Crane Mountain Bushwhack
21st December 2007
Familiarity breeds contempt.
This is certainly true of one's geographical home: settle down somewhere and in no time, you're planning trips somewhere afar and neglecting the wonders in your own backyard. So it has been with me. I moved to the base of Crane Mountain for many reasons, chief among them the spectacular spots I could ramble to from my doorstep. In the first few years living here, I spent a lot of my free time on the mountain's lesser-known east side, exploring the rugged, steep southeastern cliffs and the high hollow below the summit plateau. I devised two favorite bushwhack routes, a 3-season meander passing below many of my favorite crags before plunging through a screen of spruce to gain the birch glades and thence to the summit; and a wintry trail that cuts up an easy ice climb along the way, rejoining the other trip after surmounting most all of the lower southeastern wall of Crane. I hadn't completed either trip in years, but the winter option I hadn't managed for over a decade.
On the shortest day of the year, I decided to remedy this neglect. I had climbed the ice a couple times already but always turned back homeward after the technical section, knowing it was a long, difficult hike to the summit. This year's abundant early snowfall would make the going even harder, but I had already packed a good trail to the Waterfall and the long-range prediction of rain and ice would make the trip even tougher down the road, so Friday morning, I prepared for the ascent.
My first challenge was choosing gear. If I took all the ten essentials, all the climbing equipment, and my snowshoes, I would certainly be too encumbered to accomplish the task. I am not a young, strapping woodsman anymore: picture more a pudgy, aging American instead. I would have to compromise my gear list with my ability because the latter couldn't get the former up the mountain.
Paring down the climbing gear was simple. The Waterfall ice route is pretty easy. I could forego the technical crampons and boots, taking flexible crampons and just my hiking boots instead. Ropes and protection would be superfluous, since soloing easy ice with them is arduous, complicated, and not much safer than without, and I am very familiar with the climb. The route is manageable with a single tool, but I decided to take two for security. A helmet is required equipment for ice climbing, but I cheated that rule for this trip, figuring the low angle of the waterfall eliminated most of the risk of ice chunks hitting my head.
Standard winter hiking equipment includes good boots, layered clothing, water, snacks, and an emergency kit.
My clothes were straightforward: waterproof boots, good socks, Columbia snow pants, a tough, waterproof shell jacket, poly pro undershirt, poly pro half-zip, cap, and two pairs of gloves: a thin one for hiking and a thick one for climbing or other cold-finger activities. For emergencies, I tossed a set of poly pro longs in my pack. Perhaps I should have tossed in a thick insulating layer - a down jacket would have been good insurance - but I chose to leave it out for this trip.
Strenuous winter hiking burns a lot of water. I expected this trip would cost my body a gallon of water, but there was no way I would carry eight pounds of it up the mountain. I chose instead to guzzle a liter before going and bring one liter along for the trip. I could chug plenty after getting home. As for food, I grabbed a couple granola bars, a package of crackers, and a couple chocolates. Even in cold weather, this is plenty for a day trip.
I didn't want to leave all the emergency gear at home…but I also didn't want to carry so much that it would slow me down enough to require it. I've worked out two types of emergency kits, a day tripper for short hikes and a camping kit for multi-day excursions. My intended bushwhack is a single day trip, but involves a large section of untrammeled wilderness. If circumstances arise where I cannot travel, I will probably be there all night. Add to this the harsh conditions of a winter bivouac, and something more than my day kit is a sensible precaution. For the little problems, those dilemmas that might spark a serious emergency, I pack a yard or two of duct tape, some fine wire, parachute cord, moleskin, a bandage or two, some first aid tape, a Petzl Tikka and eight ibuprofen or aspirin tablets. Just in case I had to hole up for the night, I included a few more items: a small pot, an Esbit Stove, and one of those Mylar emergency blankets. Rounding off this category, my daypack has an integrated whistle, and I tossed my fanciest multi-tool, a Leatherman Wave, into my pocket. The last bit of insurance stayed at home: I gave my itinerary to a responsible someone there, with instructions to call out the cavalry if I didn't return by six.
Gathering my gear took the better part of the morning, so I got a late start, leaving the house around 11:30. Perhaps one of the necessities of such a trip should be preparing for it the night before! Regardless, I was ready to go. After a long absence, I was back in the winter bushwhacking business.