#Crested Butte Snowman

[beutlerdesign]

Snowman Ski Sweater: Crested Butte

Giclée Archive Poster Prints

Paper Prints: 16X20=$85 • 18X24=$120 • 24X36=$210 • 30X45=$475

Canvas Gallery Wraps (standard depth 1.5 inches ready to hang): 16X20=$475 • 18X24=-$670 • 24X36=$770 • 30X45-$1500

CUSTOM OPTION: Add Child’s name and date to remember your ski trip!

Custom Paper Prints: 16X20=$110 • 18X24=$150 • 24X36=$235 • 34X45=$500

Custom Canvas Gallery Wraps (standard depth 1.5 inches ready to hang): 16X20=$670 • 18X24=-$770 • 24X36=$1500

FREE SHIPPING in 5-7 Business Days!!

[pcttrailsidereader]

Snowstorm - Sierra City to Bucks Lake

 By Dave Baugher

With a heavy heart, I hung up my phone in cabin #1 at the River Resort in Sierra City, CA.  My wife, Luann, had called that quiet morning to let me know that her mom, Marylyn, had passed away.  I had taken a nero in Sierra City and was planning to return to the PCT that spring morning. The resort owner, Jim said, "No Problem," to my request to spend another night considering the circumstances.  So finding a comfortable chair on his expansive deck overlooking the Feather River, and I began to ponder.

Marylyn, diagnosed in 2003 and, like so many we know, descended into a faint picture of the person we knew before. Alzheimer's is a terrible disease.  In 1905, German psychiatrist Alois Alzheimer performed an autopsy on a woman who passed from and early cognitive failure.  Alois discovered that one-third of the woman's brain had disintegrated, leaving a plaque and tangled cell fragments. More than 100 years later, Alzheimer's disease is still poorly understood and generally regarded as incurable.

In the morning light, sitting on Jim's deck with the river below, I thought back to my own experience with cognitive failures.  Regrettably, it was only 15 years before that my own father, Hank, had been diagnosed with the neurological disease of frontal lobe dementia. Like the sun setting down below the Sierra Mountains, my father faded away before our eyes in less than 18 months.  Hank was only 61 years old when his light permanently faded, and it was his death the prodded me to change my life and ultimately begin hiking the Pacific Crest Trail. 

It was 2013 when I was asked, "How long did your father live?" I was 51 that day, and the question hit me like a sack of stones, that in 11 years, I would be the same age as when Hank passed. What was I going to do over the upcoming eleven years?  Work?  Not an exciting thought.  A quote from Steve Jobs came to my mind "If today was the last day of my life, would I want to do what I'm about to do today?" My answer that morning was no, prompting a change of life for me. 

I spent the remainder of that day on the deck, talking with my wife and kids.  Things settled down after a while, so I borrowed a book from the resort's small library, then in the quiet of the afternoon, read on the peaceful deck.  By the following morning, things within the family had resolved themselves and settled down. Marilyn's passing had been expected, and there was nothing I could do here or back at home, so with Luann's endorsement, I returned to the trail.  Jim gave me a ride to the trailhead, where I could continue my journey northwards.

The Pacific Crest Trail crosses Highway 49 above the town at an elevation of 4,100'.  Here the trail aggressively climbs toward the jagged Sierra Buttes, ascending a total of 4,000' to skirt the iconic landmark, a landmark in the section of California.  Later I discovered that in the winter of 1852, the town of Sierra City was a village of tents, shacks log houses, and a few frame buildings.   Deep winter snow smothered the settlement, and the residents struggled to reach the San Joaquin Valley below, leaving the stricken hamlet abandoned.  Yet, five diehards stayed to work their gold mine, preoccupied with the business of survival, not watching when the Buttes suddenly discarded their top layer of snow.  The snow came down in a smothering avalanche to wipe out the last vestiges of the village.  Only three of the five survived.

The PCT lead upwards and the new Sierra City lay below me in the distant valley.  Several hours passed when I spied a couple of hikers walking toward me down the trail  Exchanging greetings, and they explained that up ahead, there was a solid wall of snow at the 7,000 foot and they were unprepared to cross into the upper snowbound elevations.  My preparations included extra clothes, crampons, an ice ax, so I felt confident to continue on the trail.  These two were planning on hitching around this section to return to this PCT section at a later time. 

Now at this point in the trip, these two guys were the first PCT hikers I had met since leaving Donner Pass 4 days before.  Yes, there had been lots of snow, but nothing that stopped my progress northwards.  My thoughts wandered as the trail passed under my feet.  Indeed, at the 7,500' elevation, I did hit snow, but the crampons did their job, and I continued.  That day I covered 15 miles before finding a dry campsite that had an excellent supply of firewood.  Soon my tent was up, hot soup in my pot and a roaring campfire warming the oncoming evening chill.

