A couple years ago, or 5 months ago in Covid time, La Grande told me, in a fit of exasperated and weary anti-acceptance,
I just want to do something. I just want to go somewhere.
The conversation that followed resulted in a planned week-long trip to Wyoming, with BopOp, to meet Cousin Louie and hike to Mooney Meadows. We would continue the near-annual pilgrimage1 and continue working on extracting the airplane wreckage left near Howell Mountain in the Shoshone National Forest. Planning, exercise, beard-growing, equipment, and some hiking practice followed in imbalanced amounts.
1 (2016, 2017, 2018, 2019 was 'smoked out')
For LaGrande (and to some extent myself) this was going to be a dip into the deep-end of the pool. In our first (only) practice outing we learned a bit about elevation, snow & ice, and sun.
The day to leave came soon enough and, after driving straight through to Cody on a Saturday, we began our hike about 9:30 on Sunday morning. There was an air of excited anticipation and, admittedly, trepidation.
We were right to be anxious, the day grew hot and long, our feet grew tired, and we over-estimated just how far we could go in one day. ~30 min before sundown we made an abrupt stop roughly 1/4 mile from the top with JUST enough time to setup a ramshackle (and sloping) camp on the hillside in the trees.
This may have been the least comfortable nights ‘sleep’ in – maybe forever.
Our abused feet were needed, on a down-slope log, to keep us from squirting out of the tent; nearly the same as sleeping standing up. Around midnight I jammed my walking stick under my rear, like a wee ledge, so I could take weight off of my feet. If anyone ever claimed I had a stick up my butt, on this night at least, they would have been right. Every human on the slope that night couldn’t wait for light to come so we could keep moving.
When the light did come, without much water, we broke camp hastily and finished our ascent. The view was amazing allowing us to revel in our accomplishment, admire the sights, and discuss briefly what was ahead.
That is when some trouble started. Spoiler alert: it was our only real, or unexpected, trouble for the rest of the trip. First, a large ~40lb boulder, loosed above me, arrested it’s brief descent on my left thigh. That night I was convinced the pounding would, for sure, be a problem for the remainder of the week. Lasting injury never materialized and, in retrospect, the event looked a lot worse than it was. The same can probably be said for the second event a few short hours after the boulder when, tired and thirsty, LaGrande and I were completing the last few moments of our glacial descent. I lost my crampon-footing about 60 feet from the bottom and only finally arrested my descent with my feet, on the rocks, at the bottom.
The wreck reminded me of a 15mph bicycle accident, or perhaps jumping off a low roof. The ceremony lasted only a few seconds and I ended face-down in an icy cold creek with forty pounds of our ‘possibles’ holding me down. We took that lesson seriously and used our tools (crampons and ice-axes and lead line) more deliberately going forward.
For the next few days we acclimatized to the rigors and sights; remarkably cold water, rough sleep, tiring efforts, fast-beating hearts, glorious views, pretty flowers, and questionably-tasting (yet oddly satisfying) foodstuffs. Even made time for a few selfies.
Over two full days, and using the pulley system devised by BopOp for this 2020 trip, we raised nearly all of the scrap to the top of the glacier – there is only a fraction remaining in the meadow. Because we took an extra day coming in we exercised our option (planned flex day) to extend our stay one day. This decision gave us a bit of ‘time’ to consider other fun activities and plan our extraction. The plan included departing, up, and over the glacier with full packs; slow, tied in, deliberate, and fully fed. Once at the top we would stash the remaining raised pieces near the crest and then walk to Paradise Valley for our final night in the hills. This would leave only an easy 7 miles out the following day.
This penultimate act took many hours and we all notched our mettle by ascending the glacier with full packs and then hefting the remaining wreckage up the cliffs, by hook or by crook, to their temporary resting place in the small trees at the top.
We finished at the meadow by rolling some pesky rocks and then had a bite and a brief fight with the wind, and then eventually moved down to Paradise Valley.
Along the way, LaGrande finally got her wish; to see a bear at a distance. The rest of us only saw the verifiable bear sign on a tree.
Perhaps a mile from the end of the trail LaGrande laid to rest another bucket-list item for the trip – taking two shots with Cousin Louie’s 45 Colt Long. I took these stills from a slow-mo video – they tell the story just as well using less bandwidth.
We got off the trail about 4PM, feeling as good as ever, had an early dinner with Louie, made for the showers at the motel, had a (second) late dinner in Downtown Cody, hobbled (literally) around the closed up tourist area, and melted into a good nights sleep.
This may have been the most comfortable nights ‘sleep’ in – maybe forever.
The next day included a grocery-breakfast, some tourist-ing – paying a small homage to Jeremiah Johnson, and then a fair bit of driving.
We capped the drive with an entertaining search for a hotel in Coeur d’Alene, Idaho between 10-11PM. Needless to say we stayed in Spokane around midnight, had another deep recovery sleep, and then included some practice driving a stick-shift (#bucketlist).
We finally arrived home, safe and sound, by about 3PM on Sunday – 8 days in all.
blief 