walkswithblackflies
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Resident terrorist-supporting eco-freak bootlicker
Posts: 6,952
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Post by walkswithblackflies on May 19, 2016 5:38:51 GMT -8
To elaborate on my abridged version in the "109 mph Winds" thread...
There have been numerous times I've been out in bad weather, including: An early spring summit thunderstorm with hail and torrential rain that caused immediate snowmelt, forcing us to race the floodwaters down the mountain and valley Severe lightning storms in the Colorado Rockies A night of -40F temps Record-cold temps in the UT/AZ desert A flash flood that left me stranded for hours at Red Rocks (near Las Vegas) 5 straight days of heavy rain during a traverse attempt of the Adk High Peaks A derecho... en.wikipedia.org/wiki/New_York_State_Labor_Day_derechos
But I think the worst weather I've experienced was during a solo winter ascent of Mt. Democrat (CO) {Yeah, the TPA folks are getting a chuckle outta that}, with a night spent at the Kite Lake Campground (12,000'). First, I was sick. This actually relates to the story. Diarrhea at 13,500' sucks, no matter what anyone tells you. So I really didn't each much, which lowered my metabolism. Second, winds slowly but consistently picked up throughout the day. By early night, I wasn't sure my (new) tent, or I, would survive. Wind was actually driving microscopic snow particles through the zipper of my (4-season) tent, so it was effectively snowing inside my tent. That is, when the tent wasn't lying flat or smacking me in the head. Every half hour, I had to venture out to shovel the snow drifts that attempted to bury my tent. Using my stove was out of the question, so I was going to be hungry. And since I hadn't eaten much all day, I was getting colder by the hour. The decision to abandon camp came when I heard the steel door of the toilet building (about 150' away) banging like a machine gun. Just as I was able to put eyes on it, the winds ripped the door off, sending it skyward into oblivion. At that point, I was certain my tent would get trashed, and I'd be exposed to the full brunt of the storm without a shelter. Being that I could be in the protection of the trees within one mile and then follow the road out another few miles to the highway, I decided to abandon camp. I put on several layers of clothing, stuffed extra clothes and my sleeping bag inside my pack, and made my way down the road (walking with the wind). The first 1/2 mile was primarily tumbling and rolling interspersed with some labored walking. But after I reached treeline, every step became easier. At around the 3-mile mark, I was able to reach my wife by cell, and she picked me up at the highway junction.
Apparently, both my wife and the hotel manager (a backpacker) were happy to hear from me. They had actually closed Breckenridge in the afternoon and I-70 in the evening due to the wind, and there were reports of 120 mph winds in some of the mountain passes. Still, I was disappointed, and I slept soundly, cuddled in the warmth of my shame.
The next morning my wife and I headed back to the campsite. We had to stop 2 miles short due to snow drifts. I was expecting to see tattered remains of my camp, if anything at all. But when we arrived, everything was still intact! Once I shoveled the snow drift off the outside of the tent, and the smaller one inside, it looked perfectly normal. My wife actually took a snooze in the tent while I dug out some of the items I had left outside. I also checked out the damage to the toilet building, and found that the door sheared off at the hinges (the hinges were still intact, but the door itself ripped off the hinges, leaving behind jagged sheets of metal attached to the hinges).
What I learned: 1) Check the weather forecast! 2) Don't do a winter ascent of a 14'er when you're not feeling well. 3) It is possible to snow INSIDE a tent. 4) I'm a wimp who will run at the first hint of danger. 5) Sometimes being a wimp is the right decision. 6) My Eureka! Alpenlite tent is bombproof, as was my method of freezing my snow anchors in place with a mix of snow and water.
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FamilySherpa
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Tangled up in Rhododendron
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Post by FamilySherpa on May 19, 2016 5:55:48 GMT -8
Many years ago, got caught in an unexpected early spring snowstorm in GSMNP. We were camped just 7 miles from the trailhead luckily. Rangers came through on the way to the AT and told us to get out of there ASAP, because they wouldn't be able to keep the roads passable much longer.
