the edge of the lake for a few minutes, and then headed around it on a trail. Because there was no wind, the lake was covered in knee-deep snow, but when the winds whip up again, Ernie explained that the lake would be stripped of its snowcover right down to glare ice. After we’d walked around a bit, I suddenly had the crazy idea that we should go out onto the fresh snow on the lake and see how fast we could sprint across it. Though I later learned that Ernie thought I was joking, he sprinted out with me, but after a few steps, I pulled ahead (they say because of the superior flotation of my snowshoes; I say because of sheer physical strength <grin>). Ernie stopped suddenly, saying that my digital camera had fallen out of where he had it tucked into his coat. I saw the wool hat I’d wrapped it in, and both Dan and I pointed it out to Ernie, but Ernie could tell it wasn’t in there. It had fallen into the deep powder somewhere and there was absolutely no sign of it! We turned around and started backtracking, carefully poking into the snow with our ski poles. All the while, I’m mentally computing whether I could afford to lose it. Within a minute or two, Ernie located it. Fortunately, it was so cold that it didn’t get wet, and it was easy to blow/brush the snow off. We repacked it more carefully and continued. Continued to be silly by racing each other across the lake. Talk about strenuous. You can run, but you have to lift your legs so high to take a step. It would be exhausting to do this for very long. Surprisingly, the cold air didn't bother my lungs. After a couple more pictures, we cut back to the trail, and left the lake. We decided to take a break in the snowcave we’d seen earlier. Dan had been up here the day before and met the couple who’d dug the cave and then spent the night in it (in -20F temps!). The entrance had sagged down a bit, so we took our packs off and belly-crawled inside. It was a small cave, with barely enough room for the three of us to sit on the "benches" inside. It was much warmer though, probably 40 degrees warmer than just outside the cave! We sat there for a bit, talking about snowcaves and sipping on the coffee I’d brought. It was so warm we really didn’t even need gloves. After 15 or 20 minutes, we packed up and headed back down the trail. As I was packing my thermos and getting my snowshoes on, I left my gloves off too long, and my hands got really cold. It’s amazing how quickly your hands go numb at these temps. I ended up balling my hands into a fist inside my gloves, and walked down the trail with my poles tucked under my arm. It took about 20 minutes to get my hands back to normal. Going down the steep drainage section was almost otherworldly. The snow was powdery and almost mid-thigh deep. As I was coming down, I was creating a mini-avalanche which I was almost riding down in a semi-controlled way. I couldn't see my snowshoes at all, but managed to remain upright even though I was sliding down the cascading snow. Soon I developed a rhythm and it started to be kind of fun. Very strange though; kind of like swimming while standing. I felt like I was on another planet or something, because my form of locomotion was totally alien to my experience. I have to confess that the natural "high" of the trek was making me feel both joyful and somewhat goofy at the same time. Ernie and Dan skied down quickly and were always 3-5 minutes ahead of me. Every 15 minutes or so they would stop and let me catch up. The rest of the time, I was really alone on the trail. When I caught up to them, they’d ask how I was doing (I was the junior member, experience-wise, and had no experience with cold like this). Goofily, I’d reply, "Do I know you guys?" or "Isn’t the sky a beautiful shade of blue?" (it was totally overcast and snowing) or "Is it normal to be bleeding from the ears?". Soon I realized that if I were suffering from hypothermia, they wouldn’t be able to tell, because I was already acting as if my mind were half gone! It was pretty funny though. Well, maybe you had to be there. Later, I was walking down the trail and heard Ernie, above and behind me, call my name. I turned, and he was standing on a huge snow-covered boulder, about to go off it. I pulled the camera out and snapped it after he hit the snow below. The "splash" of the snow all but covered him up! At this point, the camera batteries were pretty much dead from the cold, so that was our last photo. We continued down the drainage and since it was almost 5:00pm, we didn’t have much light left. We made our way to the car, where Dan helped another group get one of their cars started by letting them use some starting fluid. Ernie and I had an argument about who would ride in the back of Dan’s Subaru (it was my turn), but Ernie managed to win by crawling in through the back before Dan unlocked my door. We drove back to my car at the Park HQ, then Ernie and I stopped by his store to help close up. A really great day! |
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Dan and
Ernie on a steeper section of the trail.
Ernie
crawling into the snow cave.
Mike,
looking slightly less goofy than normal.
