This weekend FH and I did a back country ski trip up to the
Jackal Hut. He has a friend who was invited to go but couldn't make it, so on Tuesday we decided to take his spots.
FH did some research and determined it was a 4 1/2 mile ski in. Looking at the topo it was obvious that it was a steep climb to the hut but we both assumed there would be a lot of switch backs since the trail up follows a road.
We got to the parking lot before most of the other people going to the hut (it was a group of 12 friends and us). Since the group was composed mostly of 25 year old guys we decided to head up to the hut while they waited for a few stragglers because, as FH said "we're old and slow".
The first mile or so of the route crosses a fairly flat plain, with no challenges except for having to go down a hill, cross a creek, and get up the other side without falling into the drink. I managed that with no mishaps and FH said "well, that's the hardest thing we're going to do today".
As we started up the mountain FH was still joking about how we'd be at the hut in 2 hours and then I would say "when are we going to do some skiing?" It turns out, the approach to the hut was a grueling 5.67 miles, not 4 1/2. And there were no switchbacks. It was just straight up. And up. And more up.
The group of 12 finally caught up with us, and then passed us. I realized that not eating breakfast and not tapering off on the distance I've been doing every day on my tread mill was a huge mistake. Also, I was wearing a 25 lb backpack (I weigh 115 lbs, so it doesn't seem like much just reading the weight, but to me it was a a lot of weight). I realized that my clumsy skiing got even worse with the backpack. The sun would come out and make us hot and two seconds later the snow would be blowing so hard that we couldn't see more than a few feet ahead.
We finally caught up with the group, who had stopped for a snack. I was exhausted. When one of the guys said "well, we're about half way there" I thought he was joking. I threw the pack down on the ground and sat on it, crushing 3 of the 6 little creamer packs FH had packed in our food bag. I felt them breaking but to be honest didn't care.
The trail went on and on, to the point where I was ready to just throw the pack on the ground, crawl into my sleeping bag, and wait to die. I have only once in my life ever felt the effects of altitude but I realized that was what was happening to me, on top of bonking, and having two inflamed hip flexors from walking too much on my tread mill (I thought, initially, that the skiing would make them feel better - WRONG).
After hours of just struggling to move forward we went around a bend and...there was the hut! Finally! And wouldn't you know it, we had to go up one last hill to get to it. I was like "FUCK YOU HILLS!"
I got to the porch, sat on a bench, contemplated puking, and then remembered we had beers and rallied enough to walk into the hut.
It ended up being a great weekend, and we beat the group record back to the car (they said 2 hours, it took us one). The ski down was epic because the snow had consolidated in the warm weather Sunday and iced over. I felt like one of those luge sleds in the olympics. Surprisingly, I only hit one tree.
Some pictures:
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| Jackal Hut - it's awesome!!! |
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| View from the porch, including the hill you have to ski up, at sunset |
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| Survived a short ski Sunday - my blisters from Jackson are back |
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| the fun hog, and me, in the back, probably trying to figure out how to get my mitten through the strap on my ski pole |
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| following tracks and trying to protect my blisters |
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you can see 6 fourteeners from the Jackal Hut
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