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By 5 pm the 1ow light had gradually faded to darkness. High winds drove the falling snow hard against me. It was Christmas Eve, and inescapably clear now that I was about to endure my first unplanned bivouac. I was embarrassed and mad at myself for having misplaced (lost?) my position. I was mad at God, and I ached for my folks, by now readying dinner 20 mi. away down in Las Vegas, no doubt increasingly concerned that I was running late. The day was not supposed to end this way. It had begun better... "The dawn in the dry, wavering air of the desert was glorious. Everything encouraged my undertaking and betokened success. There was no cloud in the sky, no storm tone in the wind." (John Muir, "The Mountains of California") I had almost summitted Potosi a month earlier on Thanksgiving Eve, but turned back short rather than risk being late for that special dinner with my folks. I had now returned, eager to "avenge" my prior disappointment and anxious to keep in condition for a Mexican volcanoes trip three weeks away. I had parked above snowline near the spring and set out in dawning light at 7 am. I had gaiters and rain pants, crampons and ice axe (this was not a Sierra Club trip!), but I was annoyed to discover that I had left behind my polypro bottoms. The mine trail was mostly clear of Snow, then it was a slow, steady slog along the trailless ridge, interspersed with several notches/saddles and a little 3rd class rock work, to the final summit - reached shortly after 11:00. The ice axe remained unhanded as the snow was neither steep nor hard, though it was heavily drifted in some places. The summit rocks were too deeply blanketed to yield the register, however mightily I worked to uncover it. I was bummed! Meanwhile, the unblemished view had slowly deteriorated, sooner than anticipated based on radio forecasts. I started down before noon and light snowfall with the route no longer in sight beyond about 50 ft. This was of scant concern, however, as I had only to remain along the familiar ridge top and could easily follow my snow tracks. I even took the unnecessary precaution of checking the proper bearings from the topo. The descent was much slower than expected as the snowfall gradually worked its way up into a storm and my tracks became increasingly obscured. The route over the 3rd class rocks was particularly slow due to the near exposure and icy conditions. But I knew I was on-route and I could still intermittently pick out my ascent track. I was looking for a certain saddle, surely near at hand now, from which I could head westerly and down off the ridge to the mining trail. I was surprised, then, at passing several saddles without recognizing my turnoff. Well, even in low light I thought I could still make out my vanishing footprints, and I should intersect the trail eventually from the ridge even without the saddle turnoff. My frustration was jolted to amazement when a belated glance at my compass indicated that it was beading NNE when I knew that I was heading SSW! How could it be 180° off? Was I confused as to which end of the needle pointed north? Crap! How could I have turned around and not know it and not recognize the familiar landmarks and not re-encounter my fresh tracks? The compass must be wrong - though deep down I was very troubled because I knew better than to ignore inconsistent data. I stayed on my course awhile, still discerning(?) traces of my upward trail and hoping against hope to hit the exiting saddle. Not much later, near 5:00, my navigation was in shambles as I was now consistently heading up instead of down. How was this possible? I was to have much time to ponder this enigma as I sadly set about in search of a sheltered bivouac site. |
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