Narrative #5 - Backpacking
The Meteor!
By: Ron Reil
Preface!
I have been a backpacker for
many years, and during my time in the high country I have had numerous
interesting experiences. Probably none compare with an event that happened
during a seven day solo backpacking trip, in late October, into the Sawtooth
Wilderness in central Idaho some years ago. I did not experience any "near
death" experiences, but the events that occurred during this trip were most
remarkable.
That year Autumn in Boise had
been very dry and enjoyable. The weather seemed as though it didn't want
to let go of the warm lazy days of summer. There were some Pacific storms
well out to sea, but so far all previous weather systems had tracked well
to the north of Idaho. I decided that there might just be enough time to
get in one more trip into the high country before it was locked up in winter's
icy grip for six months.
I planned to do a seven
day solo cross country traverse of the Sawtooth Wilderness, starting my hike
at the trail-head at Iron Creek Campground. I did not like the idea of leaving
my rig parked in the trail-head parking lot for the duration of my hike,
so I talked my wife Gretchen into driving me up and returning to pick me
up a week later. This decision was to have a significant impact on what
followed.
After the four hour drive up
to the Stanley Basin I was anxious to get the hike started. Despite
the fine weather we had been having it was now overcast and threatening to
snow. I was prepared for bad weather, but I really wanted to get my evening
camp setup before any heavy snow might start. It is always easier to weather
a storm if it starts after your camp is in place. I do not enjoy setting
up camp in heavy rain or snow, even though many times I have had no choice
in the matter.
It was already mid afternoon,
and with the steadily lowering cloud cover it seemed even later. I said my
goodbyes to Gretchen, and shouldered the seventy pound pack for my three
hour hike up to Sawtooth Lake. Being as late in the season as it was there
were no signs of other campers or day hikers in the area. I was alone with
my thoughts.
The hike into Sawtooth Lake
took me past another smaller lake called Alpine Lake, almost exactly one
mile below Sawtooth Lake. The trail below Alpine lake is still low enough
that much of it is in the thick lodgepole pine forest that surrounds the
higher granite peaks. Once past Alpine lake the trail becomes more interesting.
In some places it has been blasted out of solid granite ledges, and walking
through such locations is easy enough when the trail is snow free, but when
conditions change, hiking them can become challenging.
As I gained elevation the clouds
steadily lowered, and shortly before I reached Alpine Lake the first snow
started to fall. It was nothing more than a few flurries, but I knew how
quickly it could change into a full blown blizzard, so I did not waste time
as I hiked. I passed by Alpine Lake with little more than a glance as I steadily
gained elevation. The trail changed character too, it was no longer forest
floor but was now passing through a world of grey granite. Many places the
trail almost vanished in the glacially polished rock.
The trail climbed steeply up
from Alpine Lake and then the gradient eased off as it passed through a series
of small gullies and depressions a short distance below Sawtooth Lake. In
one of the little granite valleys I met the only person I saw that week.
He was resting on a boulder as I approached. When we met I saw that he was
a very senior backpacker, probably in his mid to late 70s! We
talked for a while as I tried to regain my breath. I soon realized that the
old man was very well suited to the high country. He had been hiking the
Idaho wilderness for many years, and like me, mostly solo.
Even though the snow was increasing
steadily, I accepted his invitation to a hot drink. I was impressed by how
quickly he was able to kindle a tiny fire, just big enough to heat a pot
of dark liquid that he poured out of a water container. In a few minutes
the pot was steaming, and he poured us each a cup of the thick liquid. The
drink looked like tea, but was a lot stronger. It was about 100 proof, and
really was a great treat. We sat and talked for a short while, enjoying the
steaming brew.
The weather was closing in rapidly.
Small clouds drifted through our tiny valley blocking out the view, and adding
to the feeling that I had better get moving. We parted, each having found
a kindred spirit in the other, and I headed up, while he headed down the
trail. I was getting concerned because I still had a quarter of a mile to
go to reach Sawtooth Lake, and then I had to hike up to the far end of the
lake, another mile, before I could set up camp. The weather was beginning
to get serious, and I knew that it was time I was setting up the tent and
getting things stowed for a major blow.
As I approached the lake it
was almost invisible in the driven snow. The wind was coming straight down
the lake into my face, driving the snow horizontally as it came. I stopped
for a few moments to take the weight off my sagging shoulders, and to put
on my parka shell to keep out the wind. I wasted no time getting back on
the trail and moving toward my evening's camping spot. The hike was no longer
one to enjoy, but one to finish as soon as possible.
