Snow Story

By Jim Hammond

I was nauseated. I shook uncontrollably. The fear I had only observed in my wife's eyes suddenly had its strangle hold on me. It showed in my face. Were we going to die? My expression was too much for Gina. She panicked and began to scream out for help.

In October, 1984, a record-breaking storm claimed two lives in the Sierra Mountains. This storm taught its survivors that self sufficient living with your pack of securities on your back is fun until the snow falls. When some storms hit, your backpack, no matter how big it may be, proves to be too small. Independence is reduced to dependence.

The smell of pines filled our nostrils with cool crispness. Jessie, our seven month old Golden Retriever was finally released from the long car ride in the back seat of our '69 VW Squareback. Jessie was experiencing a case of sensory data overload. She was taking in everything at once with her nose, legs, eyes, and mouth. Gina and I knew exactly what she was feeling, but having been properly socialized we expressed it differently. Jessie knew how to enjoy, with every God given sense, the beauty around us. She did not have a care in the world. Jessie was expressing our feelings better than we were. We slipped on our backpacks and looked up the trail. We were finally there. The exhilaration of freedom was filling us again. Our responsibilities were far behind. We were free: free to make our own decisions, free to hike, free to stop if we wished and free to camp wherever we chose. We had everything we needed in my seventy pound pack and Gina’s forty-five pound pack. They were heavy, but they were a burden that dispelled the other burdens we wanted to leave behind. My Lowe internal frame expedition pack was as heavy as I had ever carried. We were prepared for cold weather, rain, even a little snow. We wanted to capture on film the sun painting its joyful light all over the changing autumn colors. A variety of weather conditions meant a variety of beautiful pictures. I was actually hoping for a little snow. I would wish later that I could retract that foolish hope.

It was 3 p.m. when we got started on the trail so our first day's hike was short. The temperature was surprisingly warm. We didn't have to change our clothes as we had expected to when we got out of the car. It was chilly, but as soon as we began hiking we were warm enough in the shorts we put on that morning in San Diego. When the sun hid behind the mountains, God turned down the thermostat. Then we were surprised how quickly the temperature changed. It was time we looked for a good spot to make camp.

Jessie was like a mirror to us, though we did not realize it at the time. She mirrored the truth of our condition. She was a carefree independent spirited animal who had the appearance of self-sufficiency, but she would show us that we were just like her, very dependent upon our Master for survival.

Jessie kept trying to help us put up the tent. I finally convinced her with a 15 foot nylon cord tied to a tree that the task didn't require her kind of help. When we got into the tent we wondered how the three of us would do in our little two-man tent. As expected we all slept fitfully, sleeping on so little cushion. Jessie learned quickly not to walk all over us, but to stay at our feet. My dreams were interrupted by an icy wet rudeness to find a furry face staring at me playfully, or was it pleadingly? I wanted to roll over and ignore her at least until sunlight hit our tent directly. It was cold and I was snug. How long could Jessie hold out? Could I chance it? I wasn't sure. I decided not to take any chances with our Northface winter sleeping bags. They were too nice to be yellow stained.

"Gina, look out here." The forest floor was crunchy, and the meadow was so frosted it looked like snow. Sunlight danced upon the frost as if its feet were too cold to stay still. The snow hurt my hands as I tied my boots. I had to break the ice in our water bottles to get a drink. I was careful not to fog my camera when I brought it to my face. I managed to freeze the memory before the sun melted the dance floor. Our dew wet tent and sleeping bags lay spread out over the bushes drying while we warmed ourselves with breakfast. It seemed our packs had gained weight overnight because they rested on fresh sore spots from our hike the previous day.

The quietness of our morning hike was shattered by Jessie's bark. She discovered the movement of something on the meadow. It was only the cows we read about in the Sierra guide. A certain number were allowed by the government to graze in these meadows, but Jessie hadn't read that. This was the first time she had seen cows. Soon we passed up a log cabin with smoke coming from its chimney. In front of the cabin was a mountain man with dogs. We stayed at a distance. Why interrupt solitude with tangled dogs? We kept Jessie's attention as we began the ascent of endless switchbacks.