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swmtnbackpacker
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Back but probably posting soon under my real name ... Rico Sauve
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Post by swmtnbackpacker on May 19, 2016 5:58:11 GMT -8
Backpacking, it has been intense monsoon rain/thunderstorms July on the mountains of the "4 Corners" states, sometimes out to Labor Day. Getting soaked, having to help a newbie reverse hypothermia by building an unplanned fire, barely dodging a lightning strike while solo... no more. Car-camping the rainy remnants of a hurricane in the middle of Texas over 20 years ago. My old jobs there was only so much time off. Now, I can avoid the rainy seasons by travel (plus more in touch with the seasons).
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on May 19, 2016 6:00:47 GMT -8
I could say cold raging blizzard, terrific dust storm, or intense lightning storm followed by heavy rain, but nope. It's none of those.
It was a warm, dry night with no breeze. Absolutely miserable to try to sleep in. Dried out my nose and left me sweating half the night. If the object is sleep, that warm, dry night was worse in my view than the raging weather above.
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Westy
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Post by Westy on May 19, 2016 7:03:39 GMT -8
Ten (10) consecutive weather days, 100+ MPH Winds, -35º. Thank you Signature Classics for Robinson Crusoe, Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court, Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, and Call of the Wild. At the time, I was an unpaid outdoor contributor to the Utah County Journal. The following was my report.
June 11, 1992 1900 Words AN EPIC ALASKAN ADVENTURE
"We came back friends," said Craig Bishop during a interview with KSL's Doug Miller. As always, Craig has the proper perspective. We have just returned from Alaska where we reached the summit of Mt. McKinley (20,320')on May 23rd, after 3 weeks on the mountain. For Craig and me, our two-man expedition was a marathon 6 weeks of literally being tied together.
Bishop, an Utahns on Everest team member, will attempt to climb Mt. Everest with the Utah County based group later this year. A Hinckley native, Craig is also a Green Beret with the 19th Special Forces, Utah National Guard in Provo.
The accomplishment of climbing North America's highest mountain came with other extraordinary experiences. We endured a series of fierce storms which forced us to spend 10 weather days in our camp at 14,300 feet. We witnessed 11 rescues and 4 of the 7 fatalities which occurred in a seven day span.
The poignant image of a young woman kneeling over a red body bag and bidding farewell to her husband was unforgettable. Attaining the summit seemed anti-climactic.
Denali, the native name for Mt. McKinley meaning "the high one" is considered the coldest mountain on earth and lies just outside the Artic Circle at latitude 63 degrees north. The mountain rises nearly 20,000 feet from its surrounding environs and is one of the world's largest free standing peaks. It is located in Denali National Park and access is managed by the National Park Service.
We drove from Springville to Talkeetna, Alaska a distance of over 3,800 miles. The ten day trip included an alpine climb near the Columbia Icefield in the Canadian Rockies and a ski excursion into Kluane National Park, Yukon Territory. We would return via the Inside Passage on the Alaska Marine Highway.
The Alaska Highway is over 1,500 miles long from Dawson Creek, British Columbia to Fairbanks, Alaska. There are two things which best describe this road. First, it is unsurpassed in beauty, solitude and wildlife. Second, the price of Canadian gas and groceries is also unsurpassed. Gas is over $2 a gallon US. A box of Cheerios and a gallon of milk cost the same, about $4.50 US.
From Talkeetna we hired an air taxi to fly us to Base Camp on the Kahiltna Glacier at 7,300 feet. The ride, in a Cessna 170 equipped with skis, was unbelievable as our pilot, Cliff Hudson, flew through several narrow passes. Stepping out of the plane, we immediately felt the cold. It's May 2nd and Spring has not arrived here. The next sensation we have is abandonment as "Sir Cliff" takes-off , leaving us and our equipment deposited on the glacial airstrip commonly referred to as ''Kahiltna International".
By our eighth day we had moved up to the 14,300 foot camp below the West Buttress. This will be our route to the upper mountain. We had made 4 camps along the way and transported over 300 pounds of food, fuel and equipment.
Things were going well, with one exception. Craig and I had our first and only spat. The disagreement resulted in us untying the rope and separating at the appropriately named Windy Corner. Craig was upset with my slow pace. I was enjoying the scenery and Strauss on my "Walkman." I refused to accelerate and he would not drop the subject, a verbal conflict arose.
