Adventures in Dehydration and Hypothermia

The anticipation of a day of skiing on Saturday is the light at the end of the tunnel for the average work week. As it worked out, it flickered and went black for this particular cyclonaut on a recent backcountry excursion.

A day of riding chairs and hiking at Winter Park/Mary Jane was quickly shelved as the good Dr. Moon requested we join him at the Herman Gulch Trailhead for a little tour to access the goods. The stars seemed aligned as traffic was light on I70 and we arrived in a timely manner fully caffeinated and ready to go. The always opinionated Cheseux shared his thoughts on cold toilet seats and DOT workers having to remove frozen stalactites of feces and Santorum. With that in mind, we were off. After the first half hour, it became obvious that Dr. Moon and his trusty sidekick, Ruby, were better suited to breaking trail. (Most likely due to the lack of a significant other, this as we all know, makes you fat and slow.)

About this same time, I noticed that the hose from the camelback bladder in my backpack was starting to freeze. While always a possibility, there are steps you can take to avoid this becoming an issue. In this case, these efforts were for naught and the hose was frozen solid one hour into a four hour backcountry tour. Given the amount of sweat I was producing, I knew that couldn’t be good.

As our ascent continued, the snow conditions we could expect became more apparent. The constant wind had packed down or blown away any new snowfall making our climb easier but didn’t bode well for the descent. We topped out on a ridge and took abuse from the wind as Cheseaux and I removed our skins and Dr. Moon sought shelter lower down the ridge.

We caught up to review the possible lines and decided that common sense dictated we move further down the ridge to try to access the glades in hope that the wind had not affected the snow as dramatically as it had above timberline. The traverse across the ridge entailed leaning into the stiff breeze that wanted to push us down the couloirs we were above. Ruby was moving as far sideways as she was forward with every bound down the ridgeline. Eventually we were above a nice gladed area that we had looked at while climbing and started a more direct attack of the fall line. The first several hundred feet of vertical was sustainable crust due to the intense wind but eventually the condition changed into creamy untracked boot deep powder. Powder, glorious, powder. All the effort for 500 feet of perfect turns. Worth it? Every time.

However, the effort of the ascent had taken its toll on your author. Soaked in sweat and dehydrated resulted in a loss of feeling in my hands and hallucinogenic visions. A quick pit stop halfway down the descent to attempt to hydrate and eat something had the effect of a band aid on a bullet hole. While I was able to enjoy the powder to the fullest, following the skin track down through the trees was a challenge unlike any other. (Note: Aspen hurts worse than pine.) My last fall while trying to climb over deadfall and a stream at the same time while wearing skis had me contemplating a nap while lying on a snowdrift in the middle of the water. Did someone say bonk?

We arrived back at the car where I proceeded to lie down on the front seat of the Deuce while trying to stop shivering and get enough feeling back in my hands to drive back to Boulder. It took about half an hour and a couple of Paul Newman’s Organic version of Oreos.