Morning broke cold and gray.  At this point in the trip, I had become a master at camp procrastination, when attempting to get out of the tent into the frigid mounting air, in the serenity of a chilly quiet morning I packed up camp.  Last night's fire was a faint warm remembrance, and the ivory banks of snow surrounding my dry patch of campsite looked foreboding.  It was 9 a.m. when I shouldered my pack, then noticed with faint humor, the first soft snowflakes drifting down from the now grey smoldering sky.  For all the serenity, majestic repose, and granite permanency, the Sierra's can be as temperamental as an adolescent, and I was about to experience this first hand.

Returning to the trail, I followed the PCT upwards across rolling ridge after ridge where the trail played peek-a-boo with my navigation skills.  Occasionally, the path was exposed, usually along the southerly exposed sections, while on the northern exposures, the trail was nowhere.  The spring snow depth in these sections was 10-20 feet deep, obliterating signs, blazes, and any indication a hiker had been through the area.  The family following my course remotely via a Spot satellite transponder reported my path zigzagged haphazardly in these sections, and they could only guess what I was encountering. 

My mind echoed, "Dave, you better watch out," as the snowflakes began falling in earnest.  I want you to visualize the scene, as the snow fell viciously.  Not "Frosty the Snowman," snowflakes, this was a mean, spring snowstorm with driving winds, and the cold-pressed straight into my bones. After a couple of hours, thick swirling clouds of the white stuff were whirling around me in ever-rising cold howling mountain winds.  I started climbing a tall frozen ridge with wind thundering across the trees, and rain pelted my backpack and tattered ghostly clouds whipped over the rocks and forest.  Reaching the summit at noon, I thought, "You better start thinking about taking a break and getting into some shelter." 

Breaking the ridgeline, I made for a stand of trees on a southern facing slope.  Within the grove, I found bare patches of ground, set up my tent while the wind screamed through the trees like a banshee.  One last look around, my pack and I dove inside like a ground squirrel escaping a red tail hawk: It was high noon, Thursday, June 18.  For the next three days and two nights, the storm raged outside my tent. This was a real humdinger of a mountain storm, roaring out of the west-rain, hail, sleet, and wind.  Wow, did the wind blow. When the Sierra goes on a rampage, there is not much a hiker can do but stand by and watch with awe.  Lulls were brief; then, a high pitched scream would start in the treetops, the grove and my tent would be slammed by the roaring winds, over and over again.

It was two mornings later, I woke up at sunup and crawled from the warmth of my sleeping bag, the storm had broken.  Hiking the ridgeline, a grey mist enveloped is and cut off visibility to 25'.  “Dave,” I thought, “you better watch where you are walking,” as I looked over my map.  The map indicated the PCT followed this ridge for a half-mile before dropping to a lower elevation.  Here the trail was viable under my feet; the path was worn by many feet over the years, however ahead, the trail disappeared into another snowbank.  I was unsure of my exact location with no horizon to see, so I took a 90-degree turn and walked 50' to check out the terrain; the ground disappeared and a grey abyss, I was standing on a cliff.  Carefully, returning to the trail, I went the opposite direction, only to encounter a crumbling cornice of snow that fell off in the same grey abyss.

Somberly, returning to the trail, I brought out my GPS, turned it on, and then followed the path exactly as indicated on the screen, step by step.  There was not much room for error, but I hiked down from the ridgeline safely heading for lower elevations.  My camp that night was nestled in the sunshine along an old logging road.  Dinner and relaxation ensued in the fading light.  That evening was quiet, and the night was too quiet.

When morning broke, I came out of my tent to discover another snow-covered landscape.  Oh man, not again, but I continued onwards.  The trail continued to lose elevation as it dropped into the Feather River Canyon. Later that day, I crossed the bridge over the Feather River and made camp along Bear Creek.

A dry, moist morning greeted me the next day, and I hit the trail once again, my goal was Bucks Lake, Climbing the North Fork of the Feather River Canyon ridge, I made my way along the northern ridge where a faint cell signal allowed me to call home.  Perhaps it was not seeing me move via my Spot, or maybe the grief of losing Marylyn, but Luann was extremely happy to hear my voice and know that I was ok.  I asked her to contact lodging in the Bucks Lake area and find me a room for the night.  A return call let me know I had accommodations for the night at the Haskins Valley Inn, so I continued onwards.

