Yeah, it's a hut. Like what Yoda lived in

Biologists and anthropologists agree - well sometimes they do - that the one trait that allowed early hominids to evolve was our early ancestors' abilities to adapt to their environs.

While I may not be able to climb a tree to escape a lion nor know how to fashion a stone out of chipping it to create an axe, nor how to ideally withdraw marrow from a bone, I have learned to adapt. The first adaptation through experience is when the forecast looks like crap, change your plans.

Instead of heading down to Elevenmile Canyon with Ian for climbing and camping this weekend, we postponed the trip for a couple of weeks. Not wanting to spend my days off in my place, I looked for alternatives. A ski hut trip sounded nice and with a good forecast in place for Sunday, I found quite a selection of vacancies for Sunday night at my pick of huts.

I spent Friday, after making my reservations for Walter's Cabin, explaining to coworkers, yes it is a hut - you know, what Yoda lived in on Dagobah. But really it is a nice cabin. There is a sauna a short walk away, a kitchen, heat, running hot water. In short, it will be what I would consider luxurious.





I arrived at Vail Pass around mid-day and set about changing into ski gear. Ski touring with an overnight pack sometimes can be arduous. However with the spring snowpack locked in by prevailing bitter winds coming from the west, I knew that I wouldn't be slogging in deep slush.

The 3-mile uphill ski in was uneventful. I started developing a couple of hot spots but nothing like the horrific blisters I sometimes develop.

The views in





The cabin contains two floors. The upper tier was rented out to a family with three noisy kids. The bottom could hold six occupants, yet I was lucky in having the entire space to myself, which suited my misanthropic fashion. My feet were not happy by the time I arrived. Peeling off the ski socks, I noticed my feet were saturated and actually prunish. I decided to take it easy for that day; read the book I brought, enjoy the scenery, allow my feet to heal so I could get some turns on nearby Shrine Mountain the next day.

However after successfully blocking out the sounds of running and screaming kids for two hours, my defenses faltered and soon that was all I could hear. I guess when you travel away from roads by your own locomotion, you expect a serene and idyllic setting. The kids were just being children, so I really couldn't complain.

At 7 pm I decided I'd rather face blisters and podiatric agony instead of listening to children any longer. Retaping my feet, I slipped on a pair of liner socks and less heavy socks before donning the ski boots. Not being encumbered by the awkwardness of my overnight pack, skiing was much, much easier and I made near the summit of Shrine in less than 40 minutes. It was minutes before sunset when I arrived and the views were sublime.







I debated staying around for sunset and skiing back by headlamp if need be. That thought soon evaporated and was carried east by the bitter wind gusts. It was cold up there and I brought only enough layers to stay warm while in motion.

Tearing the skins off my skis I plotted my descent. The spring-time turnover of the snowpack took a hiatus for several days. So soft corn snow was frozen solid. What little new snow the area received on Friday and Saturday was minimal and blown into small pockets.

On my ascent I had to boot up several hundred feet because of the 60-degree angle of the slope - and while I discovered the conditions perfect for climbing, the skiing was going to require care. Now I'm not implying that I have become a better skier, just more experienced, because I came down the steep slope with no issues and only stopped once right when the angle steepened to survey my line.



I'm glad I took my evening tour because the next morning, the ground was rock hard and the snowpack wouldn't be softening up in time for me to get some turns in and make it to work in time.

I actually have to say the ski down back to my truck was more work than the ski up. The snow was frozen and skiing back was a terrible noise of skis scratching on the surface. I almost bit it once when a frozen dollop of snow seent my right ski off track.

I did get clotheslined by a tree as I passed to close and did not squat down enough. The sturdy limb caught the handle of my avalanche shovel and sent my flying onto my back with skis flying akimbo.

Other than those two incidents, I covered the 3 miles back to my truck in 20 minutes. And I was happy to discover the secrets to my long-suffering issues with blisters and my ski boots - wear less thick socks so my feet don't overheat.