Craig continued with the International Military Expedition from the Northern Warfare Training Center, Fort Greeley, Alaska. As a Green Beret, Craig had graduated from Military Mountaineering Instructor School and knew everyone.
As for me, I joined a young Korean struggling with his load. Dong Choon Seo was climbing alone and unroped. We roped up and I assisted him with his difficult load. We became friends. I could not foretell that the Korean habit of climbing unroped would eventually claim Seo as a victim. That evening Craig and I shook hands and made- up. To achieve our goals we would have to "hang tough" together. We were determined to summit and any disintegration of our friendship would make the expedition unbearable, particularly the long ride home.
The following day, we were relaxing and acclimatizing to the altitude, when we first heard, then saw, a Llama helicopter landing near the medical tent. The Llama had been stripped down for flying at high altitude. The helicopter, piloted by Bill Ramsey, is operated by Rocky Mountain Helicopter of Provo.
Rocky Mountain Helicopter has a three year contract with the National Park Service to perform services as required, primarily search and rescue.
They were searching for a party that had run out of food and fuel on the opposite side of the mountain and were attempting to traverse the mountain to the medical hut at the 14.3 camp. One of the climbers had frostbite and could not continue. Ramsey brought them down and was preparing to leave when a climbing accident occurred within sight of the camp.
Two American climbers were on the fixed line between 15,000 and 16,000 feet on the Headwall leading to the West Buttress. Somehow they fell off the fixed line, a series of ropes anchored and placed for protection on steeper sections of the mountain.
Roped together, and without ice axes to self-arrest, they fell several hundred feet and stopped short of a crevasse. One of the climbers suffered a broken shoulder. We watched as Ramsey landed on a low-angle section of the Headwall to get the injured climber.
The NPS weather forecast for the following day was grim, "Predicted worst storm in 10 years, winds up to 110 MPH, duration 48 to 72 hours. It hit that evening and lasted for 3 days and was followed by another intense storm which lasted 4 more days.
After 8 days the winds had lessoned. Higher on the mountain it was still blowing hard. By this time we had been on the mountain for 17 days and confined to our tent for a week. We felt like zombies from the twilight zone. Our conversations became a series of grunts. Our reading material was rapidly being depleted. Yet the drama was just unfolding.
That morning in camp, a 42-year old Swiss climber had tea with his wife and 10 minutes later dropped dead. The rumors of two Italian climbers, one dead and one lost on the difficult Cassin Ridge were confirmed. In addition, there were three Korean climbers trapped on the Cassin Ridge above 18,000 feet. The three Koreans had no food and were low on fuel. High winds had blown away their tents. They survived by digging a snow cave.
Early that evening, my Korean friend, Dong Choon Seo and two other Koreans passed our tent carrying loads. They would attempt to move up the mountain and were climbing together, unroped. A few hours later there was commotion in the camp. The Park Service Rangers were moving out to rescue two Koreans who had fallen in a crevasse. The third Korean had been able to climb out on his own and go for help.
Soe and his companions were travelling near the 15,000 foot level on the West Buttress Headwall when they collapsed a snow bridge 150 feet long, 40 feet wide and fell 60 feet into the crevasse. Soe suffered serious injuries, he broke his pelvis and lost lots of blood.
Early the next morning, skies were clear and we saw an Air Force C-130 circling the mountain searching for the missing Koreans on the Cassin Ridge. The weather deteriorated and the rescue operation was suspended. By the afternoon the weather had improved and the rescue resumed.
Rocky Mountain Helicopter pilot, Bill Ramsey attempted to drop supplies to the stranded Koreans but the package slid off the mountain. His only alternative was to land on a flat rock and pluck them off. We watched as he made several trips, each time landing near our camp with Korean climbers. On his last take-off from the 14.3 camp, Soe was carried on a litter, loaded-on and airlifted to Humana Hospital in Anchorage.
The three other Koreans were safe, but soon a shouting match ensued between them and the Park Rangers. An Army, CH-47 Chinook , helicopter came to evacuate them from the mountain and they appeared reluctant to go. I watched as they were physically assisted to the helicopter and whisked off to the hospital. It is my unverified belief that they wanted to join another Korean group and climb the West Buttress.