Doug and Dixie welcomed me into their establishment, informing me that I was the first PCT hiker they had seen the spring.  Doug also let me know that the upcoming section between Bucks Lake and Chester were perhaps even more snowbound and dangerous that the trail I had just covered.  Now that did not sound too welcoming, so another call home as made and arrangements were made for Luann to pick me up in Quincy the ensuing day.

The following morning, Doug, Dixie, and I drove down the mountain to Quincy. Lost in thought; this had been a most extraordinary spring backpacking trip, unique since I had begun this PCT adventure in 2014, and ever since.  My mother-in-law had passed, Alzheimer's and the passing of my father, and in a round-about way,  those events led me to Pacific Crest Trail.  Spending two nights in a spring sierra snowstorm, contemplating life gave me a new outlook on my own experience and family – Becoming "snowed in" actually was not that bad of an experience.

[theteasingtemptress]

Another night before Christmas

'Twas the night before Christmas, and God it was neat The kids were both gone, and my wife was in heat The doors were all bolted, and the phone off the hook It was time for some nooky, by hook or by crook. Momma in her teddy, and I in the nude Had just hit the bedroom and reached for the lube When out on the lawn there arose such a cry, That I lost my boner and poor momma went dry. Up to the window I sprang like an elf, Tore back the shade while she played with herself. The moon on the crest of the snowman we'd built, Showed a broom up his ass, clean up to the hilt.

When what to my wondering eyes should appear, But a rusty old sleigh and eight mangy reindeer. With a fat little driver, half out of his sled, A sock in his ear, and a bra on his head. Sure as I'm speaking, he was as high as a kite. And he yelled to his team, but it didn't sound right. Whoa Shithead, whoa Asshole, whoa Stupid, whoa Putz, Either slow down this rig or I'll cut off your nuts. Look out for the lamp post, and don't hit the tree, Quit shaking the sleigh, 'cause I gotta go pee. They cleared the old lamp post, the tree got a rub, Just as Santa leaned out and threw up on my shrub. And then from the roof we heard such a clatter, As each little reindeer now emptied his bladder.

I was donning my jacket to cover my ass, When down the chimney Santa came with a crash. His suit was all smelly with perfume galore, He looked like a bum and he smelled like a whore. "That was some brothel," he said with a smile, "The reindeer are pooped, and I'll just stay here awhile.

He walked to the kitchen, himself poured a drink, Then whipped out his pecker and pissed in the sink. I started to laugh, my wife smiled with glee, The old boy was hung nearly down to his knee. Back in the den, Santa reached in his sack, But his toys were all gone, and some new things were packed. The first thing he found was a pair of false tits, The next was a handgun with a penis that spits. A box filled with condoms was Santa's next find, And a six pair of panties, the edible kind. A bra without nipples, a penis extension, And several other things that I shouldn't even mention. A cock ring, a G-string, and all types of oil, A dildo so long, it lay in a coil. "This stuff ain't for kids, Mrs. Santa will shit, So I'll leave 'em here, and then I'll just split." He filled every stocking and then took his leave, With one tiny butt plug tucked under his sleeve. He sprang to his sleigh, but his feet were like lead, Thus he fell on his ass and broke wind instead. In time he was seated, took the reins of his hitch, Saying, "Take me home Rudolph, this night's been a bitch!" The sleigh was near gone when we heard Santa shout, "The best thing about sex is that it never wears out!"

[danger76]

A Christmas Poem

'Twas the night before Christmas, and God it was neat

The kids were both gone, and my wife was in heat

The doors were all bolted, and the phone off the hook

It was time for some nooky, by hook or by crook.

Momma in her teddy, and I in the nude. Had just hit the bedroom and reached for the lube

When out on the lawn there arose such a cry, That I lost my boner and poor momma went dry.

Up to the window I sprang like an elf, Tore back the shade while she played with herself.

The moon on the crest of the snowman we'd built, Showed a broom up his ass, clean up to the hilt.

When what to my wondering eyes should appear, But a rusty old sleigh and eight mangy reindeer.

With a fat little driver, half out of his sled, A sock in his ear, and a bra on his head.

Sure as I'm speaking, he was as high as a kite.

And he yelled to his team, but it didn't sound right.

Whoa Shithead, whoa Asshole, whoa Stupid, whoa Putz, Either slow down this rig or I'll cut off your nuts.

Look out for the lamp post, and don't hit the tree, Quit shaking the sleigh, 'cause I gotta go pee.

They cleared the old lamp post, the tree got a rub, Just as Santa leaned out and threw up on my shrub.

And then from the roof we heard such a clatter, As each little reindeer now emptied its bladder.

I was donning my jacket to cover my ass, When down the chimney Santa came with a crash.

