Sunday, February 27, 2011

Copper Lake

On Monday I will attempt to ski all the way to Copper Lake.  Again.  Usually easy to hike to; a quick 3 hour jaunt through a gorgeous valley with some fun stream crossings, winter makes Copper Lake a tantalizing distant goal.  I've attempted this ski four times already, each attempt ending in frustration.  I have declared Copper Lake my nemesis.  

Copper Creek Trail starts just below Judd Falls, the now invisible waterfall that brings Copper Creek down into the East River Valley, somewhere just northeast of Gothic.  The trail is not difficult.  It's a well marked mining road that crosses over Copper Creek three times and two other creeks on the way to the northern end of the valley where one can find the amazing high-altitude lake of the same name.  Copper Lake is in a high basin surrounded by evergreen trees, flanked by East Maroon Pass on one side, and the beginning of Triangle Pass on the other.  While in the summer this popular and secluded lake is a great fishing and camping spot, and can be a fantastic spot to sit and reflect in solitude upon nature and man's place within it.  However, in winter the lake is frozen and snow covered, and the trail to it a challenge for a novice skier like myself.  In fact, I'll bet it's a challenge for almost any skier.  So far, I haven't seen any tracks head out that way besides my own, and I'll bet that no human has been there since December, if not earlier.  

My first attempt was in December, with John and Ira before our Texan friend headed out of winter to go play in the Grand Canyon for a couple of months.  We had a happy ski up the valley one afternoon, the three of us taking turns breaking trail through the fresh snow.  Luckily, the first stream crossing was snowed over in places, and being the largest of the crossings, that meant that the rest of them should be covered as well.  All was right with the world as we laughed and joked on our way north.  We made it as far as the last crossing, where tired and hungry, we decided to take a break, take some photos and have a snack.  After sitting down for a while, we decided to turn back home.  Fresh tracks leading downhill, a setting sun, and an endless winter stretched out before us all seemed to make Copper Lake a hazy, distant goal; certainly not something we needed to conquer right then.  So, with little disappointment we headed home.

That was to be the last time that I attempted the Lake with these friends, and perhaps my best chance of reaching it.  It would be Christmas before I tried my hand (or my feet if you will) at Copper Creek Trail again, and the next trip was to remind me just how brutal winter can be.

I set out by myself a few weeks later, early in the morning to avoid having the sun set on me.  The ski started wonderfully, if a bit chilly, and I made it to first crossing within a short 30 minutes.  It was there that I realized that in the middle of winter, the sun is far to the south and its light doesn't reach Copper Creek Valley until after noon since there are great big mountains in the way.  No matter, so I would ski in the shade.  What could be the problem with that?  The problem was that I chose the morning after the coldest night of the year for my ski.  After a bone-numbing -34 degree night, I was skiing in unbroken snow that wasn't getting any warmer sitting in the shade.  My boots were moving through frozen water particles that were well below a safe temperature.  After only a couple of miles, I could no longer feel my feet.  By the time I got to the last crossing, things were bad.  I can only recall a vague sense of wanting to cry every time I shifted weight from one foot to another.  There was no pain, no feeling at all really.  While determined to make it the last mile or so to the lake, I decided that the best thing to do would be to go back home.  Frustrated and reeling, I turned around.  When I got back home, my feet were frozen through.  Black, purple, and yellow, they emerged from my socks like frozen sausages being peeled from their casings.  I won't describe the pain and the fear that went into thawing them, and into trying to ascertain what kind of damage I actually did, but I will tell you that I still have all my toes, even if they don't feel anything anymore.    

 A few weeks later around Christmastime, Jonathon, a friend of mine who I met here years ago, decided to come for a visit.  After an eventful ski in from town, Jon decided that he'd rather use snowshoes to travel around for the remainder of his visit.  My feet had healed, and the memory of frostbite was fading, so the day after Christmas we strapped on some snowshoes (a very pale and somewhat retarded cousin to XC skis if you ask me) and again attempted the trail to Copper Lake.  Now this time I made another mistake.  While not crippling in the physical sense, this mistake was still pretty crucial.  I didn't inform Jonathon of where we were going.  I had it in my mind that we were attempting Copper Lake.  He thought we were going up past Judd Falls for some pictures.  To make a long, and rather beautiful story short, we again made it to the final crossing before Jon admitted his fatigue, and his lack of preparation for such a long hike.  I realized then that I had made assumptions about a place and a trip that he had absolutely no knowledge of.  Thanking him for putting up with such a long endeavor, I turned around again.

A few weeks ago I tried again.  This time, armed with food, water, emergency foot warmers, and the conviction that this time would be "it," I set out again for the seemingly mythical waters of Copper Lake.  The day was beautiful.  It was warm for the mountains in winter, the sun was out, and I was in my stride.  After months of skiing, my legs and arms were up for the challenge, and more.  I made it to first crossing within minutes.  I made it to the final stream crossing within a couple of hours.  Things were looking good indeed.  At the last crossing I stopped to have a snack and rest myself for the intense uphill battle that was to follow.  I remembered from several hikes that the last portion was the most difficult, winding steeply through the trees to reach the basin that held Copper Lake.  After my snack I started forward again.

I made it only 10 yards before I came upon the place I had hoped to cross.   The river was open.  The past few days had been warm and glorious, great for playing outside, but also great for melting the ice and snow that was supposed to be covering the river.  Instead of a dubious covering of snow, I looked down into a ravine and saw running water and rocks.  This is not the correct medium for skis.  I spent an hour skiing up and down the length of the creek looking for a place to cross, but it was all steep, all open, and all very dangerous.  Once again, this time for a reason beyond my capabilities and preparation, I had lost.  I turned around and headed home yet again.

So tomorrow, Monday 28 February, I will try again.  We've gotten lots of snow, temperatures have been moderately low, Ira is back, and the weather should be nice.  The trail will have to be broken, but with two skiers trading off that responsibility, we should be able to make decent time and not exhaust ourselves too much.  We'll pack a lunch, some extra socks and gloves, and once again head up into a valley who's indifference towards humans should be a clear warning sign that I do not belong there.  However, humans have a tendency to go where they don't belong, and knowing the risks, my sense of adventure will not let this one lie.  I'm going to steal an hour from Mother Nature to look at Copper Lake.  I'm going to go once again to the wintry solitude of the upper valleys, and this time I will be victorious.  Why, you may ask.  Well, in the words of mountain climbers everywhere- because it's there.