By now it was our 18th day on Denali and our 10th at the 14.3 camp. The weather appeared excellent and we decided to move up to the next camp at 17,200 feet. We had no problems on the Headwall and easily reached 16,000 feet on the West Buttress.
The West Buttress is a ridge connecting the lower mountain with a small plateau at 17,200 feet that provides access to Denali Pass (18,000').From Denali Pass its another 1,500 vertical feet to the final summit ridge.
Gale force winds greeted us as we gained the ridge. Other climbers chose to dig in on the narrow ridge and spend the night. We went on another 500 feet before the reality of the situation forced us to turn back.
We were moving ten steps at a time, in-between gusts of wind. Our large backpacks acted like mini-sails and further deterred our forward progress. At times we were forced to assume a self-arrest position, lying prone on the snow using the pick on our ice axes to hold-on.
We left a cache with our high-altitude fuel, food, tent and clothing at 16,000 feet and retreated back to 14.3 camp. There was no doubt by either Craig or myself that the mountain had most assuredly kicked our butts.
Lucky for us, we had descended. The weather turned bad, again. We watched as nearly every group that advanced, returned. Most abandoned the mountain altogether. Craig and I vowed to hang on for at least one more week. But Denali was not done dealing out high drama and tragedy on the peak.
That evening the bodies of three Koreans were found on the Orient Express. The Orient Express is a direct snow and ice route to the summit plateau at 19,500 feet from the 14.3 foot camp. The entire route is visible from our tent.
Apparently, these Koreans had also been trapped high on the mountain and were low on food and fuel. They were descending to the 14.3 camp when the accident took place. The following day, their bodies could be seen near the 15,000 foot level. It was estimated that they fell about 3,000 vertical feet. The mountain was going crazy on us, or we were. It was now our 20th day on Denali and 12th day at this camp. There was only one thing to do. Take a mental health day. For me that meant drinking gourmet coffee with two new friends , Carol Snetsinger of Missoula, Montana and Wendy Gannett from my home state of New Hampshire. I also had the opportunity to meet and talk with Christine Janin, the first French woman to climb Mt. Everest.
Craig occupied his time performing preventive maintenance on our stoves.
Climbers continued to leave the mountain, but more newcomers arrived to replace them. The population on the mountain was in excess of 400 climbers. Our camp had about 70 to 90 climbers. Finally, the weather broke and we knew that our chance had arrived. The next day, we were moving up. The day dawned clear, signs of wind activity were none existent. We rapidly gained the West Buttress and by afternoon were snug in our high camp at 17.2. It was hard to sleep as we knew tomorrow was our summit day. We moved through the steep and heavily crevassed slopes leading to Denali Pass. Soon we were on the upper mountain heading for the summit plateau and final ridge. The day was as perfect as a day could be, no wind and the temperature hovered just below zero.
We moved deliberately, step by step, one foot in front of another. At last, we reached the summit ridge. We lethargically savored the remaining steps to the summit.
There was a sense of wonder, but little feeling of elation. Did we really make it? After 22 days, we were due. Events on the mountain had superseded our moment of triumph. We paused to reflect on the awe inspiring view before us. Our strategy, to allow the mountain to let us climb it, had paid off. It was time to go home.
At these latitudes , and at this elevation, the path of the sun makes a 340 degree arc around the horizon. We moved slowly back to our high camp. It was 7:00 PM when we left the summit and it seemed like the sun was staying out, just for us, as we followed the descending orb down.
Soon we met another small group of climbers in this high altitude paradise. I noticed that one of them carried a wand or willow stick with an improvised pennant attached to the top. It read, "So long Mugs Stump" I had met and interviewed Mugs, a world-class climber from Sandy in February. He had impressed me so much that I contacted him by letter about doing a biographical story. The publicity shy Mugs had left a message on my answering machine, agreeing to get together.
I inquired as to the meaning of the pennant. We were informed that Mugs had been killed in a crevasse accident on the South Buttress two days before.
My thoughts of Mugs reminded me of Hudson Stuck , who led the first successful ascent of Denali in 1913. He wrote "There was no pride of conquest , no trace of that exultation of victory some enjoy upon the ascent of a lofty peak, no gloating over good fortune that had hoisted us a few hundred feet higher than others who had struggled and been discomfited...rather a privileged communion with the high places of earth had been granted."
