Ostrander Ski Hut

---

In the Really, Really Big Winter of ‘95-'96, I was lost twice in severe weather. This may not look good on my resume, but a review of my mistakes, correct decisions and equipment may help others. Both times were while working (I'm a Park Ranger) and skiing over terrain I'd been over several hundred (!) times.

The first was while skiing into Ostrander Ski Hut in Yosemite, where I work as Assistant Hutmeister. A severe storm had been predicted, but hey! I'm the ranger. The weather was still OK when I left Badger Pass at my usual ‘crack of noon' start (about 12:30, actually...).

Weather was overcast and snowing lightly with little wind as I started. I was cheerfully following the tracks of a party of skiers ahead of me. Snow fall was increasing, but still no serious wind in the forest. At dusk (about 5:00 PM), I reached the base of Heart Attack Hill only a mile and a half from the hut. The weather immediately went to heck. The trail at this point emerges from a fairly dense lodgepole forest onto an open slope. Winds were gusting at about 30 MPH with blowing snow reducing visibility to about 50 feet. No problem--I'm the ranger and only 30 minutes from home. Heh, heh, heh, heh.

So, I kept trudging along, head down--an old skier in a snow storm dreaming of hot tea. It was now dark, but I could still make out the tracks of the party ahead of me though they were rapidly getting blown in by the storm. No need for a headlamp, though! Did I mention I was the ranger?

Coming around the last hill and only about 3/4 mile from the hut, I bump into a bunch of lost & semi-frozen campers. "We're saved! The ranger's here." Huzzah! They'd lost the trail and I was faithfully following their tracks. Ooops.

So OK. No problem. Time to take out my headlamp and find the trail. The trail is marked by yellow metal signs on the trees, spaced 30-50 feet apart. Fortunately most of them have reflective tape which shows up really well when a light hits them. As we're milling around, another group joins us (following these same errant tracks). There's now a cheerful group of 12 people with only 2 headlamps amongst us. Winds of 30-40 MPH; visibility between 15 and 30 feet. Pitch black. National Parks: Winter Wonderlands!

It took a couple of minutes, but I did find the trail which was only 50 feet away. The time it takes to do anything with a group increases exponentially with the size of the group. It took 30 minutes for everyone to adjust gear before we started off. Within minutes, I realized I'd led everyone off the trail and onto some unrecognizable ridge. I hate it when that happens. I hadn't seen a trail marker for awhile, but was sure (!) that if I just continued up the gully we were in it would cross the trail only a hundred yards up the hill. And it would have if only we'd been going the right direction, which we weren't.

Now I come to full attention. We'd been so close to the hut when I found everyone, I really wasn't taking the situation all that seriously, figuring we'd just stumble into the hut a little late. Now, though, I was authentically lost and sure didn't want to compound my embarrassment by getting more screwed up. Time to reevaluate and buckle down.

Stop, regroup, and follow our tracks back to the last visible sign. Took about 20 minutes, but we found where I'd missed the trail. At this point, I gave a pep talk--a few were suggesting that it might be time to bivvy. Not a bad idea, but I really, really knew where we were and knew we could make it in once I had my act together. Put the person with the other headlamp at the end of the line and anchored on the marker that was visible. Then we stretched out the line until the next marker was visible and moved slowly along like some inch worm, always anchored on the last trail marker.

It is not getting any warmer out here. People are pretty well dressed for the conditions, but a couple weren't and if we didn't get in soon, we would have to bivvy. A few are authentically worried but I know we're on track now. After maybe 30 minutes, I can smell the smoke from the hut's woodstove. A few more trudging steps and, 20 feet away, the hut looms out of the gloom. We're saved from my stupidity! Whew! An hour and a half to go 3/4 of a mile.

Here's the lesson: hubris. Pay attention to what's going on and don't be overconfident. At the first sign you're lost, go back to your last known point, don't plunge on ahead because the trail is "just over that hill." It isn't. Never has been, never will be.

And carry a good headlamp.

