On the first morning of 2008, we departed on our long-awaited hut trip. My Los Angeles core had counted down to the trip with as much excitement as the end of 2007. It was a hard year for us all.
With oatmeal in our bellies, we packed our food and gear and set out, slightly later than anticipated. We parked the truck at base camp, only to discover we were short one pair of skis. Haley's mother, Jan, and Laura, would have to retrieve the skis and head up after. A second wave of hut-hikers would join us, so our group would be staggered up the mountain anyway.
We LA kids strapped snow shoes to our small human feet and danced into our heavy packs. Later on, my ambitious packing would almost cripple me, but at the time I was more concerned with my frozen toes and fingers than my straining shoulders. Josh gave me his mittens, and so the first mile of the hike, my fingers thawed. After we hit the first blue diamond, when the trail turned up several grades, I was heated enough to remove my hat and mittens! By our first break, I could take off my coat, and that initial numbness would not trouble me for miles.
I got through the first four miles by counting 50 to 60 paces and then stopping for a few breaths. We stopped twice to eat and rest, and during lunch I peed in the snow-- a great relief!
But as night fell, and there was no sign of our leader Michael, Haley's father, I wondered how far we truly were from the hut. Some experts following us passed us, and eventually so did Jan. At that point, my pack was unbearable and my three friends were pulling ahead. In the brief time I was alone, I felt tears freezing on my cheeks and heard phantom rustles in the pines. All I had to do was look above me to the night show and wow myself into utter bliss, despite the pain and cold.
True to his word, Michael doubled back to help us once he reached the hut. He took my sled, sleeping bag, and several bottles of food. Making everything in my world better. I reached my friends in no time, with 2/3 of a mile left (of a 7 mile hike from 6500' to 11300'). I was recharged.
Sadly, the rest of the group had hit a threshold. Haley had a faulty snow shoe and Josh was suffering the beginnings of altitude sickness. I stayed behind with Josh, while Dara, in her incredible tolerance for discomfort, struggled forward.
Finally, we saw the last blue diamond between two posts on the right. I knew the hut was 50 yards ahead so I urged Josh forward-- we were almost there. I trudged forward, my toes frozen through, and sure enough, the snow-covered hut formed in my view. I was laughing, and I kept laughing in pure joy as we opened the door.
I wasn't tired, hungry, sick, or any one sensation. I was weak, but so triumphant that all else faded. I stripped my layers and sat on the long bench where my friends were sipping chicken soup. Jan made me a luxurious hot drink comprised of water and orange gatorade. It might have been the most perfect drink I'd ever tasted.
That night we let the others cook the meal we planned (pesto, veggies, and pasta) and tried to re-fill our tired bodies. The hut was dark and candlelit, our group of adults, twenty-somethings, and one toddler filled the cabin with a happy din. There were 4 others staying there as well, but since I barely knew those in our own group, in my mind we formed one organism: eating, drinking, playing games, coming and going from the out house in the starry mountain night.
It was an early night for all of us, but even earlier for Josh, who fell asleep after throwing up several times.
The following morning I woke up to the smell of pancakes and the indisputable pressure of pee. I couldn't believe I had made it through the whole night without a trip to the out house! I slipped into my coats and boots and hurried to the little stand beside the house. It felt so warm compared to the sub-zero temperature we hiked in the previous night!
After eating an inhuman amount of pancakes, half the group left for a day of skiing. We, of course, stayed behind and filled our day with books, scrabble, hot chocolate, lazy yoga, and good talk. Napping was our sport of choice. I took photos and wrote this story. Others mustered the energy to sled or roll down the mountain.
The ambitious part of the group returned and joined the sledders just as the sun began to fade. The hut was once again full of bodies and gear, and we melted pot after pot of snow for dinner and tea. Jan made her famous bourbon-baked brie, and I decided to fill my stomach with the rich, warm cheese instead of waiting for dinner. We formed a faulty game of gin rummy after the plates cleared, blindly inventing rules and scores. I was dizzy from wine and thin air. I made one last trip to the out house before bed, wondering when I'd ever see the stars so close and bright and perfect.
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