Drew enlisted the legendary Roger Thompson for our snow-machine rescue crew. I secretly packed, in addition to the tools needed for snow-machine rescue, the climbing tools needed for another ski attempt on Grand Union.
Date: April 4, 2014
Personnel: Allapa, Drew, Roger.
Rides: Three guys on two Arctic Cats to rescue s third stuck Polaris.
Reason for bail: Stuck snow-machine time-suck screw-over factor.
There was no way. There was never going to be enough time for Peak Grand Union. There was too much to do to save Drew's machine. Roger performed mechanical wizardry with pieces of a metal fork shoved into the choke, while I stamped and hatcheted out a ramp of packed snow through the willows that was darn near a quarter-mile long uphill. Finally, when all was ready, Drew stepped up for the Olympic finals, his one glorious shot at freedom. In a feat of athleticism I could never hope to match, Drew gunned his snow-machine to freedom. We toasted our success with Yukon and Jack Daniels.
We had a grand day. Roger was a shaman with a Google-Earthish knowledge of the Kigs and the ability to corral energy from the folds of the Earth like Castenada's Don Juan. Drew was reunited with his machine, his essence restored. But I was now "Zero for Three" on Peak Grand Union.
Justification: The Kigsblog definition for what constitutes an "attempt" requires nothing more than the firm commitment to climb in the mind of the climber, plus some measurable movement towards the objective. (By these terms, an attempt can be made on a mountain without ever leaving one's house.) Therefore, Attempt #3 does, in fact, constitute an "attempt" under KigsLaw.
Pictures from Attempt #3
|Drew and Roger at Silver Creek Pass looking north over the Sinuk to Mosquito Pass|
When: April 4, 2015
Personnel: Allapa, Jeff, Leonard, David
Plan: Establish camp on the north side of Mosquito Pass. Have fun skiing and snowboarding in the Cobblestone Valley the next day. Ian sneaks away for a ski ascent of Peak Grand Union.
Reason for bail: Blowhole!
The four of us came roaring out of San Berdoo heading for Tehachapi, up the Snake River Valley, past Mt. Distin and across the Stewart River. As we were starting the gentle rise over Silver Creek Pass, exhaust from the Blowhole started up.
It soon became obvious that a single vector of prodigious wind was channeled straight down from the north through the middle of the Kigs. We all recognized the beast for what it was: a serpent of wind, probably 5 miles in diameter, writhing its way down a very specific corridor of valleys through the mountains, Mosquito Pass, Silver Creek Pass— right down our intended line of travel. Blowhole, the locals call it. The gusts were a big hammer banging on us. Driving straight into this stream would be a silly, frostnippy nightmare when calm, still air existed on either side of us.
"Retreat to Earp's cabin!" was the cry barely heard behind our Darth Vader masks, though nobody really knew if the legendary mountain-slayer's cabin was still available. We hung an abrupt east towards the Kougarak Road. The wind ceased completely after seven miles; you could have flicked a lighter.
We would proceed to have "entirely too much fun" that weekend, including a deep twilight ski that same evening at Nugget Pass, a killer bivvy at the Salmon Lake cabin, and a beautiful day in sunshine at Morning Call Creek. But Attempt #4 on Peak Grand Union was once again over before it started, foiled by a Blowhole.
Videos and Pictures from Attempt #4
|Leonard and David are tramping up Pk. 2712|
When: Tuesday, April 28, 2015
Plan: Take day off school. Take advantage of the Kougarak Road being open to Mile 24 and haul Super Smooth Andy G. to the end of the road in the morning. Ride solo snow-machine over Mosquito Pass and bag Peak Grand Union.
Reason for bail: GLUE leading to late start / Technical Chicken-out.
