...

That night was great. After hiking and digging for so long, we were all knackered; and when Jim had filled our bellies with Parmesan noodles and sausage, it was early to bed. I think Eric fought it off with a book, but I (as usual) was no match for the sleepy-monster. Eyes closed at 7:30. You'd think that at 7,000 feet on a wind-scorched frozen mountainside, we would be cold. Thanks to loads of gear, however, I think we all stayed comfortably warm throughout the night. In fact, at one of my roll-over intervals of groggy consciousness, I realized I was sweating. Thanks to my "Mr. Yuck" sticker clad nalgene, I was able to stay in my bag until 7:30 the next morning. Tricky, yet effective...and slightly disturbing.

After I relieved myself and dozed off again, I had a strange dream about being beaten by a junior high girl's basketball team. Thankfully, I awoke to the sound of Jim's voice, (which, by the way is quite disturbing when it come's out of the body of the little girl who was dunking over me) "Mike...Mike, wake up. I'm hungry." I snapped out of the depressing route, and opened my eyes. After some stretching, groaning, and an aerial steam-roller attack on Eric, I started cooking breakfast. Just like last year, I cooked Breakfast Burritos. Yum. They were eaten quickly.

We lethargically crawled out of our sleeping bags (which at this point I had been inside for 14 hours) climbed inside our snow gear and strapped on our boots, gaiters and snowshoes / crampons. Then we entered the vortex. Have you seen that commercial for the Dyson vacuum cleaner? Just imagine being stuck inside that with loads of snowcone ice. Now you know how we felt. Nevertheless, we trudged up the mountain toward Cooper Spur. I thought about Orville and Wilbur's mother a lot that day. She once told them to crouch down in the wind while bringing back the firewood. Smart lady. After a quick peek out over the Elliot Glacier, we made our way back to the hut.

[enter drama]

While Eric, Trent, and Jim were inside packing up their gear, I was outside organizing my sled. As I was yelling at some skiers who were huddling in the lee of the hut (that's the only way to be heard in that wind) Eric's nearby sled began to lift of the ground. Before it dislodged from it's resting place, I started sprinting, for I knew what was about to occur. One of the skiers yelled, "Uh Oh!" and the sled was off. I felt like a greyhound chasing the bunny-suited hunk of metal. Only...I was never that close. The actual velocity of the sled's departure has gotten quicker with each telling, but I SWEAR that thing took off at like 200 mph. I never had a chance of catching it. Within seconds, it was flying off a cliff a half mile away. Reluctantly (actually it was kind of funny to me at the time (sorry Eric)) I poked my head into the hut and said, "Eric, your sled is gone. I'm serious, it's gone." Obviously he wasn't too thrilled with the situation. Fortunately, my sled is the size of a houseboat, and Eric was able to put much of his gear inside his pack.

Since the A-frame was most likely vacant, we headed down the mountain toward a warm stove, a dry floor and some good times. Riding down the snowfield, I felt like Lewis (or Clarke...take your pick) canoeing down the Columbia. They had waited so long for the chance to be going downstream...wait, I'm boring myself. The ride down was cool!! It was a little rocky (not literally) at times due to the deep powder in the trees, but cool nevertheless.

We arrived at the hut and within a few minutes, all the day-hikers and previous night's dingleberries had cleared out, and the cabin was ours!

to be continued...