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Photo taken at Crater Lake National Park, August 2004.

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This photograph was taken about five or six hours after the last one shown of the base of Cadillac Hill. During this mandatory lapse in photography, we waged war on Cadillac Hill and made it up to the pass, but our battle was only partially over. When we got above Cadillac Hill I saw a scene that was wholly unfamiliar to me. I had been there two times before, but up to five feet of snow covered the granite slabs that lead to the fire roads. Forward progress was only possible via difficult winching, and it was not obvious where we where winching to. This slab section of trail was buried and where it re-entered the forest was unknown. Visibility was less than a few hundred yards, which didn't help matters. We hiked (i.e., post-holed up to our thighs in snow) through drifts at the top of the Hill while desperately looking for the trail. An hour later we were back at the truck with nothing to show for our efforts. The trail was not to be found and we needed to act quickly as the weather was continuing to deteriorate. Snow flying sideways and no viable escape to Lake Tahoe forced us to determine what was the most plausible way for us to get off the trail. We were close, I would guess less than a quarter mile from easier ground, but that fact was useless considering the terrain and conditions. The fire roads may just as well have been 100 miles away.

Staying put was not an option, as the storm we were engulfed in could have raged for a week. We had to act and the top of a mountain is not a place to be when the weather is grim. "Down to the cabin?" was the obvious but painful question we asked ourselves. My terse answer: "I can't drive down Cadillac Hill." I was referring to an especially malevolent quarter mile of trail that would have been suicide to drive down. It wasn't a matter of driving ability, or rising to the occasion, on that day that section of trail was simply not drivable by any man in any rig. Pat and Ian agreed that it was impossible, but we decided to drive towards the cabin, as that was the only logical course of action, and action was the only option. We had spent an entire day putting ground between us and the cabin, and at about 4 o'clock in the afternoon we were headed right back where we had come from.

Back to the photograph…we encountered this tree as we made our way back towards the cabin. The trunk was three feet in diameter and was laying across the trail. During the few hours we had been looking for the trail, this large nearly 100-foot tall tree had succumbed to the force of the raging wind. This scene imparted an added sense of urgency to our situation, and we quickly found an off-trail path through the forest around this new trail obstacle.

We backtracked to the top of the toughest section of the Hill, the cabin was less than a mile away. The trail looked worse than I remembered. I sat, thinking, "how did I ever drive up this?" Once again, we were faced with no obvious course of action to take while we were losing precious daylight. Pat then stated the elusive, but obvious course of action: "Bro, let's drive down it backwards." Pat had hit the nail on the head. I made a 10-point turn and we hooked up the winch. Pat’s idea would work because I could control my decent using the winch, which was unfortunately, but necessarily, mounted to the front of my vehicle. One downside was that I would have to drive the toughest non-bypassable section of the Rubicon backwards. At the time this was only a minor detail.

The winch control, steering wheel, gear shift, and three pedals became my entire world. The combination of opposing forces of winching, driving, and braking allowed for slow and deliberate movements down towards the valley. Pat and Ian helped with navigation and at least a dozen times re-rigged the winch cable. An hour or so later we reached the Rubicon River valley bottom as darkness came upon us. A quick section of trail led us to Rubicon Springs and the cabin, which luckily had not floated away. The river was flooding and the trail was often indistinguishable from a 4-foot deep stream. We immediately built a fire in the cabin’s stove. Pat and Ian were cold and very wet as they had spent most of the day out in the elements. I was somewhat dry and relatively warm because I sat in the driver’s seat most of the day, but we all paid our dues.

Throughout the night I stoked the fire in the wood-burning stove in an attempt to dry our gear. The next day we planned to wheel the entire trail in a last ditch effort to bail out the Loon Lake end. We hoped for clear skies the next day (Monday). Trail conditions were going to be bad even if the storm relinquished during the night.

Snow and freezing rain fell through the night, but near first light at ~6 am, the 36-hour storm began to subside. Ian and Pat packed our gear and loaded the rig while I inspected my truck. Considering the deep-water crossings that we would encounter, I made a makeshift snorkel for my engine. Pat and I punched a 1.5-inch hole in the hood and ran a plastic tube through the hole and securely taped it to the throttle body. If my head was above water my rig would still be breathing. Water, which is more or less incompressible, will bend or break connecting rods if it ends up in a cylinder. In layman’s terms water will quickly “blow-up” an engine if it is sucked into the air intake, an outcome we desperately needed to avoid.

