Ah Memories... (Now with 80% more pictures!)

I promised / foreshadowed / presupposed earlier that I would post an entry with the story behind the background image. The shot is a nice perspective of the slope on the Flying Dutchman avalanche path on the west side of the San Fransisco Peaks, here in Flagstaff, AZ. Yes, you heard correct, there are in fact avalanches in the peaks that nestle the AZ Snowbowl ski resort -- I know, weird for Arizona, right? In the photo, I'm looking up towards my Honeywell cubemate Jon. I couldn't have asked for a better engineering cubemate by the way; the fella practically eats and breathes the outdoors. After a few tosses of the idea of climbing Humphreys in the snow, he finally decided to bite and we set off for the northern AZ country.

Mt. Humphreys sat image - Dutchman Glade route

Now if I were to ask anyone what time of year this trip was taken, I doubt any answers would be May. Indeed, what a wonderful wet winter we had! Snowbowl was open for skiing far beyond the typical spring break cramming of final runs on the withering slopes. This past winter we had winter storms through April and the Peaks received record amounts of snow. When the ski lifts finally closed for the season, Jon and I waxed poetic on the fact that there was still so much snow and ice sitting up there... unused. Well, I knew better -- there's actually a small sect of backcountry folk that get their jollies strictly out of bounds in the thick woods and avalanche clearings up in the Kachina Wilderness. At some point, our jealousy boiled over from reading enough about all the latest runs down the various avi paths, skinning up the ridges, split-boarding down the upper bowl, that we decided to head up on our own.

Friday night, May 7, Jon and I meet on a parking garage roof at the university around midnight (a place where I had elected would be a better spot to catch some z's for a couple hours since my new roommate at the time was being himself: half-naked, tearing through the house, slurring random phrases with two bottles of Hennessy in his hands -- another story for another time... maybe). Even though downtown Tempe is a lil' quieter than the house, with all the police sirens and all, I still don't sleep a wink. Jon finally calls at midnight-ish and is ready to go (I don't think he slept at all either). Once he arrives, we make a shady exchange of gear from my trunk to his. Now before we can speed off, [sure enough] an unmarked homeland security agent rolls up in his black crown vic with black tint and inquires about our "dealings". We explain to him that we're not drug dealers, but instead we are going to hike in the snow up north. We show him our ice axes and snow shoes and he rolls his eyes at our strange story, half confused. With a good luck from him we set off on our drive into the dark of night...
. . .

We roll into Flagstaff around 3:30 or 4, if I remember, and nap in a McDonalds parking lot until they open, which is unfortunately 5am in the slow-paced city of Flag :-/. Once we fill our camelpacks and discuss recent Suns hoops scores with the manager for too long, we head up toward the western slopes of the peaks.

What seems like a nice, calm morning later turns into fury of the winds. For now though, we just enjoy the nice sunrise from the wrong side of the peaks and revel in the cold, brisk spring air. We suit up our packs -- tether in our snowshoes, affix our ice axes --  and adjust our snow gaiters over our boots accordingly. We start the trek on the gentle slopes of the Hart Prairie and head directly up one of the Snowbowl ski runs, trotting over exposed grass and slipping over the occasional patch of ice. We find the clearing in the wall of woods that marks the start of the trail and soon find the trail register. After signing our last will and testament in the registry, we set out down the trail of now-frozen set of prior boot prints. After about half a mile of slow slogging in our slippery boots, we catch a glimpse of the bottom of the clearing known as the Dutchman Glade. This is where the route gets fun.

Jon making it easy for the eventual search party.	Off we set into the woods... a nice, annoying mixture of sun-cupped hoar and ice.
We eventually found our way to the big avalanche path run-off. Jon mentally preparing to head "up"	We finally donned the snowshoes upon reaching the avi path. So wished we would have had crampons at the time!
Looking up the Flying Dutchman avalanche run-off	Looking back down at Jon, with Kendrick peak off in the distance. It's hard to believe there's still this much snow up here in May!

