Snowshoeing to the Sky- Willow Creek

It is difficult to describe snowshoeing as fun. As low tech as it gets, one simply straps what amounts to dinner plates to their feet and trudges through the snow, making fat imprints in the unbroken snow. However, for today’s excursion, I’ve precious few options. My skinny skis become wildly inefficient on anything steeper than a ten to fifteen degree slope, and up Willow Creek, there is too much undergrowth and too little snow to justify the extravagance of strapping skins to a pair of climbing skis. Without any sort of flotation, though, making your way up this quiet drainage would be an impossible exercise in futility. There is not nearly enough usage here to pack down the snow and without some sort of winter tool, an ill prepared hiker’s legs would endlessly punch through the snow, making for, by anyone’s measure, an unacceptably miserable experience. Frankly, I can’t afford ski mountaineering gear and besides, in this quiet creek valley, a fifteen hundred dollar set up would be akin to donning a cotillion gown to a bowling alley. 

Willow Creek is a shallow drainage that empties into Quartz Creek. The small creek has cut its way through a bit of rock and has created a surprisingly steep walled gulch. This little waterway has done a remarkable job and it is quite a lovely place to be. I have spent quite a bit of time ascending and descending this future canyon, following the creek bed north and south. I managed to reach its apex this fall, just as hunting season ended and the ground had frozen for the winter. Today, though, just past the old cabin, the dogs and I cross through the willows, cross the frozen creek and instead of following the meandering creek, we ascend the steep west side of the drainage.

The road to the west ascends and ascends. And ascends. Initially, I was discouraged. I only have patience for snowshoeing if it is absolutely necessary and no other piece of equipment will do. Within a mile, I realize the challenge I have undertaken. This is a little used area even in the summer and fall. The sugary snow is unbroken and I'm not convinced that anyone has ever considered breaking trail straight up this embankment. As we follow the seasonal drainage up and out of Willow Creek, I lean heavily on my poles, at some points counting off by fives before stopping to take heavy breaths.

There's no clear summit or defining moment where you are certain you are standing atop the walls of the gulch. You climb through lodge pole pines and it does seem as if you might climb slowly and endlessly for eternity. Simply turning around provides panoramic, huge views of the ridges of the Quartz Creek Valley and of Fairview Peak area to the north. The road continues and provides access all the way to North Parlin Flats, dipping in and out of a treelined ridge for miles. In the summer, this would be an outstanding tour. In the winter, on snowshoes, however, reaching the top, or what we decide to call the top, is plenty for Charlie's overgrown paws and my lungs.

Headed down, I quickly realize that navigating this side road on Nordic skis would be a suicide mission. I'm moderately certain that my demise could be arranged by simply sending me careening down this hillside on a pair of skis that are equipped with a thumbnail of a metal edge and no real stopping power. My plastic platters with their funny metal teeth, humble though they may be, are exactly the tool for this steep job.