We traversed 2 miles of switchbacks up the mountain then another 2 miles down the other side. Long Meadow was cut by a winding stream. Jessie felt it her duty to prove to her masters that she was a water dog. Why else would any living thing jump into mountain snow melt in this weather? As soon as she got out she ran around crazily, out of control, to warm herself, only to jump right back in again. She made it look fun! Then I felt the water as she shook it off on me. Not fun, crazy, that's what it was. We only saw one set of hikers on the trail and they were on their way out of the wilderness. Our comments were brief.

"How long are you hiking?" they asked.

"We plan on staying about a week," we replied.

"Well, you might see some weather by then," they smiled, and I was hoping we would. I wondered what they thought of us.

By the third day of our trip we were at North Fork Kings River at about 10,000 feet elevation. We had come a leisurely 12 miles from our car, having climbed up and down several thousand feet of elevation.

At dusk, as Gina and I were sipping hot chocolate and trying to warm our numbing hands, clouds began to roll over the mountains from the north, down into our river canyon. They crept eerily over the mountain edge like fog over the rim of a Halloween punch bowl when dry ice is dropped into it.

Gina didn't hide her worries. She was concerned that it might bring a snow storm. The wind was cutting through the trees. I reassured her that we had come prepared for snow. I was still holding on to my foolish ideas about a variety of pictures to take home.

"I'm not concerned about the cold," Gina said, "What about the trail?" She had a point. It would not take a great storm to make the trail difficult to follow.

"If it begins to snow, we will head out," I reassured.

The following morning when we woke I immediately opened the zipper window to peer out. The wind had died and a brilliant pastel sunrise was painted on the clouds. I went out to capture it on film. It was quiet, almost too quiet.

At breakfast I absentmindedly tried to wave away the campfire ashes from my cup of oatmeal. When I tried to retrieve an ash flake which had fallen into my cup, it disappeared-melted. I looked up. It was snow.

Gina and I decided to wait and see if it was going to stick to the ground. When it began to stick and build up we quickly packed our things. We needed to shorten the distance between our location and the car. Our independent carefree feeling was suddenly slipping away.

At first it wasn't difficult to follow the trail because the snow stuck easily to the trail but not on the forest floor of vegetation. We just followed the white trail. But the distinction between trail and forest floor was rapidly diminishing. Jessie walked around licking the snow. We stopped to take a compass bearing just in case we lost the trail.

About noon Gina began to complain about feeling nauseated. At 1 p.m. it was too much for her to keep up our pace. Maybe she just needed something in her stomach. We stopped to eat a bite, but she couldn't eat much. It took us a while to break out lunch. Our hands were painfully cold while our gloves were removed to unzip the packs and untie the knots in our food sacks. By the time the food was out our bodies were shivering uncontrollably.

"We shouldn't stand still very long," Gina said, even though she didn't look at all like she was ready to move on. As long as we kept moving we were warm. We couldn't help wondering what was causing the nausea. We had only read and heard a little about altitude sickness, and hypothermia. We were thankful for our long underwear, our army surplus wool pants, down jackets, and rain gear.

"As long as we keep our heads, we'll be fine." I tried to sound as optimistic as possible. "What were some of the things Dave said about staying warm?" We tried to recall some of the informal training we had received from a previous winter backpack trip. We remembered that the leader forced us to drink a lot of fluids. The mountain air is so dry and cold that the body loses all its liquid simply from breathing. As one takes a breath the body warms the air and moisturizes it so that at every exhalation one breathes out surprisingly a high percentage of humidity. Dehydration is both common and dangerous in cold weather. We hoped we were drinking enough.