This off-trail route is strictly up the wide-open avalanche paths that surround the perimeter of the steep mountain side. It's amazing to see this treacherous region of the mountain completely blanketed by easily-accessible snow -- buried beneath the snow is a field of large boulders, which makes the side-trip up to see the bomber wreckage in the summer quite exciting. Usually one misstep here is a surely broken or badly-sprained ankle. But today, we have freedom to move about the clearing, cutting switchback patterns higher and higher as we progress up the field. Before going any further, we finally agree that it's time to don the snowshoes. Looking back, we absolutely needed crampons. They would have made for much better steps, more efficient movements and overall conservation of energy. Snowshoes are great, but they're clunky and awkward at times.

We're probably just mid-9,000's in elevation and already the rocks are starting to peak out at the late spring sun.	"I dunno, Jon, the next part looks pretty treacherous. I think we need to front-point from here on..."
"There are NO front points to my snow shooooes, duuude! Also, why am I wasting my time with this trekking pole???"	The slope starts to get a lil' steeper and we start to mix in some French technique, crossing one foot over the other, ascending side-ways.
It's thataway!	Taking a break just before the end of the rock field.

At the top of the snowy rock field we alter our course for due north, straying from our earlier easterly heading. Cutting in and out of downed trees and thick wooded areas, we meander throughout the slope until we reach the clearing where the B-24 bomber wreckage resides. Jon walks right through it, completely oblivious to the huge landing gear sticking straight out of the ground, flagging the wreckage site. I signal to him to look around and we both catch glimpses of pieces of airplane strewn about the clearing. Up here the sun has melted some of the snow, so we can actually see quite a bit. After a short break, we decide to continue north hoping to catch the ridge that overlooks the enormous Allison Clay avalanche path. After some time in the woods we escape through the tree line and everything opens up. We can see over down to Snowbowl, where we started; we can see the AC path; most importantly, we can finally see Humphreys -- still so far off in the distance.

Just a few hundred feet to the north of the top of the run-off there is an old B-24 bomber wreck that we literally "stumble" upon.

Jon getting some time to sit amidst the wreckage and carnage that once was. There's a rotary engine sittin' beside him and what looks to be an aileron or elevator.

Ascending the ridge is somewhat tricky in these conditions. By late spring, the sun has done much to the route, exposing tons of rock and making for slippery ice and fairly large sun-cups in the snow. After a bit of struggle in the snowshoes, we both decide to take them off. The pitch is 30 to 40-degrees in slope and just steep enough to render the snowshoes annoying. Instead, we elect to kick-in our steps from here on out, blazing our route up the slippery ridge. To our lefts is a quickly-sloping run-off that drains right into the AC avalanche path, meaning a good 200 to 500 foot slide down the ridge if we misstep. We work carefully and diligently. Another fear setting in is the concern about the intense sun on that clear day. Though the whetted air temperatures are just above freezing, the full effect of the solar radiation from the high-noon sun is apparent, with wet crystals sparkling beneath our boots. The snow is getting softer with each hour. At this point in the trip, my head is throbbing, likely with the effects of altitude mixing with the sleepless night before and minor dehydration. Jon keeps a consistent pace up to the ridge, while I take many needed breaks to keep my headache at bay.

Above the tree-line we climbed the endless ridge that divides the Flying Dutchman path from the Allison Clay avalanche path.	Stopping to plop down for some R n' R. And to soak up that sun!
Back to it. Off to my left is a good slide that will send me down a good drainage if we set off any slabs. Right foot over left, step up right, plant axe, repeat.	Checkin' out the temps today... A few degrees above O'C makes for good snow on our ascent up. We were worried going into the climb about the overnight temps not reaching below freezing during the freeze-thaw cycles this time of year.
A nice shot looking up at Jon. This was about the time when my huge headache set in and my night with less than an hour of combined sleep caught up to me. Bleh!	"Can I skip the ice and just head up through the rocks??? I know there's endangered tundra flora up there, but maaaannnn this is getting old!"

By the time I make it to the top of the ridgeline, he is already refreshed from a good 30-minute break. I tell him to go on ahead and he takes off for Humphreys in the distance. There's still another half-mile traverse across the ridgeline to the peak. I wait for a few minutes, crouching behind some rocks for shelter from the winds. The Inner Basin is a sight to behold, especially with the thawing of the major snow. The Cirque, just below the ridge is almost perfectly bowl-shaped and looks like a soft-pillowy landing zone, should the wind actually toss someone down there! At midday now, the winds atop the peaks are roaring with rage as they tear over the mountain. I set out, trailing Jon along the ridge, trying to hold my beanie and cover my ear with one hand while leaning on a trekking pole in the other for stability.

