Day 2 of the southern alps traverse holds bad surprises and delusion. Maybe the SAR team on day 1 was right…

The shelter had been empty besides the resident mouse. It was too early to hike the Southern Alps. Yet, in the morning, two hikers pass me on their descent, but they don’t stop to chat and I don’t try either. So if they were successful or if they were turning around, I don’t know. After a few more hours of steep uphill, the trail finally climbs above treeline.

The Chausu hut is still closed; only the winter room was unlocked. I skipped Chausu peak (8541 ft) and Tekari (8502 ft), even though it is part of the official Southern Alps thru hike. The sky is grey and gloomy, and I didn’t fancy an 11-mile out-and-back when my food supplies are on the tighter side anyway (have I learned anything since the PCT? Apparently not).

Maybe I’m also just lazy.

From the Chausu hut, patches of snow cover the trail. At first, it was just a harmless case of wet feet. But soon I am postholing, thigh deep.

“Okay, we’ll be moving slower”, I tell myself. Trying to stay calm about the conditions that I HAD BEEN WARNED about, while a little voice is saying: It will only get worse.

And it did.

 

Aprils fool

The Southern Alps Traverse heads north towards Kamikouchi (9194 ft), mostly right on the ridge. By now, the snowpack was a thick blanket hiding the entire trail. I scramble and bushwhack around as best as I could for a while. Branches scratching my bare legs.

But soon I reach a section that seems impassable. So far faint footprints had given me hope (delusion) that this thru hike is possible. But now there is not a trace of human travel. Just a steep slope of unstable snow surrounded by cliffs.

“Not my first rodeo”, I say, recalling Forrester Pass in the Sierra Nevada a few years ago. But there was a bootpack across the chute back then, and now I would have to create my own. I try to kick a step into the snow, and it crumbles under my weight. Little boulders of clumped-up snow rolling down a ravine that promises broken bones in a worst-case scenario. My heart sinks.

Plan B. My eyes carefully trace the cliffs, evaluating going around the snow, gauging loose gravel and rocks to grab on to. “It looks steeper than it is”, I whisper, which resembled more the defensive hiss of a cornered animal. But when I tried to scramble, it was a lot steeper than it looked, and after sliding a few meters, I quickly backtrack to the last bit of dry trail.

This it. I gotta turn around.

What would Pinecone do

I bite the dry skin of my chapped lips. What are my options?

I could stay another night in one of the huts I passed, read my book, cook, and make this Southern Alps Traverse attempt feel less like a failure. Great news, even, I wouldn’t have to ration food anymore and can just devour my whole food bag. Hitch back to Shizuoka, shower, and get a bus to Hokuto. C’est la vie.

I stare at the trail ahead one more time. This is my limit then; this is the maximum fear and danger I can handle.

“Really, Pinecone?”, My PCT trail name rings in my ears mockingly. Is this all I got?

Did I give this mountain all I got today? Maybe the girl I am is too scared to go ahead. But the woman I want to be wouldn’t.

I kick another step into the crumbly white. This time, I kick it deep and wide. I take my time to create a little plateau to hold one foot.

Carefully, I put weight on it until my other foot is hovering in the air. It holds, for now. I dig my poles into the snow and kick another step in.

Little by little, I traverse the slope. Only attempting to move forward when I’m sure I have a steady hold. Forrester Pass has nothing on this. Midway through, the slope gets almost vertical. At least it feels like it does.

I swallow hard, panic rising in my chest. ANYTHING, sing, cry, yell, but you CANNOT panic.

 

A taste of WHAT THE FUCK

When I get both feet on dry trail again, I am waiting for the wave of relief. But the nagging voice is back, wondering what’s ahead and doubting if continuing the Southern Alps Traverse is the right call.

My gaze wanders to the horizon, to what is waiting for me ahead. Hand on heart while no one is watching: Mount Hijiri in the distance looks fcking terrifying, and that isn’t even the highest point of the Southern Alps Traverse.

Day 2 continues as a slapstick performance of glissading, scrambling, and postholing. I could see the red roof of the midday break hut already, but my pace is so slow that it would still take me hours to get there.

An icy gust stings my face; the air feels razor-sharp. Draining every ounce of energy from my body. Eventually, I stop to put on my rain pants and base layers in an attempt to stay warm. Besides the cold, a weird headache is pressing on my temples.

I won’t make it far today; the midday hut is the end of my day. Putting me behind schedule already.

 

 

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