Delirious Ramblings

Snow Snail

Snow Snail, San Francisco Peaks, Coconino National Forest, February 2012

When I was snowshoeing around Doyle Peak and the Inner Basin last weekend I spotted this snow snail coming down the uphill side of the waterline road. Snow snails form when the snow on a steep slope warms rapidly and a snowball starts to roll slowly down the hill. Because the snow is sticky the snail can grow quite large. This one was about eighteen inches in diameter.

 

Snow Snail, San Francisco Peaks, Coconino National Forest, February 2012

In avalanche terrain snow snails are a sign of a wet and potentially unstable snowpack, generally occurring when temperatures spike upwards. They don't always mean the snowpack is dangerous but they are definitely a warning signal backcountry travelers should be aware of. I'm super cautious (maybe overly so) and when I see snow snails occurring where an avalanche could run I treat them as a "no go" sign and find another route or even turn back.

The dark object at the center of this snail was an aspen leaf, but I doubt that it was the leaf that started the snail rolling down the hill. Usually a bit of snow or ice will drop from a tree branch and get things rolling. Sometimes -- and these are the creepiest ones -- you can't tell what got them going, like they just started rolling of their own volition.

Hunting for Shortcuts

Snowstorm, San Francisco Peaks, Coconino National Forest, February 2012

I spent the morning looking for shortcuts into the wilderness, trying to find a route up into the steeps of crazy-ass ol' Doyle Peak that didn't involve a five mile approach hike. I found one, but boy, it's a doozy. Like most really good shortcuts it has all the makings of trouble: A mile of bushwhacking through burned forest, trespassing on private land, several boulder and log-filled erosion channels deep enough to swallow a house, and a steep climb up a couple of severely damaged roads that haven't seen a truck in half a century or more.

The reward for running this punishing gauntlet was a half frozen bean and cheese burrito rummaged out of my pack, high wind, and the cold sting of blowing snow. Yes, it was a good shortcut. The best.

Return to Fremont Peak

Fremont Peak, Kachina Peaks Wilderness, February 2012

Here's another view of Fremont Peak, this time from the flip side of the winter solstice. Observant Delirious Ramblings readers may recall that I took almost the exact same shot back in late October 2011. There was a bit less snow then.

Fremont is a lonely mountain in winter and I'm very happy that I got to see this side of her. Not many people do. This picture was taken near the middle of a twelve mile outing, about half of which was in snowshoes on unbroken trail. If the snow had been any deeper or softer I wouldn't have made it as far as I did. I suspect that I am nearing the limits of what a snowshoer can reasonably expect to accomplish in the backcountry on a single-day outing. The other day I caught myself eyeing winter-grade sleeping bags at an outdoors store; a worrying development I'm sure...

The Voice of Jack Smith Spring

The Voice of Jack Smith Spring, Coconino National Forest, February 2012

When I was snowshoeing around the Inner Basin the other day I stopped near Jack Smith spring to record some audio of a small stream gurgling and splashing its way through rocks and ice. I placed my recorder down in the channel on a small telescoping tripod mere inches above the water. Between jet intrusions the recorder's stereo microphones captured the stream's polyphonic voice as it bubbled and babbled its age-old story of slumbering mountain peaks and deep winter snows. I stood nearby trying not to shiver in the lingering cold, thinking about the water slowly percolating its way through porous lava rock and forest detritus, imagining the subterranean wonders it might've seen on its journey from the snowfields above.

Below is (hopefully) an embedded MP3 player so you can hear a four minute segment of the flowing water. A downloadable 6MB MP3 file is also available if you want to listen to it on your ipod or other audio device. If you listen closely through headphones you can hear at least two layers of gurgling and splashing cycling back and forth, the harmonics merging and stacking atop one another in complex ways. It's kind of relaxing and helps one to understand how dynamic and active free flowing water can be.

The Voice of Jack Smith Spring

If you've ever hiked the Inner Basin of the San Francisco Peaks you probably know the place I was standing: it's where the Inner Basin trail meets the waterline road, a mile or so above Lockett Meadow. Tucked into the trees there are several green sheds and an outhouse toilet that used to be full of shy black widow spiders that would watch nervously from the gloomy corners while you did your business. The buildings are presumably associated with the extensive water wells and pipelines that slurp water out of the Inner Basin watershed and funnel it 17 miles down the mountain into the Flagstaff water system. I won't go into what happens to it after that, although it would appear that some of it may soon be finding its way back up the mountain - albeit a little worse for wear - and sprayed out as artificial snow at the Arizona Snowbowl.

 

Icy Stream, Coconino National Forest, February 2012

According to my topo map Jack Smith spring is actually a few hundred yards up the drainage from where I recorded the audio. The gurgling and splashing water you hear in the MP3 issues from a large diameter pipe that comes down the hill out of the woods and is likely carrying water from the spring to the cluster of buildings. Although it's possible that it's just some other unnamed spring that the Forest Service wanted left free-flowing for hikers and wildlife to use. I'll go out on a limb and say the water comes from Jack Smith spring, but it doesn't really matter: most of the springs up there are imprisoned inside concrete spring boxes and metal pipe and everything mingles together these days.

Jack Smith spring has a somewhat interesting history, which I'll probably post about in a few days.

Sugarloaf Sunrise

 

Sugarloaf Sunrise, Coconino National Forest, February 2012

Near Sugarloaf Mountain I stopped to watch the sun break free of the lingering fog bank that I'd just climbed through. Behind me a blush of pink worked its way down the frosted slopes of Rees Peak. With the coming of the light the mountain slowly inhaled and I could feel her chill breath rush past me, flowing up the drainages and into the great interior valley of the San Francisco Peaks. As the sky brightened I put my camera away and turned back to the snowy road leading higher into the mountains. It was going to be a tough outing.

 

Staring into the Sun

Staring into the Sun, Coconino National Forest, February 2012

I drove around to the east side of the San Francisco Peaks Saturday afternoon to check on the snow conditions leading up to the Inner Basin (the giant U-shaped volcanic caldera in the center of the mountain) and ended up standing in a field next to Highway 89 with my tripod and camera. I shot about a dozen pictures of the mountain with different exposure settings, hoping something would work. The light was very harsh so I wasn't expecting much from the attempt.

Upon returning home I used photoshop to combine a couple of the better ones into what you see above. I guess that makes this image my first half-assed attempt at an HDR image.

Holding up the Moon

Holding up the Moon, Kachina Peaks Wilderness, January 2012

I was walking around the mountain lost in the fescue when I looked up and noticed that the moon had alighted in the branches of an old pine snag. As I watched pale Luna settle into her roost the sun took flight behind me.