If I ever begin to express interest in doing a snow bivouac again, do me a favour and hit me over the head with a heavy blunt object until the feeling goes away.
It had been a funny week. I don't think I've ever had as many questions about whether the tour was still on or not as for this one. And all from the same guy:
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Needless to say that although the weather in Munich was terrible on Saturday morning, as we got closer to the Alps we could see that they were basking in the sunshine. We finally left the cars at 1265 m at about 9:45 after having spent what seemed like ages arguing about who was going to take which stove, how many cans of beans and how much salami. The packs seemed to weigh a ton each, not helped by the fact that we'd have looked rather silly wearing the snow shoes as there was no snow to be seen for miles.
We made our slow way up to the Weidener Hütte, which, depending on the map you currently have in your hand is supposedly at 1799 m, 1801 m or a rather optimistic 1856 m. The valley is relatively densely populated as a result of being very accessible from Innsbruck, and so alongside Margie's perennial "Mike, how far is it still?" we had several false "we're there"s at various private huts from the others before we could finally ease our aching shoulders out of the rucksack straps and enjoy a Weißbier.
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By this time it was quite warm and I was getting cold feet about doing anything in the way of a tour because of the increasing danger of avalanches. In fact across the valley from us a massive one came down as we refreshed ourselves. Even though East-facing slopes are a lot more dangerous that the West-facing ones such as we were on (lee side!), I didn't want to take any unneccesary risks or ignore the rather obvious warning signals. |
| An avalanche happening across the valley, seen from the safety of the hut. |
After warning the friendly hut warden of our intentions and asking him to come and dig us out in the morning should an avalanche come down on our bivouac during the night, it was on with the transcievers and snow shoes and off in search of a suitable snow drift. This was easier said than done with only about 50 cm on the ground at most. The prevailing wind in our North-South valley was coming from the South West and so the trick was to find a relatively flat area behind a ridge on the Eastern side of the valley. Tamir eventually spotted a suitable place above the lake at the Nafing Alm, not many metres from where I'd planned to stop from the map. Leaving the others on the path, the two of us lolloped* down to have a look and probe the drift to see whether it would accomodate 7 people. The drift got the seal of approval and so after calling the others down, our resident snow-hole expert Tamir explained to us all the theory of modern snow-hole architecture (having served his time in the Israeli army, Tamir is a veteran snow-hole builder!).
*lollop: to gracefully move downhill in the snow whilst wearing snow shoes in elegant gliding steps
How to make a snow hole in 4 easy steps |
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| 1) Check the vertical and horizontal depth of the snow; it needs to be approx. 2.5 m deep to a depth of 2 m and mark out a "T" shape to start digging. | 2) Dig the "T" back to a depth of about 50 cm. |
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| 3) Carry on digging back along the bar of the "T", digging up to a height of approx. 75 cm - 1 m and back approx. 2 m | 4) Fill in the sides of the "T" at the front, make an air-hole in the top with a ski pole or similar and block the entrance with a couple of rucksacks. |
It sounds easy, but when the snow in question has the solidity of reinforced concrete, an hour's work can easily take 3 (or is it just because Ian and I are unfit, fat slobs?). Seriously, it was hard work and we couldn't even stab our snow shovels into the snow when we got deeper. Instead all we could do to extend our cave was to scrape thin layers of snow off the walls and ceiling. Margie took one look at our cosy shelter and went off in search of a dry, sheltered spot in which to lay down for the night outside. Or maybe it was the thought of spending the night in a dark hole between Ian and myself...
After much labour, however, our accomodation stood ready; 3 snow holes, prepared with various degrees of professionalism.
Pictures of an Excavation... |
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01 Laying out the markings - how wide
where
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02 Testing the depth of the snow with
the avalanche probes
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03 Digging the first steps
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04 It helps to warm and moisten the
snow first - only kidding
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05 The bank isn't quite as pretty any
more
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06 Slowly beginning to make progress
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07 Tamir making swift progress in the
softer snow
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08 Slowly but surely the holes begin
to get some depth
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09 For a Spaniard, Alex seems surprisingly
at home in his snow-hole
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10 John's got a real feel for the work
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11 Stefan's face almost matches his
shovel
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12 Any further and you'll be out the
other side of the snow drift!
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13 Ian overcome with the ridiculousness
of it all and realising we have to sleep in here
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| Just look at the strain on that boy's face |
Don't ask!
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The only 'haute' bit about the cuisine on Saturday evening (apart from the wine served perfectly at room temperature) was the 2000 m altitude. Kidney beans in chilli sauce with cubes of turkey salami (still with the plastic wrapper) and rice. But we hadn't come for the cuisine, we'd come for the adventure, the thrill, the sheer madness of it all. After eating our fill and knocking off two bottles of red that had been laboriously carried up the mountain, Margie left us for her bivouac on the balcony. The stars were out in splendid clarity and we chuckled, imagining what the people in the warm, comfortable confines of the hut 200 m below us were saying about the crazy bunch of English-speaking people out there in the cold.
It wasn't cold at all actually, either in the evening or that night in the snow hole. The following morning was a different matter, as our platform outside the holes turned into a veritable skating rink overnight. But we'll get to that in a minute.
How easy is it to sleep in a snow hole? Almost impossible! I spent the first three hours just staring at the ceiling, which I could just see about 50 cm in front of my face. With all the effort of digging, no position was comfortable; my arms and chest ached like I'd just gone 10 rounds with Mike Tyson. Added to this, if I took my arms out of my warm sleeping bag, they immediately got wet in the condensation lining the bivouac bag. Then there was the roommate getting up for a pee in the middle of the night. All in all though, it wasn't too bad. I think that I had imagined more roomy quarters, but in the end it wasn't much different to sleeping in a small tent. Margie seemed to have had the worst night being out in the howling winds. We didn't get any of that at all.
Morning finally came around and so it was on with the soggy boots
and out onto the sloping skaiting rink to prepare some breakfast. In the end
the only serious victim was Alex's hot chocolate, which for some reason decided
to jump out of the pan when Stefan knocked a huge lump of snow onto it. Considering
the forecast, it wasn't that bad a morning. Okay, so there was mist on the tops
above us and cloud in the valley below, but there were also considerable stretches
of blue above us. Clearing up the breakfast things we hummed and haahed about
paying the top of the ridge a visit, but in the end decided that although it
wouldn't be a dangerous undertaking (relatively flat West-facing slope, a cool
night with no new snow) it wouldn't be comfortable on top. We could see the
clouds fairly ripping across the top of our relatively protected valley, and
so we packed everything up and headed down to the hut and a second cup of coffee.
About an hour and a half later we realised the wisdom of our decison as it first
began to drizzle and then to gently rain all the way to the cars. Still, the
adventure more than made up for the lack of a bagged peak. Maybe next time though.
NRN
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| Undoubtedly the hero of the weekend with his practical advice on how to build a snow hole; Tamir. | ||