How I loathe the trailer...how I live in fear of it. Better to pound the snow-machine over twenty miles of bare, bumpy tundra than load the machine on a trailer and drive the distance in a comfortable truck. Now, I know it is true that a proper man loves his internal-combustion vehicle and all aspects of dealing with its power, but I alone am fearful. I was unable to get the damn snow-machine up on the trailer for the longest time. Non-working neighbors watched from windows as I took repeated runs at the ramp in my driveway and only succeeded in head-butting the whole rig forward with a great "whack!"
Next, came the Kougarak Road in early Spring... terrifying!
Mud-bogging it through puddles and standing splashes of frozen mud-slush, Smooth Andy G. lashed to the trailer fishtailing wildly in the rear, both sets of wheels tire-drilling like bootcamp marines in the potholes, washboarding out of control on the dangerous ramp next to the Troll's house, I was paralyzed at the wheel, too scared to turn around, change the music, or do anything other than punch it.
I finally made it out to Mile 25, quite late in the afternoon. The current pulling me backwards due to the GLUE of TOWN was palpable and strong, as it had been all day, since the time I woke up at 5 a.m. so I could get in to school to create massive and extensive substitute teacher plans.
Before I had even pulled the starter cord on Super Smooth Andy G., I had succumbed to the invisible and insidious forces from the GLUE of TOWN. Be honest, I told myself, there will be no solo attempt on Peak Grand Union today. Another Technical Chicken-Out-- probably a good thing I did, but still a chicken-out. Now it was time to turn my attention to Plan B.
Plan B: Climb SaGuiq ("Turncorner Mountain," Peak 3250+), a closer alternative on the south side of Mosquito Pass.
Outcome of Plan B: Bail.
Reason for Bail: Technical Chicken-Out.
SaGuiq ("Saw-goo-ick"), meaning "turn the corner" in Qaweraq, was an old friend of mine, a big, prominent, crap-pile of schist visible from many places around the Qaweraq (Southern Seward Peninsula) area. Kristine and I spent 13 hours one summer choss-climbing up its Southwest Ridge. However, despite climbing to near the summit ridge no less than four times, I have never continued all the way to the actual summit, the very tippy top tor of the thing. Upon this obscure quest I now set my day after the "Bail before you start" of Grand Union.
The late-April snowpack was low as can be. I followed my friends Glen and Sue's snow-machine tracks from two days before which wove between rocks and bare tundra. They had reported copious avalanches on the surrounding mountain walls at which I initially scoffed— there aren't any avalanches in the Kigs!— but now I saw Glen and Sue were right, big crown faces on exactly the southwest aspects. I was glad to be climbing the narrow, low-angle South Ridge of SaGuiq where avalanches would not be an issue.
But when I got to the summit ridge, after a pleasant, sunny climb boot-kicking up the south ridge, I saw the summit wasn't the casual kick-up I had assumed it would be. An icy gully intruded, and tedious iced-up scree. I would need to descend several hundred feet, then climb back up.
I could have done it. It's not like this thing is even a real mountain. It's a Kig, for pete's sake. In better conditions, you could do the whole thing up and down without taking your skis off for any part of it (with the exception of the north wall, which is really quite precipitous and huge, with beautiful schistazoid patterns). It's just that I would be getting home at 2 a.m., and then rising early the next morning like Fred Beckey dragging himself to a Monday morning corporate meeting of fourth graders.
I bailed. That made a Bail for Plan B to add to the Bail for Plan A. That made me "Zero for Five" on my initial objective of the Spring, the casual ski up Peak Grand Union.
