Day 2 of the ice cap traverse

The mountain let out a ferocious roar. I looked up in time to see huge chunks of ice peel off a glacier to my left and tumble down the polished cliff face below. I felt awe, and an awful, ominous sense that a long, difficult journey lay before us.

We arrived at a steep snowfield, switchbacked up and then came to a rock face. The climbing on the rock face wasn't exceptionally difficult ... I'd certainly scrambled up more technical routes without a rope before ... but the exposure was serious. One wrong step and ... I shuddered at the thought.

The wind gusted fiercely, threatening to knock me off balance without notice. My pack toppled, top heavy, from side to side. My heart thudded, numb with fear. We moved carefully, methodically. The intensity of the situation showed in the terse way we talked to one another. "No" "Stand Up" "There" "Wait" "Go."

We eventually reached the top of the rock outcropping and I took a huge sigh of relief. That relief was short lived. The glacier-caked pass, named Macaroni, that opened into Patagonia's southern ice cap met us with a bulldozer of wind. Gusts came like a freight train, determined to plow everything in its path. At times, all we could do was dig our crampons and poles into the ice with as much force as we could muster, hunch over and pray for mercy. Little pieces of ice, caught by the wind, pelted us relentlessly. I grit my teeth, determined not to dwell on just how ridiculous, just how terrible the situation had become.

We only had 3 miles of fairly flat walking to go to get to a hut built by the Chilean government. There we would find refuge from the weather that tormented us, but our pace had slowed to a near crawl, and I knew we still had a long trudge ahead of us.

We roped up as a precaution for crevasses. Miraculously, the wind stopped just long enough for us to tie the rope to our harnesses. In a line, we continued toward the hut. One step, two step. I thought about Cory, Zippy and Oscar snuggled up at home, at the base of the Tetons. I thought about the last 13 grueling miles of the Leadville 100. I thought about the grit and perseverance my parents showed ... and wondered whether they'd ever again go along with one of my ideas for an expedition. I thought about the whole damn experience is a state of mind ... and I could either choose to hate it or choose to enjoy it. I could choose to focus on the wind, my fogged up sunglasses, the fact that I had to go to the bathroom but had a harness on ... or I could focus on the fact that I put on enough layers and felt warm, I still had strength enough to continue ... and here I was finally living my dream of going to Patagonia's ice cap.

I started to bonk. My stomach gurgled with hunger. I fought against the wind to get my mitten off. When I finally got it off, I clutched it tight with my armpit. With liner gloved providing measly protection against the weather, I moved quickly to unzip a pocket and pull of a package of sport jelly beans. At first I couldn't get the package open, but with sheer determination and my two front teeth, I finally pulled it apart. I gulped those sports beans down like my life depended on it ... and in some ways it did.

Still starved I began to think about the alfajor, an argentine chocolate and dulce de leche pastry, in my other pocket. Once the alfajor entered my mind, it wouldn't leave, until it was in my mouth. Clumsily I got to that alfajor and ate it in two bites ... all the while walking roped up, over a glacier, in driving winds and total whiteout conditions.

One of our guides, Luciana, caught up to me to ask me to put her water bottle away ... she got thirsty in the way that I got hungry. I suggested we get everyone's attention to take a quick food and water break. I was sure my parents needed calories as badly as I did. We stopped for two minutes. We huddled together in a feeble attempt to keep our gorp from flying right off the palm of our hands. We considered it a success that about half the gorp from the ziplock bag made it into our mouths.

One long, endless hour later we arrived at a heavenly place ... a metal structure perched on a dark moraine. There the ice that plastered our clothes and faces melted, and with it our nerves. Hot tea, laughter and rest were but a prelude to the perfectly sunny weather window that would allow us to traverse seamlessly across the ice cap in the days ahead.

Grit, glaciers and stunning landscapes

Wow! What an adventure! It took us six spectacular and grueling days to complete the traverse on the Southern Ice Cap here in Patagonia. My parents are amazing ... the grit and determination they showed through demanding terrain and ferocious weather will be long remembered.

It´s hard to know where to even begin ...

Maybe with the highlights ... camping in the cirque, a spot on the ice cap where we had a spectacular view of the back of Cerro Torre and seemingly a thousand other glaciers and peaks, spilling down from 360 degrees ... waking up to a perfect weather window, sunny skies signaling us the go ahead of the traverse ... gaining the top of windy pass, without so much as a ripple on the surface of the alpine lakes, and looking back at the ice cap and the many miles we covered the two days prior ...  seeing green and camping in a forrest after several days of surviving in the land of ice and polished rocks ... drinking home-brewed beer and eating fresh salad to celebrate our successful trip last night here in Chalten.

