VTOL
Yesterday at 0430, I was putting together the final bits and pieces of equipment for a day trip to Rainier to install (well, help install) a GPS sensor on Winthrop Glacier.
Today around 0300, our expedition leader dropped me back off at my apartment. From this you may conclude that it was a interesting sort of day trip, in the Chinese-proverb sense of the word, and so it was. Perhaps the primary driver of this interestingness was our plan to cover over 4000 vertical feet of height in just under two horizontal miles. Things started out well enough, but soon the sun began to soften the snow on the steep slopes. Our snowshoes constantly slide out from under us as we trudged upwards toward the sky.
Because of my habit of bicycling and walking a lot, and attending karate class twice a week, I occasionally flatter myself by thinking of myself as relatively physically fit. Going on this sort of trip with my fellow grad students always reminds me, in no uncertain terms, how relative that really is (not least because of all the discussions in the car about which multi-hundred-mile cross-country cycling trips are the most fun.) I was trailing behind from quite early in the hike, and ended up spending a lot of the day giving myself stern pep talks: don't complain, don't fall behind, you can do this, you'll be happy to have done it. One of the more experienced mountaineers introduced me to the concept of using a "rest step" when climbing--pausing with your knee locked every couple of steps, so that your muscles aren't working to support you 100% of the time. It was something of a lifesaver, both for its intended physiological purpose and because the step-counting gave me something to focus on besides how tired my legs were.
Despite the grueling nature of the hike up, the actual installation of the instrument went swimmingly, and the scenery around Camp Schurman was thoroughly stunning. Unfortunately, by the time we headed back it was 7:30 in the evening, and the slopes that had been so slushy when we hiked up had developed a hard-frozen crust that made walking and sliding both exceedingly difficult. The rest of the crew made it down on snowshoes, but my borrowed snowshoes proved to be a poor shape for the steepness and the snow conditions; I kept falling over. Finally I discovered that I could glissade (that's mountaineer-speak for "butt-slide") with comparative efficiency down sled-tracks that had been made earlier in the day, albeit not without considerable discomfort from the hard-frozen snow surface.
We made it back to the car around midnight and back to Seattle, as previously mentioned, a bit before three in the morning. Today I ache all over and can barely sit down due to the extended glissades, but it was a grand adventure and a nice confirmation that I can do these things if I put my mind to it. I do feel a bit guilty about slowing down the other hikers; I don't think I did so too much, and as my officemate pointed out someone's got to be the slowest, but even a little bit of delay might have made a difference in the snow conditions on the way back down. I'm never sure what the best balance is between taking on challenges and being realistic about my skill/fitness levels.
Today around 0300, our expedition leader dropped me back off at my apartment. From this you may conclude that it was a interesting sort of day trip, in the Chinese-proverb sense of the word, and so it was. Perhaps the primary driver of this interestingness was our plan to cover over 4000 vertical feet of height in just under two horizontal miles. Things started out well enough, but soon the sun began to soften the snow on the steep slopes. Our snowshoes constantly slide out from under us as we trudged upwards toward the sky.
Because of my habit of bicycling and walking a lot, and attending karate class twice a week, I occasionally flatter myself by thinking of myself as relatively physically fit. Going on this sort of trip with my fellow grad students always reminds me, in no uncertain terms, how relative that really is (not least because of all the discussions in the car about which multi-hundred-mile cross-country cycling trips are the most fun.) I was trailing behind from quite early in the hike, and ended up spending a lot of the day giving myself stern pep talks: don't complain, don't fall behind, you can do this, you'll be happy to have done it. One of the more experienced mountaineers introduced me to the concept of using a "rest step" when climbing--pausing with your knee locked every couple of steps, so that your muscles aren't working to support you 100% of the time. It was something of a lifesaver, both for its intended physiological purpose and because the step-counting gave me something to focus on besides how tired my legs were.
Despite the grueling nature of the hike up, the actual installation of the instrument went swimmingly, and the scenery around Camp Schurman was thoroughly stunning. Unfortunately, by the time we headed back it was 7:30 in the evening, and the slopes that had been so slushy when we hiked up had developed a hard-frozen crust that made walking and sliding both exceedingly difficult. The rest of the crew made it down on snowshoes, but my borrowed snowshoes proved to be a poor shape for the steepness and the snow conditions; I kept falling over. Finally I discovered that I could glissade (that's mountaineer-speak for "butt-slide") with comparative efficiency down sled-tracks that had been made earlier in the day, albeit not without considerable discomfort from the hard-frozen snow surface.
We made it back to the car around midnight and back to Seattle, as previously mentioned, a bit before three in the morning. Today I ache all over and can barely sit down due to the extended glissades, but it was a grand adventure and a nice confirmation that I can do these things if I put my mind to it. I do feel a bit guilty about slowing down the other hikers; I don't think I did so too much, and as my officemate pointed out someone's got to be the slowest, but even a little bit of delay might have made a difference in the snow conditions on the way back down. I'm never sure what the best balance is between taking on challenges and being realistic about my skill/fitness levels.