The wind was coming down from
the high peaks in increasingly powerful blasts as the snow steadily increased
in intensity. I had not traveled more than a few hundred yards when my world
was reduced to the immediate trail in front of me and the rocks to either
side. The lake and surrounding country were all lost in the gathering storm.
My watch indicated that I had several hours of light remaining, but it seemed
as though night was very close. The storm was blocking my visibility in several
ways.
After a very unpleasant hike
along the lake, I finally arrived at the far end and started looking for
a suitable tent site. There was a small stand of pine trees that offered
the only protection from the wind, so I set up my tent in a small clearing
between downed trees. They had given up their life in some ancient storm,
probably not unlike the present one. I hoped that all the standing trees
nearby would weather the present storm and not decide to join their ancestors
on the ground, or on my tent.
My tent was not one of those
modern dome tents, but was an old A-frame model that had seen many years
of service. It was well built, but the years had been many, and I was concerned
that it might not stand up to the steadily increasing winds. Just getting
it set up was a trial. I finally managed to get it set up, and I tied it
down and anchored it in every possible way. I moved all my gear inside, being
careful to get everything. I knew that anything left out would either be
blown away or buried in the rapidly accumulating snow.
That night was one to remember.
After getting everything somewhat organized in the tent, I found that I was
very thirsty. I got my empty water bottles together and prepared to venture
out into the storm. The lake was only 150-200 yards away, but when I opened
the tent to go out, I could scarcely see 20 feet! The storm had attained
full gale status, and the thought of going out into the roaring whiteness
was more than I wanted to risk. Even though I was in a very confined valley,
with a lake in the middle, I felt that there was a real risk in trying to
get to the lake and then find my way back to the tent. Also, the winds were
becoming a threat to the survival of the tent, and I wanted to be there to
help brace the tent walls against the blasts. What would occur, should the
tent blow apart, was more than I wanted to think about.
I decided to stay in the tent
and fire up my stove to melt some of the rapidly collecting snow. I opened
the tent and packed a pot full of the ultra dry powder, closing the tent
up as soon as possible to keep out the storm. Running the stove inside the
tiny tent was not something I like doing, but under the circumstances it
was the only option. Even inside the protection of the tent the flame of
the stove was very erratic due to the air inside the tent being violently
displaced by the wind gusts outside. Also, keeping the stove upright was
a problem because the wind constantly blasted under the tent raising the
floor and threatening to upset the stove.
I have done a great deal of
winter camping in snow shelters, and in temperatures as low as 50 below zero,
but the conditions that night were the most dangerous I have experienced.
I was terribly thirsty, and when I put the pot of snow on to melt, the very
dry powder snow simply sucked up the tiny amount of melted water, and then
bridged the bottom of the pot so that the heat couldn't get to it. I kept
pushing the mass of snow down to keep from burning the bottom of the pot.
It is interesting that you can burn water when melting snow! It is also
interesting that liquid water is needed to melt snow under the conditions
I faced.
Once I had my snow melted, I
wanted to drink it all at once, but I took only a few sips, saving the remainder
to use to melt more snow. I kept the stove going for several hours in order
to melt enough snow and prepare some hot food. Finally the roar of the little
stove was replaced by the roar of the storm as I settled in for the night.
Sleep was not one of my options
that night. I stayed awake all night, bracing the tent and listening to the
howl of the winds outside. It was interesting, the roar of an incoming blast
would start far up the valley, and high in the granite craggs. I could follow
its progress down the valley as the roar steadily increased in intensity.
Finally, when it seemed that the level of noise couldn't possible increase
any further the tent would be struck by a horrendous blast that would try
to both lift the tent off the ground, and carry it away down the valley.
Then it would pass by and a calm period would ensue while the storm gathered
its forces for a new attack.
The night slowly passed into
history, and with it the storm. When I opened the tent in the morning the
world was a much different place than it had been 24 hours earlier. I have
no idea how much snow had fallen, because it was piled into massive drifts
in some spots, and in others the bare granite showed through. The air was
free of falling snow, but the valley was full of ragged broken pieces of
cloud, as if the storm had shattered the cloud cover of the day before. The
roar of the wind was gone also, and with it the threat to my survival. Another
thing that had gone with the wind were my thoughts of traversing the Sawtooths.
Travel was now almost impossible!
I was not unprepared, I had
a fine set of snowshoes that I had crafted myself from a white ash tree I
had cut down while living in New Hampshire, but they were almost useless
under the present conditions of alternating snow and bare rock. Besides,
the snow was so dry and light, that even with snowshoes, travel was all but
impossible. I decided to relax, make breakfast, fill all my water bottles,
and then decide what to do next.
