Wanderlust

When it rains, it pours

Crisis in Cascade Canyon

This past weekend, George and I packed up the truck and headed up to the Tetons for a weekend of camping and hiking with our friend, Reed. This was a celebratory trip for Reed who has just turned the terrifying age of 30 and thought some grandiose scenery would help him feel less ancient.

Some of you will recall that the Tetons are a place of nostalgia for George and I since we got engaged in Cascade Canyon in the Tetons in 2001. We were on our cross country camping trip in our old Jeep, Bessie. When we arrived in the Tetons, we'd just come from Yellowstone and hadn't showered in nearly four days. We got a late start and took the ferry across Jenny Lake to the famed Cascade Canyon. We hiked the seven plus miles up to Lake Solitude and after George's proposal in the canyon, it wasn't just the altitude high we were feeling. We didn't reach Lake Solitude until after 3pm and since the last ferry across the lake was 6pm, we knew we had to hustle back down to the dock. It began to rain and we ran most of the distance back but still missed the boat and had to hike an additional two miles around the lake. When we reached our truck, we were exhausted and decided to pack it in and head for a hotel in Jackson. We forked out the expensive room fee and ordered pizza. I think the ring of dirt we left in the tub that evening probably remains today.

Fast forward six years, twenty pounds heavier and add a toddler. When we arrived in Jenny Lake campground in the dark, Reed had already secured us a campsite. We set up the tent via lantern light and as we snuggled down for the night, a thunderstorm rolled in. When we woke the next morning, it was still raining and the skies promised more ominous weather. For the rest of the day we struggled to stay dry, driving up Signal Mountain and even spending time in the visitor center. When we arrived back at camp we hustled to prepare dinner as another storm approached and were just able to finish up dishes when the wind ripped through camp. Owen and I cowered in the truck while George and Reed attempted to keep the tarp up, soaked and wind blown. They finally gave up when a furious wind blew the tarp aloft and it fell again as George was raising the pole, ripping a huge tear in the center. We drove to Jackson searching for a camping supply store but everything was closed except Kmart, which supplied nothing of the sort.

The next morning dawned without precipitation and the fog burned off and even promised some sun. We had checked the weather and with only a 30% chance of rain for the evening, decided to proceed with our plans to hike up Cascade Canyon. We got something of a later start than we'd hoped and by the time we ferried across Jenny Lake, it was a bit after 10. We had Owen in the carrier, plenty of water in our camelback and bottles (over five liters), and rain gear and extra clothes, hats, etc.

I took the first shift with Owen and we were able to make good time up the initial steep climb to Inspiration Point, an outlook above Jenny Lake at the mouth of Cascade Canyon. The skies were dotted with just a few clouds as we proceeded into the canyon. I continued to pack Owen up the gradual incline until we reached the fork just past noon. With only another 2.7 miles to go to Lake Solitude, George took over carrying Owen and we continued into the depths of the canyon, surrounded by amazing alpine terrain, dotted with wildflowers and jagged mountains dramatically towering over the valley floor. Waterfalls tumbled down the steep slope sides and the while the clouds gathered, they seemed to float past without much more than a fat drop or two of rain. George began to struggle with the altitude and for the last mile or so, we slowed to a crawl. By the time we were half a mile from the lake, it was past 2:30pm and we knew we had to make a decision about whether or not to turn around. We were reluctant to give up the lake's quiet beauty but we weren't eager to repeat the experience of the extra two miles around the lake in the dark.

Another twenty minutes yielded the lake around the curve of a forested patch of alpine fir. We stayed a brief ten minutes to enjoy the success of our climb and then began to pack it back down the canyon, rushing to meet the last ferry. I took the first shift carrying Owen again, although my shoulders were still aching from the ride up. I'm a strong climber with sturdy ankles and I enjoy building up a lot of speed going back down. I'm a sure footed hiker as well and so I didn't hesitate to break out of the pack and move ahead. The skies began to darken and cloud but ahead they seemed clear and it looked like if I just made it a mile or so out, we would escape the storm. Owen was babbling happily in the back as we bumped and tumbled down through the valley.

As we rounded a turn and approached a rocky rise, a wall of wind raced around the corner and nearly knocked me flat. Owen screamed as a volley of icy hailstones pelted us and the wind knocked the hat from his head. I ran for the cover of the forested patch we had just passed through a minute or two before. Owen continued to cry and gasp and when I reached the cover of the trees, I threw the pack off my back and simply laid myself across him. The icy hail and rain soaked through me in a matter of seconds and the storm continued to rage. George and Reed were nowhere in sight and I didn't know where the rain gear was, so I simply held tight to Owen, trying to keep him under the carrier awning and close to my chest to protect him from the soaking rain. He had stopped crying and his chest just heaved silently every once in awhile as he tried to avoid the hailstones pelting us. After a several minutes with no sign of the storm breaking, I looked for deeper cover and moved the carrier there, continuing to shield him with my back to the storm. The hail calmed and stopped but the icy rain continued.