At 2 p.m. we came to the spot where we had camped just two nights before, though we could hardly tell it was the same place. Gina was so sick we needed to stop. I was so exhausted, all I could think about was stopping and setting up camp. We decided it would be wisest to cross the creek before we set up camp. There was no way to tell how hard it would be to cross if the snow and ice built up any more. It already looked menacing. It took us ten minutes to find a walking stick long enough to help us keep our balance as we attempted the crossing. The water was almost 3 feet deep at its deepest spot and much too cold to afford any mistakes. We were a little concerned about Jessie. She tried following us on the natural stepping-stone and fallen-log bridge but the snow on them was slippery. We pushed the snow off the stepping stones hoping to expose some footing which wasn't as slick. We successfully hopped the three stones to the log and cautiously shuffle-stepped across by pushing the snow off the log with our feet. We kept our balance with the walking stick plunged into the water. Jessie was so eager to follow us that she had no patience for our strange balancing act. She took the cold way across. She had icicles forming on the long fur under her belly. We had to set up camp.

After we found a level spot on which to place our tent, Gina marked the trail by sticking the walking stick in the ground like a stake. I cleared a space where we could put the tent on the ground rather than the snow, so as to keep the floor of the tent as dry as possible. Despite our efforts, by the time we got into our sleeping bags the inside of the tent was a wet, muddy mess. Jessie curled into a ball and began licking her icicles. She licked my gloved hand when I placed my down jacket over her body. From 2 p.m. until the next morning we did our best to think optimistically.

We were just a speck on a vast white stormy mountain. Suddenly we could take nothing for granted. That joyful, independent feeling I had felt just a few days before was folly. It was no more than an illusion. We were dependent on every piece of equipment, food and clothing we had. Even these things were meager. How long could our tent keep out the snow? Would the storm grow any more furious? I had been in mountain winds that had the power to destroy our tent. How long would our bags stay dry enough? It was good they were polarguard instead of down. Wet down bags are useless. I guessed our food supply could last another week if we stretched it. If the snow kept up would Jessie be able to walk in it? For that matter, could we? We would have to leave in the morning whether or not it let up. Without snowshoes the depth of snow was critical. It took us four hours to walk four miles in six inches of snow. If it kept snowing it would be slow going. I calculated the possibility of three feet of snow by morning. There were still eight miles to go, assuming we could stay on the trail. What if we got lost? My mind whirred on while Gina held me tightly, trying to stop her shivering. Her pale face showed fear in her eyes and that fear was not hidden in her voice. We spoke optimistically, trying to hide our pessimistic fears from each other. What if Gina was still sick in the morning? We couldn't wait could we? My mind was weary from these tense mental gyrations. I was trying to decide which things I would choose to leave behind if I had to. My internal frame pack might be able to hold Jessie if I sacrificed its contents. That would be a dangerous sacrifice. No, Jessie would have to do her best no matter how deep the snow was in the morning. But what about Gina? I forced my mind to change the subject.

I pulled out the book we had brought along and a flashlight. The Lord of the Rings usually held our undivided attention, but not this time. As I read, the sound of the snow against our tent faded, then stopped. I unzipped the tent window only to find it coming down as hard as ever. The snow had built up so thick on the rain fly of the tent that we could no longer hear it fall. I shook the walls of the tent to knock off the snow. Gina began to warm up. She kept warm as long as we snuggled closely together and stayed away from the edges of the tent which were up against walls of snow. Gina began quietly to sing some songs, comforting hymns and choruses. We prayed, and amazingly fell asleep.

At about sundown we were startled by a pounding noise. The rhythmic thudding could be felt against the ground. My heart jumped. "What is that? Sounds like horses." With hope pounding in my chest, I unzipped the window and looked out into the gloomy cold. About 10 yards away four cows stopped in their tracks turned their heads and stared at us with steam coming from their nostrils and snow built up on their backs. My hope crashed as quickly as it had come. It wasn't a forest ranger or a rescue team.

