Earlier this week I returned home from an aborted attempt to climb Chitu Shih, a mountain about 40km up the valley from Nahanni Butte. Months of training and preparation for the planned 8-day trip boiled down to a 3-day ordeal that ended in defeat. I am disappointed, but can console myself with the invaluable practical experience and 'lessons learned'. And my failure hardly came as a surprise: even before I left I had grown pessimistic about my chances, given that the days leading up to my departure had seen snow fall almost daily. It covered the ground in thick powder that had yet to settle and harden, obscuring the trail and greatly increasing the difficulty of the journey. Combined with a forecast that largely called for clouds and yet more snow, I had to admit that the likelihood of reaching the mountain, let alone climbing it, were slim. That said, having spent so much time preparing for this trek I decided to at least make an attempt.
Day 1: I set out shortly after 5am on Sunday. Conditions were difficult, with blowing snow and temperatures hitting -42C with windchill. The moon had yet to set, but it was mostly covered by cloud and cast only a wan light as it hovered near the horizon. As I crossed the river and headed down the cutline, I was soon bogged down in deep powder. The old timers all spoke of how hauling a sled in deep snow is the closest thing to hell on earth, and I began to see their point. I was pulling about 80lbs of gear in my pulk and had another 20lbs in my backpack, and combined with snow that would often be knee-deep every step was a challenge. My pace slowed to a crawl, the trees closed in, and my world shrunk to the cone of light cast by my headlamp and the frigid mist of my breath billowing in front of my face.
After two hours or so of hauling my route left the forest and moved into a stand of muskeg. Day broke as a sort of murky gloom, with the thick cloud obscuring any sign of the sun. Occasionally they would roll back and I could catch a glimpse of the surrounding mountains, but it never lasted more than a few moments. The hours passed slowly, with grey skies fading into darkness. The silence and stillness were absolute, and the clouds glowered above me. Sometimes they closed in until they seemed to hang just above the treetops.
As evening fell I made camp near a clump of scraggly spruce, felling a smaller one for firewood and using some of its branches as an extra layer of insulation beneath my tent. I dug out a firepit and before long had a blaze going. It was then that I realised I had frozen my camera batteries, as well as many of my AAs. I was well aware the cold would eat away at their performance, so I had stored them inside a pocket of my fleece rather than outside in my bag - but the day had been so cold that it hadn't been enough. Frustrating in the extreme.
I was despondant as I crawled into my tent that night. The weather was showing no sign of improvement, the cold was relentless, and there remained considerable distance to cover if I was going to make it to the river crossing and have a chance of climbing the mountain on Tuesday.
Day 2: I broke camp early on Monday and continued up the valley. The snow got worse, with deep drifts forcing me to alter my route and hug the edge of the forest. My sled wallowed behind me, and by the afternoon I was at my limit. There was no chance I could make it to the river crossing in these conditions - or perhaps more accurately, there was no way I could do it and arrive in any state to climb a mountain. Furthermore, the forecast of snow later in the week raised the possibility of having to break trail the entire way home again as well, which is something I realised I couldn't do. I had to turn around, and that was that.
One of my friends in town has told me that the bravest thing you can do in the bush is know when you're beat, and even though he's right that didn't make it any easier. I was bitterly disappointed, and my mood wasn't helped by the knowledge that I had nearly a two day journey through the same ugly muskeg to get back home.
I spent the rest of the day following my trail back to the previous night's campsite. The trail had started to freeze over, making it easier to haul my sled, but it was still very difficult. I pulled into camp around 10pm, and didn't even bother starting a fire. I just made a quick meal, pitched my tent, and went to bed.
Day 3:
It didn't take long for my sour mood to spur me into packing up and moving on. I had only been in bed for an hour or so before I decided to forego sleep and just push on for home. I fell into a sort of trance as I hiked back towards Nahanni. Step by step with my snowshoes, leaning into my sled harness, following the shuddering light of my lamp. The cold was not quite as ferocious as when I had left the village, but it was still relentless.
As I walked the darkness seemed to take on a different hue, and through breaks in the cloud I could see that the lunar eclipse had begun. It was an eerie, out there in the cold silence, watching the moon take on an orange glow before fading into deeper night. I hadn't realised how much ambient glow the moon had provided, and in its absence the darkness took on an almost tangible weight.
Daybreak, such as it was, found me somewhere in the valley near Bluefish Mountain. The clouds had lifted somewhat, occasionally clearing enough for me to glimpse it in the distance to the NE, and I guessed I wasn't all that far from where we had camped during the school's Fall Hunt. The wind had picked up, scouring the snow and obscuring my trail, but the path remained clear. I was heartened by the knowledge that I was probably only 15km or so from home, but those 15km seemed endless.
I was still in the bush as night fell once more, and by now the cold had taken its toll on my headlamp and its batteries finally died. I had been hauling for a good 17 hours at that point and was too exhausted to bother changing them out. I made it home around 9pm or so, and it was surreal to suddenly round the final bend of the river and find the lights of town awaiting me. I had only been out there for 3 days, but it felt so much longer than that...