Another Tale of Sin and Redemption In April of that same year, ‘96, several of us were doing a snow survey at 11,000 ft. in the Sierra (Kings Canyon National Park, Bishop Pass). We leave a backcountry cabin and ski about 5 miles--crossing 12,000 ft. Bishop Pass--do the snow course, then ski the 5 miles back to the cabin. We started in bad weather, but good visibility (winds 30 MPH, temp. 5 F). We knew there was a storm approaching, but it didn't sound that bad. While doing the snow course, visibility was reduced to 15 to 50 feet and winds increased to a steady 35-40 MPH with gusts of 50+ MPH. Temperature at the snow course was -10 F (wind chill of -55).

To get back we had to cross an 12,000 foot pass and descend a narrow gully with a cornice at it's headwall. This gully was pretty much the only place to get down safely, though there were several alternative drop-offs of a couple of hundred feet if we missed.

We're all trudging along singing happy skiing songs in the storm and suddenly all come to the realization that we don't know where we are: We can't find the pass and nothing looks familiar. So we all huddle together and talk things over, each hoping the other has some brilliant plan. Fortunately, while we were discussing the problem, the wind lifted and there it was--40 feet away (marked by a trail sign). It was at this point that we began taking the situation extremely seriously.

Critical Lesson #1: recognize when you're in trouble and SLOW DOWN. Every action at this point became deliberate and thought out. There was no room for error and we recognized that.

From the sign, we set a compass course for the gully: one person going out to the maximum visibility--now only 15 feet--and being sighted on by the person with the compass. It took over an hour to go 1/4 mile with many discussions and waiting for the wind to lift to show an occasional landmark. We all recognized this was critical, no matter how long the wait. Also, we knew a cornice was out there somewhere and went extremely slowly so as not to drop off it in no visibility (one of us had already dropped off a small 10 foot cornice...).

And, zounds, we hit the top of the gully exactly (!), though even then we didn't recognize it for sure. We waited again for another break in the wind to be absolutely sure and there out of the gloaming was a semi-familiar rock: Thank You Jesus Rock. We're saved. Because of the winds & possible slab activity, we side stepped down, rather than go out under the cornice. Again: slow & deliberate & thinking rather than "ah, we're safe, let's get out of here...". At all times we made sure we stayed together, checking on each other (4 of us).

Second Guessing Critical Lesson #2 Gear: each person had a shovel, pieps, full storm gear, food & water. Only 2 had compass & maps. We all had good quality gear, though, and checked and maintained it REGULARLY! Failed gear (broken binding, pole) in these conditions would have been a disaster. For instance: I had a pole strap break. This meant I always had to grip the pole and couldn't occasionally curl my hands within my overmitts to warm my fingers. As a result, I sustained some minor numbness in my fingers which persisted for months after.

We probably pushed it with the original decision to go, even though we'd done that sort of thing before. Our only criteria was visibility at the time of departure. Then we waited too long while on the snow course. Visibility was deteriorating RAPIDLY and we didn't leave soon enough: Overconfidence in "knowing" the terrain and wanting to finish the job.

Critical Lesson #3 Get warm before you get cold. Another mistake I made was not changing to my pile mitts when the weather started to get really bad (I had semi-heavy gloves inside a goretex overmitt). I had also gotten my gloves damp handling the snow tubes during the sampling. By the time I realized I needed different gloves, it was too late to change anything because of the conditions. I ended up with frostbit fingers and fristbite on my windward cheek where by balaclava didn't cover it. In short, when the wind exceeds about 20 MPH, change into your extreme gear. I did, though, put everything else I had on before we started back. It took two people to get the gloves back on one of the others when he took them off briefly.

I had on: GoreTex shell jacket; thick pile jacket; pile vest; expedition weight top; ventilated t-shirt; expedition weight bottoms; heavy gore-tex rain pants with suspenders (!--you don't want to have to make even minor adjustments with your clothing, so keeping them up is more critical); neoprene socks over a wool sock in a heavy leather ski boot; capilene balaclava; ball cap & hood of jacket, drawn down in tunnel. Thinsulate gloves inside a Goretex overmitt (excellent mitts: MontBell has a great drawcord allowing you to close them up with gloved hands, also easy to get over jacket). 2 of us had bivvy sacks--next time all of us will.

Copyright © 1999 George Durkee