I arrived in the lot at 9am. I was across the bridge over the River Saco and on the well-tracked hiking trail at the base of Mt. Webster a few minutes later. I had taken the time to sight a landmark (a giant, "y"-shaped gully across Rt. 302) opposite the route, and a small col on the ridge above it, to keep my bearings. Brian and I had done Landslide and Shoestring Gullies, to Horseshoe's left and right, respectively. The approaches were somewhat of a grunt, but we'd somehow managed to ferret out the correct way onto the routes. It was of paramount importance that I do same.

Well, so much for that.

I could just barely make out the upper section of Horseshoe above me as I moved through dense trees on the lower trail at the base of the mountain. I looked and looked for tracks cutting left and up, but found none. Looking up to my left was incredibly thick snow and brush piled high atop mini-ridgelets. There seemed to be no good way up. If there was a way. I decided to press on a little further right on the approach trail to see if perhaps there might be tracks heading up and left.

And, sure enough, about 50 feet later, there were. There were tracks. And I was roughly opposite the col, and the Y-Gully across the road. So I went up. And I grovelled like you wouldn't believe. And after some considerable amount of time, I finally found myself heading up and left, left, left. Which was good. Great, even. Except now... Now I'm going very, very sharply right. This is the opposite of good.

And now.

Now.

Now I am on Shoestring Gully. I am, yes, very far right of where I need to be. And I am surrounded by about seven other parties of 2-3 climbers each. I do not belong here. I retreat. Vaguely disgusted.