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desert dweller
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Power to the Peaceful...Hate does not create.
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Post by desert dweller on May 19, 2016 7:12:55 GMT -8
Wind: Scot and I were high in the Spring Mountains of southern Nevada, northwest of Las Vegas. We decided to camp on a high saddle where there were basically two flat spots. I chose the one around a large pine surrounded by smaller brush. Scot pitched his tent right in the middle of the saddle. He must have had a premonition. He anchored down his tent by tying the guy lines to large rocks. I just pitched mine like normal because there wasn't any indication of foul weather. Well, later that night the wind started up. It was steady and brutal. I looked out once and saw Scot's tent pushed down so hard it was almost flat. The brush gave me some shelter but one corner popped up and I spent the next hours till morning using all my weight to keep that corner down so that the wind wouldn't catch and flip the tent. I was amazed at the power of the wind.
Lightning and rain: Two instances come to mind. Once I was caught in a sudden white-out when storm clouds appeared out of nowhere. I was at 8000 feet in the Huachuca Mountains of southern Arizona. Luckily, I knew the area and was able to find my way back to the tent even though visibility was only about 10 feet. I spent the rest of the night sitting crossed-legged on my sleeping pad while the lightning flashed like a strobe light and the thunder sounded like a machine gun. I knew the lightning had struck something near by and found the tree it hit, 65 feet from the tent.
The other instance was about 10 years ago in the Gila Wilderness of western New Mexico. We had to set up a late camp on one of the high ridges because a storm was moving in. That night I experience something I had only read about. The tent poles started ringing like a door buzzer. We were in a strike zone and the aluminum tent poles were charged. A strike didn't happen but I didn't fall to sleep easily.
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VAN
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Posts: 133
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Post by VAN on May 19, 2016 7:23:06 GMT -8
On a 2 night backpacking trip in GSMNP. I think it was May 2007. We started at Cosby campground and went up to site #34 the first night. The next day we hiked on to campsite #29. About a half a mile before the campsite, we could sense a change in the weather. It was dark and clouds started to roll in. We knew we were close and decided not to stop to put our pack covers on.
Campsite #29 is at 4,552 ft up. As we were rounding the corner and could see camp, all hell broke loose. It started raining and hailing like crazy. We dove into the campsite and hid under a tree. Didn't have time to set up anything, just grabbed rain jackets and covered the packs. We were soaked and getting colder by the minute. It lasted what felt like an eternity, but was probably only 20-30 min.
Eventually the hail stopped and it turned into a lighter drizzle, enough that we decided to set up camp. At that point, I felt like hypothermia was setting in for me and quickly we made dinner to try to eat something warm. We stuffed ourselves in our sleeping bags and cooked in the vestibule. Eventually, warming up, it turned out to be a nice evening in camp. The fresh rain made everything damp but it was nice to filter water from an overflowing creek. 2 other hikers came in about an hour later and told us of getting caught in the storm while on the trail.
Next day we hiked back out, through a VERY foggy Maddron Bald and down Snake Den Ridge trail instead of pushing on to the fire tower because everything was still wet. Sucks we had to bail out on the last night, but we still had a good trip and felt great to take a hot hot shower later that day.
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Post by Lamebeaver on May 19, 2016 7:45:19 GMT -8
Being that I could be in the protection of the trees within one mile and then follow the road out another few miles to the highway, I decided to abandon camp. Mine also involves wind. I was car camping below Hermit Pass in the Sangre de Cristos. I pitched my tent relatively close to my truck, which would later give me some comfort. The evening was beautiful, but the wind started to build during the night. The wind strength never reached high, but the gusts! You could hear them coming a long way off....it sounded like a freight train. When they arrived, the roar was intense, and punctuate by the snapping of health, fully grown aspen trees. This probably went on for a couple of hours. Eventually, the wind moderated and I went back to sleep.