We woke at 6:30 a.m. after a long restless night. I opened the zipper again. The snow had stopped falling! Everything was white outside. The trees were sagging with their burdens.

"Gina, how do you feel?".

"A little better."

"We need to see if we can move in this stuff."

I let Jessie out. She had to bound through the chest deep snow but she could move in it. It was 2 1/2 feet thick. My mind raced thinking about following map and compass through the white sameness that surrounded us. Storm clouds still filled the sky. We had to get going before the storm started up again. We found the stick Gina had placed to mark the trail. There was an indentation in the trail where the cows had walked the night before. Thank you, God, for the cows!

It was slow moving. Each step was work. I could only manage 6 to 12 inch steps. We still had 8 miles to cover. Maybe we would settle for 4 miles if we could get to the cabin. It was about a mile later when the cow tracks went one way and the forest service's trail blaze notches on the trees went the other. The trail blazes would have to do. They only appeared about every 100 to 200 yards. The compass proved to be practically useless since the clouds and trees of the forest made all landmarks look the same. General direction alone would never get us out. We needed the trail to find our car. We could not see far enough while it snowed to take compass bearings or judge the landmarks against the topographical map. We were relieved every time we found another trail-marker. Each reassurance helped us fight our fear.

Though we considered ourselves to be in good shape, we had to stop every couple of hundred yards to wait for our breath to extract enough oxygen from the thin air. Trudging through such thick snow was taking its toll. We rested our back breaking burdens on a stump or against a tree.

Gina walked in my steps as I led. Actually, Jessie usually stayed in front, but you wouldn't call what she did leading. Every so often she would race around in circles to get her body temperature up. When she tired she would walk in our steps. She had no idea that she would be dead in a matter of days without us.

It snowed on and off. We were fortunate that it wasn't snowing as it had the night before. How long would it hold off? In four hours we made it to Long Meadow. We covered probably three and a half miles, only losing the trail and having to back track twice. The flowing creek had frozen over. Jessie, being thirsty, walked straight to the creek. I called her once. She stopped and looked at me for a moment with that hesitant I'm-going-to disobey-you-anyway look. She went down the bank as I was screaming her name louder. I watched her place both front paws on the ice. The ice broke! She fell down up to her neck with her hind legs still on the sloping bank. She tried to back up, but couldn't. She struggled with panic. I threw off my pack and ran to her. I thought about what I'd do if she went completely under. How would I find her? I raced to the edge and very carefully reached down for her collar. I could barely reach it without sliding in myself. I pulled her out, and away and caught my breath. Afterwards, we gave her water from our bottles and tried to walk a safe distance from the creek.

Every time we stopped for a rest I took time to pull the ice from between Jessie's toes and off of her fur. It seemed Jessie knew she needed us. I wondered if she was going to get frostbite.

The switchbacks were the most difficult to follow. It was impossible to follow the exact trail. We went in the general direction trying to keep a lookout for trail markers. We would look ahead and behind since markers were on the trees to mark the trail both coming and going. Each time we had to back track in order to find a trail marker or some other hint that we were on track, we felt as though we wasted much of our waning energy.

By about 4:00 we finally made it to the cabin, but nobody was there. It was padlocked from the outside. Where was the mountain man? Horse tracks marked a trail away from the cabin. The sun was just peeking through the clouds a little, so we thought we had better thaw out and eat something while we decided what to do. We hadn't eaten anything since lunch the day before because of nausea and nerves. Nevertheless we had to force ourselves to eat at all. We were fortunate to have come this far in just 7 hours even if it had only taken 3 to cover the same ground without snow.

About 15 minutes after we stopped, I began to experience the same mysterious symptoms Gina had faced the day before. I was nauseated. I shook uncontrollably. Then I truly felt the fear which I had only observed in Gina's eyes. It gripped me with icy cold fingers. I had utterly no control over my body. Suddenly I felt as if I had spent all I had in me to spend, but I had failed to buy us safety. Were we going to die? Gina saw the expression on my face and it was too much for her. She panicked and started screaming "Help! Help!" at the top of her lungs. That unnerved me even more so I told her to stop it.