By 9:00 AM all my work was done
and I had to decide on my next course of action. I was concerned that another
storm would follow on the heels of the last, and I was concerned about the
parts of the trail blasted out of vertical ledge. They would become all but
impassable should another storm follow the last. After some deep consideration
I decided that retreat would be my best option. I decided to work my way
down to Alpine Lake, and set up camp there for the night. I could make further
decisions after I successfully moved my camp to lower elevation.
I broke camp in improving
conditions. The sun was breaking out of the scud every now and then, and
there seemed to be no threat of new storm activity for the present. After
several hours I was once again shouldering my pack and heading back the way
I had come. The agony was about to begin.
I was able to walk a hundred
yards or so before I hit the first of the snow drifts. As soon as I started
into the snow I knew that the day was going to be a struggle. There was no
bottom to the snow. It would not support me, and I was immediately up to
my waist in the deep powder. The snowshoes were out of the question because
the snow only extended 75-100 feet before it was bare rock again. I would
just have to bulldoze my way through at the cost of tremendous physical
effort.
I was soon striped down to a
tee shirt, as the intense physical effort had sweat streaming off of me.
The day dragged on as I slowly worked my way down the trail. What had taken
only minutes to traverse the day before, now required hours. Finally I arrived
at the far end of the lake, and soon I was back to where I had shared a wonderful
drink with the "old man of the mountains." I still had almost a mile to go
to reach Alpine Lake, but I now felt that I would make it before dark. I
was chagrined by the contrast in the conditions yesterday, compared to the
ones today, in this place where I had enjoyed that wonderful drink. There
was no time to delay however, the temperature was dropping rapidly, and there
was a lot of trail to travel in a rapidly waning day.
Probably the worst part of that
two mile journey were the sections of trail that had been blasted out
of the granite ledge. The trail was completely gone. The side of the ledge
made one smooth snow slope, with the trail buried in the deep snow. I had
no choice but to dig my way through. I didn't feel at risk, but it was very
evident that to slip off the edge of the trail would cause my wife and daughter
some small amount of grief.
The remainder of the afternoon
passed in a sweat soaked struggle to clear a path down to the lower
lake. I finally staggered in to an almost snow free clearing right next to
the little lake. It was pure ecstasy to drop the pack and collapse on a big
log lying next to the lake. I still had about an hour of day light, I was
in a great camp site, and all was wonderful in my world! Life was once again
worth living.
That evening the temperature
dropped rapidly. The clouds were gone and the stars shown brightly in the
alpine sky. By 8:00 PM I was in my sleeping bag trying to keep warm. An hour
later I was climbing out again to put on more clothes, as it was too cold
for the bag I had brought. After several more excursions to add clothing
my pack was empty. If the temperature continued to plummet I could find myself
in a serious situation once again. I looked at the thermometer that I keep
on my pack and it showed almost 20 below zero, and it was still dropping!
I had no delusions about the Sawtooths. I had seen temperatures approaching
80 below zero in the Stanley Basin during the ten years I had lived in Idaho.
I had no choice but to remain, and do my best to keep warm.
The night passed very slowly,
with little sleep. I wondered if it was possible that I might go to sleep
and freeze to death while I slept. There was a full moon out, and the light
passed through the tent, lighting it up almost like day. As I lay there shivering
I heard a funny scratching sound on the tent. I rolled over to be able to
see the sides of the tent better, and was rewarded with the silhouette of
a mouse climbing up the side of my tent. He climbed to the top and then slid
down the other side. He then climbed up again on that side, sliding down
again on the original side. He continued to enjoy my tent until I got tired
of listening to the noise and watching him. I finally slapped the side of
the tent and could hear the mouse land some distance away in the forest.
I turned over to try to get
some sleep, but about ten minutes later the mouse was back enjoying the
recreation to be had on my tent. Once again, I was destined to suffer a night
with very little sleep.
I survived the night, but was
very happy when the sun delivered its first warming rays to the side of my
tent. I climbed out to begin a series of days, passing the time until I could
hike out and meet Gretchen. One fortuitous thing was that I had planned to
do a circuit, ending up back at Iron Creek Campground where I had started.
I had only to pass another five days, and hike out on the firmer consolidated
snow.
I started a period of time where
I had little to do other than think about my surroundings and enjoy the view.
I had fishing gear with me, but by the third day the lake was frozen solid.