Then there were the high-lowlights, as we´ve coined the phrase ... crossing a waist deep glacial river ... so icy and roaring so fast that was all wanted to cry, or cuss, or both at the same time ... feeling a momentary sense of relief when we climbed off an exposed rock face onto the ice field, only to be greeted by 50 mph winds, total white out conditions, and ice pelting us as if 7,000 beebee guns were firing our direction (in that moment I definitely found myself thinking, "what the hell are we doing?" and "who had this hellish idea to make this trip? (for the record, it was my idea)) ... fortunately there was a hut built by the Chilean government on the ice cap where we were able to take refuge that night ... if that wasn´t there we certainly would have had to retreat. At the end of the two-day ice cap crossing came the morrain, loose rock, scree and boulders piled haphazardly in huge mounds ... for two days we scrambled our way across this terrain that took more of a toll than the ice itself.

Now, as I sit here in a warm, dry Internet cafe, while whipping wind and relentless rain lash the windows ... the whole experience feels a bit dreamlike. It's amazing that we actually walked ourselves into and out of that type of landscape. My parents showed such perservance and grit, and our guides, Jorge and Luciana, are amazing, selfless, knowledgeable, tough humanbeings who guided our way with deft determination and skill.

I hope to get as few photos up on this blog soon ... afterall, as the saying goes, a photo is worth a thousand words ... and in fact, some of the photos we have may be worth 100,000 words.

Signing off from Chalten, Argentina,

Amy

Empanadas and palabras

We touched down in Buenos Aires this morning, arriving to inviting 77 degree summer weather. Coming from frozen Jackson Hole, the landscape felt remarkably green and lush. I basked in the life and vigor ... the buzz ... people parked in small grassy spots to hang out for the afternoon to drink mate ... families walking along the river ... children splashing in swimming pools ... ahh, beautiful summer.

A few hours and one taxi ride later, we were at the domestic airport in Buenos Aires, leaving the warm bluesky day for the overcast, exotic landscapes of southern Patagonia. As our plane circled in for a landing, I couldn't help but think that we were landing on a different planet. Deep aqua blue lakes and rivers punctuated an otherwise very brown and barren landscape. Low clouds obscured the jagged peaks and grinding glaciers tumbling out of the distance.

The trip went with out hitch ... suprising since it started out with a canceled flight, because of a blizzard that pummeled Jackson Hole the night before I left. Good people at United Airlines got me rebooked on new flights, put me upfront in exit row seats so that I could make my tight connections, and put a priority tag on my luggage ... so that everything showed up in Buenos Aires.

Four flights later ... and here I am ... not in a foriegn land, but a familiar land. From empanadas to palabras ... I innately get this country. That honorary Argentine citizenship my friends bestowed on me last time I was here never left the fibers of my being. At every turn I'm delighted ... to rediscover Toro, a grapefruit soda that I love ... to pass a museum in Buenos Aires where I saw a particularly memorable art showing ... to listen to the cadence and candor of Castellano, the Argentina version of Spanish.

Here I am, back in beautiful Argentina.

Signing off with happiness and love,

Amy

Into the great dark yonder

(Here's the latest installment of my Excursions column, which runs every other week in the Jackson Hole News&Guide)

By Amy Schenck

For a fleeting moment as my car rumbled up Ski Hill Road toward Teton Canyon, I questioned my sanity.

It was two days after the winter solstice, the clock read 6:30 a.m., and not even a hint of morning sunshine lingered on the horizon. 

Instead, snow wisped in front of my windshield, reminding me that it was indeed the middle of winter.

I had planned to go to a 6 a.m. cardio and strength class and then go running afterward, with the first light of day.

But the fitness class got canceled for lack of students and my run got bumped up an hour.

Coming from Alaska, running in the dark and snow doesn’t much faze me. Up north, when the sun rises at 10 a.m. and sets by 4 p.m. this time of year, often my wintertime option was to get out in the dark or not get out all.

Sometimes I would run at 5 p.m., sometimes at midnight, sometimes at 5 a.m. … the time didn’t really matter, the landscape in the beam of my headlamp remained unchanged.

But on this Dec. 23 day in Alta, Wyoming the big difference from my previous running forays is that I lacked a headlamp.

Hoping ambient light and good eyesight would be enough to get me by, I parked at the beginning of the road to Teton Canyon.

I decided that it would be a good idea to warm up on the half mile of plowed road before it dead ended in a parking lot. After that, I knew the going would get much tougher, as the slog continued over snowmobile tracks.

With dogs Zippy and Oscar, we set out in the dark. I ran right down the center of the road, feeling my way forward. Zippy and Oscar frolicked in the woods, thrilled by the fresh snow that fell overnight.

Several minutes later, the drivable portion of the road ended. Unable to make out the path through the snowbank circling the parking lot, I followed Zippy and Oscar step for step, using them as beacons to find my way.

