Adventures in Falling or How I Nearly Ended My PCT Hike Before I Started It

 I just returned from an 8-day, 65-mile ski trip with the Denali Ladies Ski Club.  It was totally epic, a challenge, and a jaw-dropping reminder of why we live here and put up with January.  January, you are forgiven. March negates you.  March infuses Alaskans with absurd quantities of optimism and superhero-like energy which is the antithesis of January's contribution to one's mood.  Every year at this time the DLSC takes advantage of daylight, good snow conditions (hopefully!), and the beauty of our backyard and does a multi-day ski trip, completely self-sufficient, self-propelled.  We wear backpacks and drag sleds behind us.  We like to be warm and well-fed therefore we travel "slow and heavy" rather than "fast and light."  Our destination changes every year though we always find nooks and crannies of valleys and ridges that we hope to return to someday.  There is just so much to see in our own backyard which also happens to be the Alaska Range.  With the exception of last year when we flew above the Arctic Circle and skied for 16 days through Gates of the Arctic National Park, we generally meet at someone's cabin and ski right out the front door.  We're lucky like that.

Denali Ladies Ski Club: backpacks and sleds on nice, flat terrain.

  This year we met at Anne and Shannon's compound, they are neighbors, and skied up the Yanert Valley.  We hauled ourselves up and over a pass on Dean Creek and dropped into the stunning Wood River valley.  From there we left the ease of following snowmachine trails and broke trail up the unmarked snow of Little Grizzly creek, over another pass, and dropped into Dick Creek.  Dick empties into the Yanert and we closed the circle and skied back home.  5 women in the wilderness for a week, working hard and playing hard and giggling an awful lot along the way.
 On our way up Little Grizzly Creek on day 4 we encountered quite a bit of route-finding and bushwhacking.  As we wove our way around willow and alder stands, we sometimes found ourselves side-hilling on moderately steep terrain on the shoulder of the creek.  As all of us have been skiers for many years, this does not cause much of a problem. The Denali Ladies keep our risks to a minimum and therefore avoid any really steep terrain, sketchy snow conditions, or any other situations that make us feel uncomfortable or unsafe. This being said, sometimes we find ourselves in awkward positions: side-hilling with a sled on, bushwhacking on a slope with skis on, or breaking trail thru deep powder while hauling a 50 pound boat of a sled. That sort of thing.
  So while we avoided the dense thickets of brush in the creek bed, we stayed high on a gentle shoulder above the drainage.  We had some steep climbs, were stopped by side drainages that were too deep and snow-filled to cross and had to climb more to avoid, and were finally skiing back down to the creek at a point where we could see that the vegetation thinned out.  After all of this, I was about 50 feet from the bottom of the valley, skiing a steep-ish slope at an angle and all my concentration was focused on getting down without falling.  Having covered hundreds of miles of terrain while pulling a sled, I knew to expect that the sled would not track behind me on such a slope and that it would swing out to my right on the downhill side.  I'm also trying to check my speed so I don't go barreling out of control.  While I've got my knees turned in in somewhat of a snowplow, I feel the sled sliding out from behind me and I try to brace myself for this contradiction of directions I'm about to be pulled in: at an angle across the slope and a sudden jerk directly downhill.  This technique has worked for me before and I can sort of control my descent with some sort of dignity. 
  On this particular slope, on this particular day, I did not manage to do much with dignity.  As the sled dislodged itself from my ski tracks everything slowed down into slow motion in my mind, which is saying something because I'm not all that quick upstairs.  I was poised to receive and counterbalance the inevitable jerk to the downhill side and then things went wrong.  I don't know if it was the angle of the slope or a small ripple in the boiler-plate surface of the snow, but when the jerk arrived, my right knee remained turned in but my right foot popped out from the tucked position and flailed downhill.  All the momentum of the sled was suddenly concentrated into my right knee and I felt a "pop."  Physically, I fell and grabbed my knee and slid to a stop on the slope with my body downhill and my legs uphill, my backpack awry on my frame and the weight of the sled anchored by my body.  I'm not sure, but I believe my exact words upon skidding to a standstill and gripping my knee were something like, "OH FUCK! OH FUCK! OH FUCK!" (x50).  (Sorry about the language, but pain will do that to even a demure gal like me.)  Mentally, my experience was more like this:

OK, here we go...here comes the sled...OUCH!! Oh shit. We are going to have to use Shannon's SPOT emergency device. Someone is going to have to come out on a snowmachine and haul me out of here.  Well, at least we are only a few days out by skis and a couple hours away by machine. Dammit, I don't want to have to be rescued.
Ah man, I don't have insurance anymore!! If this is my ACL I'm going to have to have surgery and holy cow is that going to be expensive and what a long recovery and.....oh. my. gawd. The PCT. THE PCT!! I've got the next 6 months of my life mapped out based on my physical health!! If my knee is truly messed up what the hell am I going to do for the next 6  months?? Ugh...get a job?? Not what I had in mind! Oh shit! All my eggs are in one basket...what if I can't do the PCT? What will I do? My life just took a turn for the different.....

OK, calm down, WeeBee...[I was starting to hyperventilate a little] Breathe. Calm down and breathe. One thing at a time....Oh fuck.

This is actually just before my mishap, but a great example of how squirrelly the sleds can be on steep slopes. 

All of those thoughts sort of simultaneously appeared in my head and yet were all distinct ideas.  And all in a matter of a second or so.  Very shortly after my fall, my ladies were by my side, my pack was off and hauled to the bottom of the slope, and we got me righted.  After feeling that "pop" my mind went into worst-case-scenario mode and I already had myself receiving a cadaver ligament.  As it turns out I did not do any major ACL damage but merely sprained or strained it.  I was able to hobble down the hill to my sled where I popped some ibuprofen and applied ice to my knee while the ladies got themselves down the hill and we decided to make camp.  The next 4 days of the ski trip were spent babying my knee, icing it, giving up my sled and some gear to my girlfriends, and walking and skiing as gently as possible.  Inconsistent snow conditions and downhills were stressful and strenuous.  When we finally got back to the Yanert River and the flat, solid conditions there, I was quite comfortable to ski and it actually felt good for my knee.  Since the trip has finished I'm taking it easy and aiming for full recovery shortly.
  Still, and all, it was a really scary, eye-opening second in my life where I realized that in one false move I could have changed my entire future and compromised my whole Pacific Crest Trail bid.  Funny that the part that terrified and disappointed me the most was the thought of having to work this summer. I'm happy to report that though a little stiff, my knee seems to be on the mend and I look forward to hiking in boots which feel a little more predictable than having long boards strapped to my feet. Onward!! Finally, there are no more adventures between me and the Pacific Crest Trail. I fly to California in a week and hit the trail shortly after....!!