George and Reed arrived in the forested cove and helped me fish out rain gear and cover Owen's carrier with an emergency poncho. He was relatively dry despite the ordeal of the storm and only slightly frightened. We assessed the situation and quickly made a decision. As long as Owen seemed out of danger and mostly dry, we would continue down the canyon as quickly as possible. We were sure the storm would break soon and if we hustled, we could still catch the last ferry across Jenny Lake.

For the next two hours, the nightmare continued. Although the wind calmed and there was no more hail, it rained steadily. The temperature was frigid and we could see our breath hanging in the air. Owen was mostly dry except for his feet and pants, which were tucked under the carrier but without protection. The rest of us were soaked and chilled to the bone, but the need to get to the safety of the boat dock propelled us forward. I lead the charge down, packing Owen all seven miles in the rain, stumbling and tripping through puddles and over rocks, until my feet were swimming in water inside my boots. We would wait periodically so that George and Reed in shorts and plastic ponchos, could catch up and check on Owen. When we made it back to the fork by 4pm, Owen was beginning to look chilled and he was making fussy little noises as he drifted in and out of sleep. It continued to rain and we re assessed the situation. We had four or more miles to go in less than two hours in the rain and because the incline was gradual we couldn't count on the momentum to lend us speed. The only other choice was to stop, get Owen in some extra dry clothes and try to find some cover. But we were all soaked and taking him out of his carrier would chill him and expose him to the elements. And if we stopped for long, we'd miss the safety of the ferry and face either hiking wet and cold around the lake in the dark or being trapped out in the elements all night with no protection. While there was still a chance, we had to make that ferry.

After we made the fork, we never saw another hiker, either going up or down. I raced ahead, at one point catching my foot on an outcropping rock in the trail and sending a pulsing pain through my toe and up my leg. I barely felt it as I continued to plummet down, focused only on getting to Inspiration Point. When I finally reached the mouth of the canyon and saw the ferries tracing a path across the lake, I cried with relief. I began screaming for George, who was afraid something had happened to us and ran the distance to get to us. Close on his heels came another hiker, in his late forties and in good shape, returning from a longer hike and also trying to reach the ferry. When he realized our desperate situation, he hauled out his cell phone but was unable to get a signal. Reed, cold and exhausted, was nowhere in sight. George offered to wait at the point for him while the rest of us ran down. It as 5:45pm and the last ferry leaves at 6pm. It was still a mile down to the boat dock, a steep descent over wet, slippery rocks.

The veteran hiker ran down the slope, but I wasn't far behind. Owen was upset about having to leave Daddy behind again and called out for him in a mournful voice. I was only 200 yards from the dock when my left knee began to give out and a cramp seized up my right calf. I limped down the path and saw the ferry still at the dock and the driver just beginning up the path, looking for us. I jumped on board, set Owen's carrier down and tried not to cry like a baby. It was raining in earnest again and although Owen wanted desperately to be soothed, I knew I couldn't take him out of the carrier. I was soaked and any contact with me would chill him immediately and put him in danger. George appeared not far behind but there was no sign of Reed. We waited several minutes, but the driver insisted he had to go back and get us all to the dock, where help and blankets were waiting. George took my rain gear and got off the boat, planning to wait for Reed and walk around the lake together while Owen and I made it to safety. As the boat pulled from the dock and George started up the trail, he began to wave his arms wildly and Reed came in sight. The driver breathed a sigh of relief and turned the boat around.

After a windy, freezing trip across the lake during which Owen wailed like a banshee, we reached the comfort of the boat staff, who surrounded us with concern, blankets and hot chocolate. George went back to our camp site, picked up the truck, and drove it to the dock with the heater running full blast. It wasn't long before we were all in dry clothes, warm and comfortable and immensely relieved. We decided spending the night in a tent in the rain under our current condition was unthinkable and so we returned, limping and exhausted to camp and packed up. After several phone calls I was able to secure us a room at an exorbitant price in Jackson, although ten other hotels that I called insisted that every hotel in town was booked up. We googled the location and headed off, hungry and fatigued. After several wrong turns and a phone call, it became apparent the google directions were incorrect. We didn't reach the hotel until after 10pm. When the woman behind the counter said they had given us a free upgrade to a nicer room, I almost cried.

I called to order pizza from Pizza Hut but they said they had actually run out of pizza dough. RUN OUT. Of pizza dough! So we called Dominos and then took turns in the shower.

We escaped our brush with disaster narrowly and with some minor injuries. I broke my big toe on my right foot, or at the very least killed the toenail, which has turned black and is falling off while the rest of the surrounding flesh reddens and swells. We are still all so sore that getting up from a prone position illicits a grunt. Owen has been sleeping poorly and has been very clingy. Our friends, Lauren and Scott, watched Miles and Timber while we were away and they pooped every day and made an enormous area of stained carpet in the living room that I'm still working on cleaning. In the chaos of packing up camp, Reed accidentally told George to throw away the rain fly to his tent and I left Owen's favorite dirty, rain soaked REI hat up on the mountain. I think Reed and I destroyed a pair of pants in our descent, ripping out the backs of the leg hems. But the knowledge that it could have been so much worse is comforting and that despite our bumps and bruises, we are home. Thank goodness for that.

Posted by Kaz at August 21, 2007 10:27 AM