Now, on the groomed portion of the trail, I zigzagged back and forth, seeking out firm ground under my feet.

I knew it would be easier to run over the path compacted by snowmobilers; I also knew it was good manners to avoid tracking up the skate ski path. But without vision, it took some trial and error to get on the right track.

I laughed thinking about the folks who would ski, walk and sled down Teton Canyon later in the day. Surely, they would think a drunk or a lunatic, or both, had made the footprints in the snow.

I plodded along, trying not to dwell on the soft, sand-like surface under my feet. Gradually, morning sunbeams lit up the snowscape around me.

Alone in this frozen world, a peace settled in me.

My body churned out heat, fighting off the ice crystals clinging to my cheeks.

A few times I thought about turning around before reaching the end of the 4-mile canyon, telling myself the conditions were just too slow going.

I reminded myself to be patient, to just put one foot in front of the other.

My mind wandered.

I rounded a corner.

Surprised, I found myself at the parking lot that services Table Mountain in the summer.

I looped around and began the plod back to my car.

On my way, I ran into a volunteer out grooming the trail.

We chatted for a few minutes, commenting on the beauty of the place and the morning. That groomer was the only person I encountered the whole two hours I was out.

The return trip went seemingly much faster. While the downhill grade and sunlight probably helped, I suspect this was mostly because I had settled into a rhythm, and was no longer counting each step.

Soon I was back at my car, and by 9 a.m. I was in Driggs, ordering at extra hot Irish cream latte and a raspberry cheesecake pastry, with the whole day still before me.

Columnist Amy Schenck is perplexed by the lack of winter trail runners in these parts. Finding a packed down path in the mountains more than a mile or two long is no small feat. Amy Schenck’s columns appear in the News&Guide every other week.

Double the Christmas

Cory and I had a fantastic first Christmas together ... and to make it even better we got double the Christmas ... a full 48 hours.

Let me explain ... I was supposed to work at ski school on Christmas Day, so we bumped up all our holiday celebrations up by 24 hours ...

We celebrated Christmas eve on Dec. 23 by making a fantastic Indian pastry filled with potatoes, veggies and delicious spices (see photo #1 below).

On our first Christmas Day (Dec. 24) we opened up gifts, made eggs benedict, climbed Oliver Peak for a backcountry ski, and returned home to perfectly marinated, perfectly grilled elk steaks.

On real Christmas morning, I woke up early, drove to ski school, learned the big east coast snow storms with all their aviation hang-ups meant substantially less kids than anticipated and got sent home. It was a gorgeous bluebird day, and Cory and I headed to Teton Canyon to skate ski. We had such a good time that after finishing Teton Canyon's eight miles of groomed trails, we headed to the Alta Loop for an additional half hour of skate skiing. Some folks refer to this twofer as the "Altathon," named because both tracks are in the town of Alta. I'm now totally hooked on skate skiing ... all it took was finally experiencing the sport in the right conditions (see a few posts below).

Cory and I spent our second Christmas dinner with his friends ... enjoying a Thanksgiving type spread ... my third of the holiday season, since my friend hosted a Thanksgiving dinner on Halloween as well.

Cory got me a backcountry ski pack with an Avalung for Christmas ... one I've had my eye on for quite a while ... what a guy!

Skiing 25 Short

In mid-December JB and I went out to ski some super light, springy, soft and downright fun snow in Grand Teton National Park. We climbed up and descended a mountain face called "25 Short," named for the fact that it's 25 feet short of 10,000 feet. We met super early, leaving up plenty of time to finish the day with a beer and pizza at Dornan's, a restaurant in the national park with amazing picture windows that look out over the whole of the Tetons. Here's a few images from the day.

JB cuts a skin track up the mountain

My new skis. I'm in love! I even told Cory he's lucky I'm sleeping with him and not my new skis. As a fellow skier, he took that comment as a compliment. They're the Icelantic Nomads with 22 Design Axl tele bindings.

We spent about an hour digging a pit to look at snow stability. There were a few questionable layers, but all in all this season as produced a fairly stable snow pack!

Tons of wind and snow on top ... not the type of weather you hang out in

The Grand Teton is behind me ... but obscured by the clouds

Yummy powder

25 short is that peak in the background

Thanksgiving photos

Here's some photos from Thanksgiving. Cory, Zippy, Oscar and I drove to CO to visit my family. Brad and Meg flew in from Washington, so we had the whole crew. On Thanksgiving Day several more family and friends showed up at my parent's house for an all out feast. The long weekend was wonderful ... full of laughter, good food and a few fun forays into the mountains.

Note: I realize this post is sorely overdue, but better late than never right? My excuse for the total neglect of this blog is two fold: amazing early season snowfall (meaning amazing early season skiing) and falling in love. That's a demanding combination.



To download any of these photos or view them larger, click here.