Having taken care of the bodywork on the hood we hit the trail 45 minutes after sunrise. Deep-water crossings before the Rubicon River bridge were testimony that the time invested in making the snorkel was more than worth it. Across the bridge, we began the long, tough, technical climb to Buck Island Lake. Snow, ice, and flowing water made a tough section of trail nearly impossible. After Buck we would have to climb even higher to Spider Lake, but at the time we needed to focus on one seemingly feasible goal before we got bogged down with the next.

The trail was tough and winching became a more than commonplace chore. Pat and Ian worked themselves beyond their means as they rigged and re-rigged the winch cable countless dozens of times. All the while I sat and bore the mentally derailing burden of driving in horrible conditions. We inched our way up towards Buck and the miles passed liked long arduous, backbreaking days. Nothing came easy. Not a single iota of ground passed beneath my truck without it being earned.

We made it to Buck about midday. Time became a non-issue, only the position of the sun mattered. We quickly ate a bite (an apple and a dry bagel) and surged on towards Spider Lake. We knew easier ground would welcome us after we passed Spider, and that became our immediate goal. The skies had cleared somewhat, although ominous storm bearing clouds were all around.

It was sometime on Monday afternoon that the somewhat surreal portion of our adventure came to pass. As we fought our way up towards Spider, we heard a helicopter and looked to the skies to locate it. A red jeep on the side of a white mountain stands out quite well, and soon OUR rescue helicopter was circling us. I refused to jump out of my truck and wave my hands in seeming defeat. I appreciated that someone was looking for us, and more importantly that my mother had had her wits about her and had informed the authorities that we were missing. I was, however, fully committed to a self-rescue mission that did not allow time for me to wave my hands at the helicopter pilot who already had located us. Instead, we wheeled, winched, and continued battling the Rubicon while the bird waited for an opportunity to land in less than ideal conditions. After several attempts, and maybe 20 minutes after spotting us, the helicopter did land and quickly was airborne again. Ian informed me that an officer was on the ground. I needed to “go talk to the Man.”

I ran over and met the officer, a California Highway Patrol paramedic. He asked us if anyone was hurt and we told him we were fine but we did have our hands full.

“Is this the trail?” he asked?
“Yes,” we replied.
“Do you need anything?”
I replied, “ we are a little low on gas because we weren’t planning on wheeling the trail twice.”

The CHP officer informed us there was a search and rescue team on the ground and that they had gas. They were heading in from Loon and were still a couple hours from Spider Lake. “I’ll let you get back to your fun,” was the last thing he said after he called the chopper to come pick him up. I ran back to the driver’s seat and we continued our self-rescue mission with renewed zeal. Knowing that our families would be informed that we were okay made us rest at ease, and now our only worry was to get to Spider and the subsequent easy section of trail.

We made it back to Spider by employing the same methods that got us to Buck: we winched and wheeled like there was no tomorrow. By the time we got to Spider I was so happy I could not see straight. We still had at least four miles between us and the trailhead, but I knew the trail well and it was relatively easy compared to our previous tasks. The search and rescue ground team was passing our Friday night campsite (a couple hundred yards from The Box) when we saw them. We talked to the crew chief for a bit. There were two other rigs stuck a couple hundred yards behind so he turned his Landcruiser around and we followed him to meet the rest of his crew.

"USGS Scientist examines contents of dome sampler." These rocks were hot to the touch (about 150 F).

View to the north of Mt. Rainier (14,411 ft).

The summit

Rio Petrohue.

Rio Petrohue.

Rio Petrohue.

The mighty Rio Petrohue flowing from Lago Todos los Santos. The power of this undammed river is beyond description.

Rainbow over Lago Llanquehue.

An airshow over Lago Llanquehue (Yankeeway) near Puerto Varas.

Sand dunes near Stovepipe Wells, Death Valley.

Wildflowers near Badwater, Death Valley.

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Family: fundells • Ian Herriott • laura

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