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RumiDude
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Marmota olympus
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Post by RumiDude on May 19, 2016 9:11:34 GMT -8
What I learned: 1) Check the weather forecast! 2) Don't do a winter ascent of a 14'er when you're not feeling well. 3) It is possible to snow INSIDE a tent. 4) I'm a wimp who will run at the first hint of danger. 5) Sometimes being a wimp is the right decision. 6) My Eureka! Alpenlite tent is bombproof, as was my method of freezing my snow anchors in place with a mix of snow and water. I don't go out if the weather forecast is dangerous. If I am going to be in the deep forest much at all, I avoid going anytime the winds are approaching 25mph sustained or 35mph gusts. I don't camp in areas which have suffered a hot ground fire which has burned the roots of trees. It is just too risky to be out in among trees when the wind is that high here in the PNW and where trees have been compromised by fire. It is not being a wimp to avoid dangerous winds like that, it's called being smart. Rumi
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amaruq
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Call me Little Spoon
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Post by amaruq on May 19, 2016 11:24:28 GMT -8
My Eureka! Alpenlite tent is bombproof, as was my method of freezing my snow anchors in place with a mix of snow and water. Maybe I've been lucky, but my experiences with Eureka! tents have been pleasant. Although they can run a bit heavy. the price of Canadian gas and groceries is also unsurpassed. Gas is over $2 a gallon US. A box of Cheerios and a gallon of milk cost the same, about $4.50 US. And things have only gotten worse since! Great report though, thanks for sharing that.
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tomas
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Post by tomas on May 19, 2016 14:11:04 GMT -8
Got caught in an unexpected snow storm on the 100 Mile Wilderness. Was stuck in my tent for three days before I decided to move because I was running out of food.
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whistlepunk
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I was an award winning honor student once. I have no idea what happened...
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Post by whistlepunk on May 19, 2016 14:17:41 GMT -8
Like travis, the one that stands out is a night of 101 degrees as the low, with no breeze, and high humidity. That was the Steens in eastern Oregon. At the other end was a low -18 with a 30 mph wind. I had the right gear so I was not really uncomfortable.
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Post by Lonewolf on May 19, 2016 14:45:07 GMT -8
Ice storm on Mt Hood on a solo trip. Something like 8" of ice. I had to go out several times during the night to knock ice off the tent to keep it from collapsing. Then crossing a 45°+ hillside covered in snow and ice for more than ½ mile. A slip would have dumped me off a few hundred feet worth of cliffface. I did have crampons but only 1 ice axe so only had 2 contact points and not 3 while moving. Got a bit hairy at times.
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davesenesac
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Our precious life is short within eternity, don't waste it!
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Post by davesenesac on May 19, 2016 15:15:23 GMT -8
As someone that has backpacked in many lightning storms over decades and an enthusiast that has skied many cold fresh powder storms, I have a considerable respect for the dangers of storms especially in winter so tend to be rather conservative with gear and being exposed to storm conditions. The mountaineering storm conditions Westy described were in any case far beyond what I have ever endured. Ive winter backpacked into cold snow landscapes during fair weather and spring backpacked into a forecast snow storm just that dropped 10 inches of cold fresh snow, but it was our summer backpack last year that was most terrifying and showed my gear to not be worthy: www.davidsenesac.com/2015_Trip_Chronicles/summer_2015-10.html#jul8Worst wind had to be a spring storm a couple of us endured in the middle of the night while car camping just east of Capitol Reef National Park in May 2005. Each of us were in our single person tents as wind gusts kept getting stronger and stronger until my whole freestanding tent and everything in it including me became uprooted in a ridiculously noisy gust and rolled over and over several feet away where I just endured inside with the tent upsidedown until it subsided over an hour. Later after quieting down got outside and moved the tent back to where it was sans ground sheet that was blown away. Fortunately for us there was not much rain with the storm.
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rebeccad
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Writing like a maniac
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Post by rebeccad on May 19, 2016 16:27:39 GMT -8
The wind strength never reached high, but the gusts! You could hear them coming a long way off....it sounded like a freight train. When they arrived, the roar was intense, Been through a few of those myself. It's incredibly disconcerting. My most severe weather experiences have also involved wind, including more than one pole-bending storm. But the worst, as far as I'm concerned, was multiple days of unrelenting drizzle in the North Cascades, with inadequate gear and clothing. That very nearly made me abort my trip. It was just so danged wet and depressing, and I couldn't get dry or really warm. So nothing severe, but miserable for sure.
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