Part 3: Who's out there?

Someone had skied the trail late in the previous week when the snow was soft. The resulting track was about a foot deep and extremely narrow. A little new snow had blown in but the edge of the crust on top was thick and hard. The crust was also irregular, sometimes breaking apart in large pieces, sometimes repulsing the best effort at a pole plant. Often our boots would get locked together, pinched on the outsides by the edge of the crust. The unpredictability of this boot grabbing business prevented us from getting into any kind of skiing rhythm and kept us off balance for most of the rest of the trip. We all began to ski like joeys. Our feet knew this but our brains did not, until after we had eaten lunch at the outlet of Shoal Pond.

The trail from Shoal Pond is all downhill. Although the terrain is gentle, the crust made the going exciting. Too exciting actually. On a left hand turn before the first noticeable crossing of Shoal Pond Brook, the tip of Alannas's ski dug into the crust. Snap, crackle, or pop, take your pick, just like that the ski broke about two feet in back of the tip. Luckily, the base and the topskin were intact. What now?

Jon thought of the universal solution, duct tape. Ed forgot that we had any until Alanna showed him the water bottle she was using. Ed had wrapped layers of it around the bottle several years before in case emergency repairs might be needed in the future, a trick he learned on the Tenth Mountain Division Trail. [Note to file: duct tape so stored should be refreshed every year or so as it degrades over time.] Now Kate had a capital idea. She had a metal stay in her pack which would make a fine splint for the ski. Some tape was laid over the stay along the ski and at Jon’s suggestion, several wraps were made around the ski.

Everyone remained calm, a sign of the strength of the party. The collective contributions to a solution further showed how quickly the group had evolved from the infancy/forming stage through adolescence/storming to adulthood/norming and performing. That process takes at least 3 whole days on an AMC trip.

The question of which way to go, forward or back, was not even voiced. We were almost halfway to a road in either direction. The cold was as penetrating as ever. Our commitment to completing the trip and the force of gravity demanded we move forward.