"Jim, maybe you should keep walking to keep your body heat up, she said.

"I don't know," I mumbled. When I tried getting up my lower back shot with spasmodic pain. My hamstrings had been cramping badly for the last hour. After rest in the cold, the cramping was sharp and debilitating.

Then Gina took control. "We can't just wait here. That guy might not come back tonight or even this week. He saw his chance and got out of here. What if it snows even more? We won't be able to walk. Come on; it's only another 4 miles. We're almost there."

The tables were turned. I was no longer the strong one. I couldn't even put my pack on. I looked like an old man trying to do something much beyond his capability. Gina had to help me put on my pack, then she put her own pack on. Every time I lifted my leg too high it cramped up. Gina led out while I followed in her steps. Step after step for at least a mile, I never took my eyes off her feet. It took all my concentrated determination to lift my legs one at a time and keep moving. When I began to warm up, the shakes stopped, the nausea was bearable and the cramps diminished.

Gina followed the horse tracks out, and I followed her. The horse tracks made the rest of the trek much easier. As soon as I regained some control over my body, the fear and worry left. The horse tracks assured us that we would not get lost. I didn't think about much of anything; I simply walked step by step in a daze, trusting Gina. I was dependent.

We got to the car at 5:30 p.m. but it was so snowed in we couldn't budge lt. We were hoping at least to warm ourselves with the heater, but Volkswagen heaters only circulate the heated air while the car is moving.

After 30 minutes of trying to move the car, we decided it was hopeless without help. The horse tracks led to a tree where the horses were tied. Two deep grooves in the snow indicated the path by which the horse riders had left in a vehicle. Surely they would return for their horses. I was feeling a little better after shedding my 70 pound burden. I felt well enough to walk in the truck tracks to see if there was help up the road. As suddenly as the shakes and nausea had come, they were gone. The most painful part of my body was my feet. They thawed some since I was no longer trudging through the snow, but in the tracks. The numbness turned to pain. I followed the tracks for only 400 yards before I saw a truck coming my direction, an old pickup with bales of hay in the back. An old, unshaven, weather beaten mountain man with a cowboy hat pulled up and said "Can I help yeh?"

I explained our predicament and asked if he could help pull our car out. "Yours ain't the black pickup is it?"

"No, ours is the blue VW," I explained.

"Good,.. Cuz that pickup's gonna stay till spring! I might be able to help ya with a Volkswagen," he offered.

After some effort, he finally managed with his four wheel drive to pull our car out of the hole in the snow. He pulled us for a mile before we reached a paved road which had been snowplowed. He unhooked the tow chain from our car and asked if we had seen any of his cows. We told him that we followed his cow tracks part of the way. He said he had better hurry back before dark. We thanked him very much. Then we thanked God for the timing of the mountain man's trip to town.

That night in a motel the news told of two hikers who had frozen to death at Yosemite in the record breaking autumn storm, just miles north of where we had been and at about the same elevation. We called home to say we were back safely.

The snow storm taught us that independence is only an illusion created by the buffer of securities we take for granted. Security is a gift from the Creator to us, his dependent creatures. God is not impressed with my strength or independence. I was surprised to read in the Psalms such an accurate description of our condition.

His pleasure is not in the strength of the horse, nor his delight in the legs of a man; the Lord delights in those who fear Him, who put their hope in his unfailing love....He spreads the snow like wool and scatters the frost like ashes. He hurls the hail like pebbles. Who can withstand His icy blast? (Psalm 147:10-11, 16-17).

We found that we could not withstand the icy blast. Without the trailblazers, cows, and "coincidental timing" of a mountain man's trip to town, the storm would have killed four people and a dog. A snow storm proved our dependence.