The traverse is slow, but I plant each step with care, trying not to get knocked off my feet. The cornice, created from the intense winds and snow loading this winter is huge!. It's at least 5 to 10 feet outward from the ridge in some parts, just beckoning for some curious soul to step out onto it's fragile platform -- I make sure to view it from afar. After a good thirty more minutes, I find myself at the base of the summit peak. Just 50 more feet to go. I decide to whip out my camera and record the intensity of the wind, making for an exciting last few steps onto the summit.

Atop the ridge, with the final 50 feet to the summit. Both unnerving and exciting all at the same time with those 50+ mph winds! Don't get blown off, don't get blown off, don't get...

I was just thhhhhere... a good thirty minutes ago!	Finally at the top, Jon snaps a few landscape shots. Here's looking at the inner basin and neighboring Agassiz Peak.
High noon, and just barely to the ridgeline! Jon had a good 30 minute rest while I trekked the last 500 feet or so.	You can see the basketball dome at NAU out there somewhere!

I finally see Jon nestled in one of the wind-shelters built up top, just for days like these. I jump over the rock wall and begin shedding gear. My head is splitting open and I go immediately for a caffeinated Gu pack. We rest for another good half-hour, planning out our descent and raving about the winds. With the wavering snow conditions, we elect to try a different ridge with more packed snow. We load up and head right back through the carnage of wind, past the ridge we ascended to peak 12,297. We crunch through the snow near the top of the route and don't sense any slabs -- I realize this is highly dangerous, just going off of instinct. We should have done a pit-test to check stability of the layers. Do not follow our example. Take the time to do the pit-test. This late in the season, we went off of the assumption that the remaining snow was heavily bonded to the rocky volcanic rock underneath.

Finally on the ridgeline. Just another quarter mile slog through 50mph winds, trying to stay as far from the huge cornice that likes to lure victims to its trapdoor-like edge.	We finally made it into the small wind shelter on top of Humphreys. Today it couldn't have come at a more opportune time. Nice, peaceful, and calm... minus the terrorizing gusts that resonate the air as they howl over the top layer of rock wall.
Safe and sound for now. We made it to the top. The last 50 feet uphill to the peace was some stiff ice / surface hoar that made the final ascent more like a balancing act amidst the intense winds.	These scenery shots don't do the wind any justice from that day!

After descending hundred feet, we are getting more comfortable with trotting down the slope. Jon runs and dives onto his rear and glissades down, steering his course of direction with his ice axe. This was by far the best part of the trip. We easily lose a thousand feet in a matter of five to ten minutes until we meet the tree-line. Once in the woods, we follow a drainage as it meanders down the mountain. After about 20 minutes it feels like we're lost. In fact, we miss the Dutchman Glade clearing by only about 200 feet to the south. The majority of the descent is spent wandering aimlessly back and forth, trying to find safe routes down through the steep drop-offs and downed trees. It seems like forever. Now mid-afternoon, we're well into the trees and dropping consistent elevation with the temperatures climbing with every step (next time, I need better layering for sure). We wander south-westerly via compass heading for almost two hours until we stumble into a clearing that is large enough to be the trail. Finally!

The north rim of the Grand Canyon is out there on the horizon. If the winds didn't haze up the view, it would be more apparent in this pic.	Time to head down! We felt comfortable enough to glissade down one of the ridges to the south of where we ascended. We practiced some self-arrest techniques with the ice axes and lost altitude pretty dang quick.
Though a fast way down, glissading always comes at some price. I took a nice, solid spring-time rock up the caboose on one of my slides down. Laaaaaid out! Oye.

From here, it's just a few steps to the backcountry register and we are back onto Hart Prairie. On the way down the ski slope, we both intermittently turn back towards Humphreys, now in sight, catching glimpses of what we just came through. One heck of a trip!

Thank you Jon for making this trip awesome, and also for driving. Man, I passed out cold as soon as I hit his passenger seat. I'm already looking forward to doing this route again this winter and exploring the San Fransisco peaks in detail.

Mt Humphreys topo - Dutchman Glade route

Cheers!