Pictures from Attempt #5:
|Actual summit of SaGuiq (Pk. 3250+) taken from south summit.|
|Looking down south ridge of Pk. 3250+|
|Looking west from SaGuiq. Mosquito Pass is left of center. The "Hundred Year Old Rockfall" is visible in the center on the east face of Pk. 2850+. This feature will feature prominently in the next attempt on Peak Grand Union.|
Date: Saturday, May 2, 2016
Personnel: Allapa, Drew
Reason for bail: Blowhole/Technical Chicken-Out
This time, we had it made. Enough snow, barely, with a crust down to two inches. It was May, for godssake. The deathly pall of the Kigs in winter had departed. You weren't gonna die from the cold. As long as you didn't sink your snow-machine in some type of slush-stream or water, everything was gonna be alright. Drew was pledged, completely pledged, to bag Peak Grand Union this time, fully down and organized. Weather was partly cloudy, not bad really, a minimum of breeze. We broke the GLUE of TOWN easily, not so many mittens and thermoses in May, and cruised to the end of the road in a sealed pod of comfort. Our thumbs were turned to throttles of joy as we screamed westward over Hudson Creek Pass towards the heart of the Kigs.
As we crested the pass and began to drop into the Sinuk headwaters, we could already see the serpent six miles ahead poking its head over Mosquito Pass, taking the form that day of a giant, fat larva. The larva wasn't bothering to come any further to the south, but just lay there, occupying the entire pass with its fat body, a distinct, tentacular flow-maggot emanating from the warm Imruk Basin.
Our facemasks would have displayed doubt could they have done so. Drew and I both knew what it was like to pass through the membrane of a living, breathing Blowhole, to exist inside the body of the meteorological organism buffeted by its internal processes and unable to tell earth from sky.
We daubed other excuses onto our emerging canvas of chicken-out: the overflow of the Cobblestone River that surely awaited us in total whiteout on the other side of the pass; the serious problems with Drew's war-battered machine; that certain draw on the north side of Mosquito Pass that might not be reversible once we went down it; liberal applications of "tired from teaching"; the avalanche potential that clearly still existed.
We edged closer to the pass. The wind freshened. We could see the metabolic pathways writhing in the membrane of the Blowhole. It was no use. Attempt #6 was going down in a Technical Chicken-out.
Plan B: Visit the "Hundred Year Old Rockfall" at Windy Creek.
I don't officially know the age of the rockfall across Windy Creek. "Hundred Year Old Rockfall" is just what I've taken to calling it. After I told Drew it was "My favorite place in the Kigs," we decided to visit the rockfall after our Technical Chicken-Out of Peak Grand Union had been decided.
A bouldering paradise, of sorts... the rockfall must have dammed up the valley, until Windy Creek finally found its way through. Resting on top of the whole mass are cabin-sized boulders of compact schist, which rise above soft, velvety pads of tundra next to a babbling brook. Peaks surround: Mt. Osborn, Pen Tri Cwm, Tigaraha, KirgaviNuatqi, SaGuiq, Mosquito Pass Peak. A crime has been committed by my saying all this here.
A little ski run with a rail run through the boulders. A nap in the sunshine. A change into the Scarpas for a little bouldering. And then it was time to submit our sorry way to the TOWN GLUE attractor once again. A beautiful day, an all-time day, a day fixed in the sunshine of memory— but I still hadn't bagged Peak Grand Union.
Pictures from Attempt #6:
|H2O Tazlinas, "Hundred Year Rockfall," Tigaraha, and KirgaviNuatGi|
|Mosquito Pass, and the "distinct, tentacular flow-maggot" that caused us to incur a Technical Chicken-Out|
|Drew in the Hundred Year Old Rockfall|
Date: Saturday, May 9, 2015
Reason for bail: The snow was completely gone.
Super Smooth Andy G., the super smooth Bearcat .570, still awaited faithfully up at Mile 28. All I had to do was drive up there in the truck, and I would soon be skimming effortlessly over Spring snow to a final triumph on Peak Grand Union. As I drove along, I calculated the hours it would take for the rest of the day to cross Mosquito Pass and reach the Western Cwm, ski up the Cwm, skin up Peak Grand Union and ski down, then machine back to the car. I estimated I would be out til the wee hours.
But when I got to Mile 28, the snow was gone. It was summer. I was as full of it as your average Facebook poster. I was Zero for Seven on Peak Grand Union.