Spirit Mountain, a place of rich cultural and religious significance to the native people of this area. Jagged granite spires, clear spring water, lush plant life and a gathering of migratory birds barely describes the beauty and power of this landscape. That is my destination for the week. I'll be leaving in just a few hours.
This past week I've spent my days finding the snow line in the Spring Mountains for the Forest Service (FS). Basically what this entails is hiking up a trail and taking a GPS coordinate of any fallen trees, flowing water, or breaks in the snow. It also means that when I can't find the trail in the snow, or it gets too deep to pass I take note of that too. All of this information is used by the FS to inform the public of where they could/should be hiking.
I started out by driving the Harris Spring Road, which is a playground for OHV and Jeeps near the base of the mountain. The whole area is very heavily used with tire tracks going off in every direction. I eventually reached a point where the snow was too deep to continue driving, so back down the hill I went.
On Wednesday Chris and I hiked the Mary Jane Falls Trail. We had little expectation of just how far we would actually be able to hike in, but were hopeful that we could find something cool. At the trail head the snow was very shallow, maybe two inches or so. Yet, due to the use that this trail was receiving the snow on the trail was thinned out and melting in the sun. This caused a slippery mess combining snow and ice and mud. Farther up the trail we became surrounded by large old pine trees and white rolling hills. Every now and then we would come across a small tree across the trail and happily pulled it off to the side. As we gained elevation the snow got deeper and deeper, and the footprints became fewer and fewer until we were following what seemed to be a single set. Whoever it was that created these tracks, I was happy that they had trudged out ahead because there's no other way I would have know where the trail was for all the snow.
Up we went, higher and higher catching glimpses of the surrounding ridgeline through the trees. Limestone faces painted with white lines where ever snow could hang on and black pine trees sprung up like stubble on an unshaven chin. We took a long break for lunch, weary from the constant strain of lifting our feet up over the snow and pushing them back down in. Three feet of snow is nice until you sink down to your groin, soaking your socks and pants. Several times during lunch I heard a strange noise from farther up the trail, like hooves on rock or stones falling. After taking time to enjoy my carrot and homemade sourdough we continued up the footprint path until we heard the sound of flowing water. The sound brought me right back home to flowing streams and creeks that I grew up playing in in Georgia. However, when I raised my eyes up to the ridge where we were headed I saw the water pouring off of the cliff. Through the trees I could see that the water found its way over a 80-100 foot drop and made a series of steps down the snow covered ledges of the face. As we approached, the running water cut underneath the snow. It was an eerie sight to see a large area of snow and hear the water rushing, but not know how deep it was or where it was safe to cross.
Nearing the base of the fall I heard that same noise again, like falling rock, and looked up to see that as the snow high up on the fall melted it tumbled down the face in huge blocks. The blocks pile up at the base of the fall creating a huge mound. The water that falls onto this pile cuts through it, forming this massive sculpture of ice and snow with pillars and spears sticking straight up into the sky. We watched carefully as more snow would fall off the face and onto the piles, waiting for an opportunity to climb in behind the fall to a cave. After one big crash of falling snow we made a run for it, quickly and carefully climbing the wet rock to a space that had eroded away behind the fall. We spent a great deal of time here marveling at the beauty of our current situation. Observing the power of the fall, studying the curves of the giant icicles, inspecting the amazing plants that grow straight of the rock, and basking in the serenity of the mountaintop scene. I didn't ever want to leave.
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