High Mountain vocabulary · Jul 28, 03:22 pm by Jennifer Pharr
Okay for all those who told me that all the snow would be melted out of the Sierras by July . . . I can’t wait to show you my pictures. Every day we spend several hours trying to traverse up and over snow covered passes. And despite my initial anxiety, I am actually starting to really enjoy the white stuff and the challenges it entails.
And because route-finding and snowball fights are so much fun, I have decided to dedicate this update to some new vocabulary words that have come as a result of our tread and terrain.
Passes: Yes, we’re starting with the basics, but I really had no idea what a pass was until I hit the Sierras. For all I knew, a pass was when a male hiker tried to make a move to become a permanent hiking partner, but in fact, a pass is a low point between peaks or on a ridge that once surmounted will lead you to the following glacial valley and ensuing mountains. Our passes are typically between 12,000 – 13,000 ft., and if approached from the wrong angle can be, well, not the safest part of your day.
Postholing: the best time to go over a pass is mid to late morning. Any earlier and the snow is too icy, any later and you will spend much of the day postholing—when your foot unexpectedly breaks through a patch of soft snow and leaves you stuck waist deep in the white abyss. (Thankfully your pack and butt are generally big enough to keep you from falling all the way through.) Once you have sunken through the snow, you usually have to wiggle your way out or use your ice axe to hack and pull yourself out. I actually kinda like the concept of postholing, mainly because my friend “Running Moon” does it about twice as often as I do and it’s fun trying to see him crawl out of the leg sucking hole.
Glissading: The best reward for making it to the top of a huge pass is being able to glissade down the opposite side. Glissading is basically sledding downhill on your butt. Assuming there are no cliffs, rock, or frozen lakes on the opposite side of the pass, it is both a fun and efficient way of getting downhill. I prefer to glissade with rain pants on, but “Running Moon,” always entertaining, chooses to go down as he is—in hiking shorts without a liner. He describes the experience as something close to a snow enema. I wouldn’t know.
Self-arrest: Okay, so I still couldn’t technically give you the definition to this term, but I’m fairly certain that every time I start to slide on a snow field and somehow prevent myself from crashing to the rocks/lakes/cliffs by using my ice axe, then I have performed some novice form of self-arrest.
Self-belay: Another technical, yet not personally, perfected skill. This is where I once again utilize my handy ice axe to, this time, scale a mostly vertical ridge of snow. It still kind of amazes me that a substance that can melt in your mouth can also support your entire body weight when manipulated correctly.
Watermelon snow: A very cool phenomenon, this is when the snow turns a pinkish, red color that actually resembles watermelon flesh. Furthermore, the coolest part is that if you take a fistful of the red snow and squeeze it in your hands, then it actually smells like watermelon. And, although this encounter will make you totally crave the sweet summertime fruit, you will have to resist the snow in the meantime, because, while nostalgic for the warm summer days on the porch, this counterfeit snow can apparently make you extremely sick when eaten.
Snow bridges: Although fighting a losing battle, we are constantly trying to keep our feet from being totally submerged in the freezing cold water of rivers and streams. One way to prevent this is to use the snow bridges, or patches of snow that have yet to entirely melt and still connect both banks of the river. The only negative to these formations is that if the structure happens to fracture and break, then you get a whole lot more than just your feet wet.
Snow cups: Ahh, I couldn’t conclude this e-mail without mentioning snow cups. So you know what a typical egg carton looks like after the eggs are removed? Well, use the scale of an inch to a foot, transform the styrofoam to snow, and you have a snow cup. Yes, the sun actually makes half-dome indentations into the snow when it begins to melt. Let’s just say my ankles are going to be glad when we finally leave the realm of snow cups, and well . . . I’ll never look at an egg carton the same way again.
I guess it’s time to wrap up this update and ode to Webster’s word of the day. Hope the lingo comes in hand on your personal high mountain treks. The next time I write, I will have completed over 1,000 miles.
Until then, all my best
jp
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