3-15-2013

Here was that crux of my scheme right here, the proverbial crossing of the Rubicon. I felt I should test it, precisely because I knew I could go back, because I am not absolutely committed like the Roman general of old. But I appreciate the flair for drama, and knowledge of the classics, it displayed on the part of whoever named the river here, likely some gold prospector. They had no love for granite, often attaching some reference to the devil in place names describing the most glacially scoured of granite locales. We got Hell Hole to the north a few miles and Devils Basin to the south. No gold to be found here in the granite lands, I guess, and hard travel. All the better.

I knew just looking at it, what my regular, all-day ski partners would say. Hell no. But I also have a few other partners who wouldn’t be so quick to rule it out. Climbers and mountaineers tend to cope with hazard with a more calculated approach than skiers and runners. You try things out, one move at a time, and as long as you can back out at any time if need be, you can assess it as you go, in a controlled fashion. I wasn’t about to just go for it and rush across this snow bridge, with a show of bravura stunt skiing, but I was ok with feeling my way, probing with my poles, scrutinizing each step in turn, assessing my ability to retreat. And it seemed alright.