Virgin 'Shoes No More

See the rest of the pics here.

Finally! A year after I bought those pretty green Atlas 'shoes I actually got to strap them on and press the cleats into soft white snow. Oh, I know all the really cool kids get around the backcountry on their AT setups, but I still like snowshoeing a lot. Besides, I don't have an AT setup yet--perhaps this year, if the fates are kind. I figured this December though, even if I had to go all the way to Ashland to find snow. It turned out we only had to go as far as Shasta.

So the day after an unusually quiet (and therefore enjoyable) Evolution Day, we headed out to the gear shop to rent my brother a pair of shoes, since he traveled light from Vermont and decided to leave his at home. We then sat in the parking lot of the local bowling alley calling various ranger stations trying to find snow. We had originally though Lassen, in which Craig has spent far less time, but thought better of it at the last minute. The problem with Lassen is they close Hwy 89, and you never know if they will close it at the gate or at the impasse of snow. The last time I was there with Gustavo we went in the south entrance and managed to drive all the way up to the snow, which conveniently was at the old ski area. And it hadn't snowed in weeks, and it had been a little warm so the snow was crunchy and crappy, and then soft and shitty, but it was snow and we had the place to ourselves so up the road past Bumpas Hell we went, and had a good time. In any case, Craig and I were afraid of being stopped at the gate and having to hike endless miles of pavement before we saw any white stuff.

So we loosely settled on Shasta, thinking Avalanche Gulch and headed up the highway, stopping for inferior coffee (is there any other kind up there?) in Dunsmuir. As we neared Mt. Shasta, we saw that it was mired in a dark, ugly looking cloud--you couldn't see the summit at all. About this time Craig's girlfriend (who conveniently used to guide on Mt. Shasta) called him back and we settled on a place southwest of the mountain called Castle Lake.

We arrived at the trailhead and were delighted to find only one other car. We got out, gathered gear and packs and headed out toward the lake. We came through a thin copse of trees and I saw a huge, flat open space that looked like a meadow, except it was evenly flat like a meadow could never have been. Craig said that it was the lake. We saw people and a couple of dogs walking across the middle of it, and we gingerly stepped out and tested it. Frozen solid, covered with an couple inches of snow. We marvelled, not knowing it would get that cold at such a low elevation. Perhaps the lake is quite shallow?

We hiked around it to where the trail started and began climbing up the ridge to the east of the shore. Craig said if we gained the ridge to the south, we could pick up the PCT and have fantastic views of both the mountain and Black Butte, which sounded good to me, so we headed that way. At the saddle, we saw 4 guys also out on snowshoes and waved to them as they hiked past us, continuing east. We swung around west to gain that ridge just to the south of us. I made the mistake of taking my all-too-thin gloves off to take a picture, when the cold was already so intense my hands ached and throbbed. The fingers continued to get worse in the short slog up to the next saddle--we almost turned around and went down they started hurting so badly I began to feel sick to my stomach. In the short span of time (20 seconds?) it took my brother to re-don his fleece under his shell they opened up and felt fine, just a little achy. Go figure. I decided that he would be the one taking all the pictures from now on.

So at this point we decided to continue working our way around the perimeter of the lake instead, so we started heading down once we were traveling west. It was an intense sidehill at one point, and those of you who have done any snowshoeing know that they don't do sidehills well, to say the least. Fortunately for us, the snow was relatively fresh and soft--if it had been icy we would have been in big trouble. We made our way down to a cabin that turned out to be a research lab for the limnology department of UC Davis, and then checked out a small boat frozen in the lake ice by its dock.

As we walked across the lake toward the cars, we saw an ominous crack in the snow covering the ice near a snowless patch. As we stepped toward the patch to investigate further, we each heard a soft but sickeningly audible C-R-R-R-A-C-K. We looked at each other and backed away, gently but purposefully striding toward shore. As we approached we saw a little girl on tele skis being led by her dad on foot, and a wolf-like dog joyously running and tumbling across the lake while the girl's mum put on her skis.

It was a short outing, but a thoroughly satisfying one (except for the part about my frozen throbbing fingers). It reminded me all over again that I want to be in a place where such surroundings are an hour and change away so that I may indulge in them often. It strengthened my resolve (as did the palpable feelings of loathing as I drove further and further into the urban sprawl of LA on my trip home) that I need to put myself in a much smaller, slower place, as place where I can lead the simple and beautiful life I crave filled with wild outdoor places. It's those wild outdoor places that renew me and feed my soul. Slow, steady steps for now I guess--I know they will help me break trail to the summit of my dreams.