No Way, No How
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Gothics, with the route True North in view. We thought we saw ski tracks, but if anyone had skied it, they'd come up another way.
James and I suddenly found ourselves in chest-deep (at least for me, being the tiny man I am) snow and were forced to put the skis on, even though the terrain, steeply up and down and littered with trees, made it nearly impossible to move reasonably. We had lost the trail, or so it seemed, and we wandered around, looking for the best way through the growth, knowing that just a few feet to our right or left we'd find ledges or slabs and a steep drop. We flopped around on our skis a bit, looking for a practical way, losing time, all the time. I think I said it first, but there was no hesitation. Me: "Turn around?" James: "Yep." And so we did. No regrets. Now we had to retrace our route back over to Lower Wolfjaw, where we could take the trail down to the JBL and hopefully ski out as far as possible to SR73. Once there, we'd have to walk back to the trailhead to Roostercomb. We were determined to get it done by dark. It was around 12.30pm. We forced ourselves to skin as far as we could, which wasn't very far - back to Armstrong's summit. |
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