I did manage to catch a few golden trout before the ice covered the lake
for the season. I also established an interesting relationship with the mouse.
He followed me everywhere. If I sat down on the log he would curl up next
to me and go to sleep. Apparently he had been befriended by previous backpackers.
He showed no signs that he was going to chew up my gear, so I enjoyed the
strange association for the duration of my time at the lake.
The weather remained clear and
cold, but within my limits of survival. On my second day at Alpine Lake an
event occurred that stunned me, and probably my friend the mouse too. About
10:30 AM I was sitting on the log near my tent, enjoying the morning sun.
The mouse was curled up next to me on the log, apparently asleep. The weather
was dead calm, not so much as a breath of wind was moving. I had finished
a relaxed breakfast, and was laying back enjoying my surroundings when it
happened.
It came instantly, without any
warning whatsoever. One moment I was sitting on the log looking out across
the frozen lake, and the next I was thunder struck by a tremendous impact
on the hill side just above, and to the side, of where I camped. There was
no sound leading up to it. It had to be traveling faster than the speed of
sound, and the tremendous concussion that resulted from its arrival was evidence
of the fact.
I jumped up from the log, with
my heart in my throat, but I soon realized that I was in no danger. The actual
impact occurred behind a stand of trees which blocked my view. There was
a large amount of rockfall and sliding debris after the impact. The actual
event probably lasted 3-4 minutes from the time of impact until the last
of the debris avalanche came to rest. Even the mouse went below ground after
the impact.
I attempted to climb up to the
impact site, but the steep mountain side, coupled with the fresh snow, made
travel impossible. I spent the rest of the day trying to reach the site but
could not manage it.
I had the remainder of my stay
at the lake to contemplate the event. Since there was no smoke or fire it
was not an aircraft. Also, when I got back I inquired about anything happening
in the area I was camping, but nothing was known to have occurred there.
After I had exhausted all other possibilities, the only possible cause was
a meteor impact.
I decided to go up to Alpine
Lake early the next spring to do a search. I did go back to the lake, but
was too early, as the snow was still lying deep on the hill side. I returned
the following year with somewhat better results. I was able to locate the
exact point of impact. There is a shear granite face above the lake, with
an impact scar about four feet above the base of the cliff. It looked much
like the impact scar a .22 rifle makes when a brick is shot with it, only
on a much larger scale. There was a crater, perhaps 4 feet across, with shock
rays, or fractures radiating out from its sides. The crater was in the face
of a solid granite cliff, so the impact would have to have been substantial
to shatter that much granite.
I managed to get over to the
scar, no small feat as it was very steep, with a long drop below. I searched
for fragments of the meteorite, but found no evidence other than the scar.
I think that is reasonable, as anything that came out of that crater would
have had sufficient energy to be projected down the scree slope. I did not
have the equipment necessary to descend the slope, as ropes would have been
necessary, and to date I have not returned with the gear to do it. The exposure
is also a factor. The slope is very loose, and would be a high risk exploration
at best due to falling rock from above.
There are two possibilities
regarding the meteorite. If it was a nickel-iron meteor it will still probably
be intact and recoverable somewhere below on the scree slope. Only about
12% of the meteors arriving on Earth are metal, with the remaining being
rock. If it was a stony meteor it would have turned to dust in the force
of the impact, and no trace will probably ever be found. It is possible that
some fragments of a stony meteor could remain, and since they have a relatively
high iron content, they could possibly be recovered with the aid of a metal
detector.
I have been in touch with geologists
at Boise State University about attempting to recover any remains. There
is interest, but the fact that it is in a wilderness area causes some unique
legal problems. I hope that someday I will be able to recover some fragment
of the original object that arrived with such force and destruction that
cold October day.
Conclusion
I spent the rest of my time
at Alpine lake thinking about the events that had occurred earlier in the
hike. When the day came to hike out to the trail-head, the weather was once
again threatening snow. However, it held off until sometime after Gretchen
and I were safely on our way back to Boise. The lure of possibly recovering
that meteorite has tugged at me for almost 10 years now. I am now 50 years
old, and the risks associated with repelling a thousand feet down the scree
slope are no longer as acceptable as they once were. Perhaps someone will
read this who would like to have a shot at it. I would love to go up again
and help in locating it, but I think that the meteor may end up sleeping
on that hill side for all eternity if it doesn't happen soon.
Please click on the link below
to return to my home page. I hope you have enjoyed this narrative. Check
back often as I will add new ones as my time and energy allow.