Surviving my First Snow Traverse on the PNT

The first official morning of my Pacific Northwest Trail felt auspicious. As I gingerly pulled tiny slugs off my tent, I thought about the challenges the day had in store. It was only fourteen miles to my next campsite, but a snow traverse of unknown conditions lay between it and myself. It would be my first real experience going over a pass in snow. To top it off, predictions of an afternoon thunderstorm placed a time limit on the endeavor. I debated with myself about whether I was biting off more than I could chew.

These little guys just wanted to cuddle at night

But after eating breakfast with Nick, and agreeing to hike out together, I was cautiously optimistic. My companion for the day had done the entire CDT, plus many more miles in similar conditions. He was optimistic we might beat the start of the rain to camp, and be safe and dry in our tents by lunchtime. The day before, I’d been happy to have company for the sake of repelling bears.

Now that I faced relatively larger challenges, bears were an afterthought. 

The views heading up the pass further encouraged my resolve. Lakes and valleys spread out below us, and too many waterfalls to name or count dropped off the cliffs in front of us. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Surely nothing bad could happen on such a beautiful morning! 

When we got within two miles of Stoney Indian Pass, the trail became dotted with snow drifts. We saw fresh bear prints, and followed them for about half a mile before they veered off somewhere without a trace. After stopping to collect water from a stream that seemed to run straight off a glacier, I had to put on my mittens to keep my fingers from getting stiff. 

I’m jealous of bears, who always have their snow mittens on

Near the top of the pass, the trail became harder to see. Nick and I wandered in different directions, trying to find some hint of how we should proceed up the incline ahead of us. It became clear that the GPS function of the navigation app we both used could only be considered a rough suggestion of the trail’s location. We spotted a gap in the ridgeline that was likely to be the pass, and trudged straight uphill toward it. 

Hmm, that pesky trail has got to be around here somewhere!

The snowpack was loose and slushy. Going toward the pass felt like being on an elliptical machine, each step sinking backwards and downhill, as if no forward progress was being made. But it was all so exciting! I was actually going over a snow-covered pass, in some of the most pristine wilderness I’d ever been in, on one of the most rugged thru-hikes in the country. I was so enamored with the novelty of it, I didn’t notice how exhausting it was until we were nearly to the top. When the incline finally relented, we were rewarded with a dry patch of rock perfectly overlooking Stoney Indian Lake. 

Some cloud cover began to roll in as we took a snack break. Nature made the decision for us- it was time to head down. Looking over the edge of the ridge, it was clear the downhill would be just as challenging as coming up. We’d be descending the north side of the pass, which was prone to holding snow much longer than what we’d just climbed. It also looked quite a bit steeper to me. The first hundred feet seemed to be one large snow chute, with no trail in sight. Nick gave me a few quick pointers on kick-stepping technique, and then seemed to slide right through the worst of the snow while maintaining his upright posture, looking as calm as if he were on a ski vacation.

I swear, this was much steeper in person!

A wave of vertigo hit me as I looked down.

I decided it was worth my time to put on my micro-spikes, if only for my own confidence. I carefully took a few steps with my traction devices on. I didn’t fall off the mountain, though a primordial part of my brain was screaming at me to stop moving. I took another few steps. And then a few hops. Then, I sat on my butt and slid down the same path Nick had taken. Gravity pulled me fast, but I was able to control my speed by dragging my heels. Kicked-up frost splashed in my face. I whooped and grinned. It was like I was a child sledding for the first time!

After testing how easy it was to control my fall in this slushy snow, all my fears melted (pun intended) away. The rest of the descent was easy, save for climbing over a few snow-bent trees to rejoin the trail. It started to rain right as we reached the lake. 

With darker clouds rolling in, we walked quickly down toward Waterton Lake. The trail was rather brushy in some places, which I was not expecting in a national park. Some stinging nettles went right through my pants. I carefully used my trekking poles to push each patch of vegetation out of my way, unable to distinguish the plant from its harmless look-alikes.

Going over passes in the wilderness can be like entering a new ecosystem.

I think this is what excites me most about mountain passes. The extra work is worth it when you get to stand at the top, and witness the sharp contrast in scenery. Stoney Indian Pass was no exception to this phenomenon. What I noticed first was how much wetter the north side was- the waterfalls were roaring louder, the trail was muddier, and bugs swarmed in the air. By the time we reached Waterton Lake, an entourage of mosquitoes accompanied us. Thankfully, the large body of water meant a natural breeze. We ate lunch in a gazebo right on the lake shore, and enjoyed the warmth of the sun poking out. 

Canada is right over there, somewhere

The predicted storm seemed to fizzle out anticlimactically. After a long day of trudging through snow and fighting internal anxiety, I was ready for camp. Nick and I exchanged a few more adventure stories while setting up and making dinner. Despite the handful of signs we’d seen warning of bear activity since passing the lake, I slept soundly.