Day 48: Weminuche Wilderness Day Two

Mileage: 15.3 miles (781.5-796.8)

In the morning the only sounds to be heard were the clomp of snowshoes  and call of the Hermit Thrush, bringing me back to my days tromping through the woods of New Hampshire near the Dartmouth Organic Farm - there, every sight, sound, and smell was a new mystery to solve. We were following the silent coyotes, who had been active overnight. It's uncanny how well they stick to the trail, even when it's covered under a few feet of snow. Whenever I get lost, my first instinct is to follow the animal tracks. They know the easiest path along the divide.

As I tiptoed on the early morning crust, trying to avoid breaking through and expending precious energy with every step, I spotted some fox holes dug deep down into the snow. They, and other animals, create complex underground networks, complete with escape routes and deep dens beneath the snow. It's pretty hard to spot the foxes because they are well-adept to hearing low frequency sounds, including people clomping through the snow from miles and miles away. On the steep, south-facing slopes I walked like a bear on all fours to distribute my weight more evenly and avoid breaking through. It worked, but it was exhausting. I'm not a bear. 

By 6am the sun shines down on the glistening snow as it creeps over eastern horizon. We came upon a few more fox dens, as well as some holes dug by chipmunks and other smaller mammals. By mid-afternoon, we were on top of the great divide. For the first time in awhile, the trail actually stayed on the divide for an extended period of time, close to five miles. It made for easier walking because the snow was hard and windblown. We had to be careful where we stepped so we didn't knock off a cornice or trip and slip down the east or western slope. The views were totally epic, with white, puffy clouds dotting the sky around us. My jaw was perpetually dropped for the hours we spent on top, making our way across the ridge up and down, up and down.

The Knife's Edge wasn't far off, only a few miles, and we guessed which ridge it was. The razor headed off to the West? Or those hoodoos which headed northward? We couldn't tell, but we speculated with anxious energy, telling ourselves it really couldn't be any worse than anything else we'd already done. After all, this trail is for hikers, not mountaineers.

We found a bombproof container which once contained a summit log and restarted it with a fresh piece of paper and pen. We weren't sure why it was located where it was, with no obvious summit, but we thought it'd be fun to keep record of who had walked this ridge throughout time.

We decided to take an alternate route off the Ley map. Ley had noted that the Divide was 'passable' and perhaps a better option than going down through the bowls which could have high avalanche danger. At first it was okay, but as we got further on it was decidedly not 'passable'. As we descended off the steep ridge, Karma nearly tumbled down the snow slope, causing a mini-avalanche as he went. He kept his cool though and continued to lead us down. That day, Karma led pretty much all the business and did an amazing job staying calm and steady. I was happy to be hiking with him.

After we got down, we finally had a good view of the Knife's edge. Like many things on the trail, this was built up to be way worse than it actually was. By the looks of it, I could have named five sketchier moments we had in the last three days, or maybe even in the last three hours. That might be because we had been a bit 'creative' with the route, but there were even more dangerous things on the trail itself! We agreed that maybe in the summer it was scarier (this is rarely the case...) We chalked it up to another case of fear-mongering by folks who've never set foot on the trail.

Karma promised a friend he'd make them a snowman, so he did right on top of the divide.

Actually, the way down from the Knife's edge was way scarier than the ridge itself. A few very large avalanches had scoured the slope, one sliding all the way to the next cliff below. We took comfort in the fact that the slope had already slid and maybe it wouldn't again. In any case, I picked my way down as quickly as possible and Karma came behind. I felt the wet snow shift with each step, but luckily it held for us to get down to safety.

Karma climbing the Knife's Edge, it's not so bad.

We slept on another bed of spruce boughs. Poor trees. It was a great campsite, looking at the mountains, the moon, and back southward at the Knife's edge.

I'm decidedly posing here on the Knife's Edge.