His suit was all smelly with perfume galore, He looked like a bum and he smelled like a whore.

That was some brothel, he said with a smile, The reindeer are pooped, I'll just stay here awhile.

He walked to the kitchen, himself poured a drink, Then whipped out his pecker and pissed in the sink.

I started to laugh, my wife smiled with glee, The old boy was hung nearly down to his knee.

Back in the den, Santa reached in his sack, But his toys were all gone, and some new things were packed.

The first thing he found was a pair of false tits, The next was a handgun with a penis that spits.

A box filled with condoms was Santa's next find, And a six pair of panties, the edible kind.

A bra without nipples, a penis extension, And several other things that I shouldn't even mention.

A cock ring, a G-string, and all types of oil, A dildo so long, it lay in a coil.

This suff ain't for kids, Mrs. Santa will shit, So I'll leave 'em here, and then I'll just split.

He filled every stocking and then took his leave, With one tiny butt plug tucked under his sleeve.

He sprang to his sleigh, but his feet were like lead, Thus he fell on his ass and broke wind instead.

In time he was seated, took the reins of his hitch, Take me home Rudolph, this night's been a bitch!

The sleigh was near gone when we heard Santa shout, The best thing about sex is that it never wears out!

[beutlerdesign]

Snowman Skiing : Snowmass

Giclée Archive Poster Prints

Paper Prints: 16X20=$85 • 18X24=$120 • 24X36=$210 • 30X45=$475

Canvas Gallery Wraps (standard depth 1.5 inches ready to hang): 16X20=$475 • 18X24=-$670 • 24X36=$770 • 30X45-$1500

CUSTOM OPTION: Add Child’s name and date to remember your ski trip!

Custom Paper Prints: 16X20=$110 • 18X24=$150 • 24X36=$235 • 34X45=$500

Custom Canvas Gallery Wraps (standard depth 1.5 inches ready to hang): 16X20=$670 • 18X24=-$770 • 24X36=$1500

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[beutlerdesign]

Snowman Ski Sweater : Snowmass

Giclée Archive Poster Prints

Paper Prints: 16X20=$85 • 18X24=$120 • 24X36=$210 • 30X45=$475

Canvas Gallery Wraps (standard depth 1.5 inches ready to hang): 16X20=$475 • 18X24=-$670 • 24X36=$770 • 30X45-$1500

CUSTOM OPTION: Add Child’s name and date to remember your ski trip!

Custom Paper Prints: 16X20=$110 • 18X24=$150 • 24X36=$235 • 34X45=$500

Custom Canvas Gallery Wraps (standard depth 1.5 inches ready to hang): 16X20=$670 • 18X24=-$770 • 24X36=$1500

FREE SHIPPING in 5-7 Business Days!!

[beutlerdesign]

Snowman Ski Sweater: Park City

Giclée Archive Poster Prints

Paper Prints: 16X20=$85 • 18X24=$120 • 24X36=$210 • 30X45=$475

Canvas Gallery Wraps (standard depth 1.5 inches ready to hang): 16X20=$475 • 18X24=-$670 • 24X36=$770 • 30X45-$1500

CUSTOM OPTION: Add Child’s name and date to remember your ski trip!

Custom Paper Prints: 16X20=$110 • 18X24=$150 • 24X36=$235 • 34X45=$500

Custom Canvas Gallery Wraps (standard depth 1.5 inches ready to hang): 16X20=$670 • 18X24=-$770 • 24X36=$1500

FREE SHIPPING in 5-7 Business Days!!

[beutlerdesign]

Ski Patrol: Park City

Giclée Archive Poster Prints

Paper Prints: 16X20=$85 • 18X24=$120 • 24X36=$210 • 30X45=$475

Canvas Gallery Wraps (standard depth 1.5 inches ready to hang): 16X20=$475 • 18X24=-$670 • 24X36=$770 • 30X45-$1500

CUSTOM OPTION: Add Child’s name and date to remember your ski trip!

Custom Paper Prints: 16X20=$110 • 18X24=$150 • 24X36=$235 • 34X45=$500

Custom Canvas Gallery Wraps (standard depth 1.5 inches ready to hang): 16X20=$670 • 18X24=-$770 • 24X36=$1500

FREE SHIPPING in 5-7 Business Days!!

[beutlerdesign]

Polar Bear Skiing: Park City

Giclée Archive Poster Prints

Paper Prints: 16X20=$85 • 18X24=$120 • 24X36=$210 • 30X45=$475

Canvas Gallery Wraps (standard depth 1.5 inches ready to hang): 16X20=$475 • 18X24=-$670 • 24X36=$770 • 30X45-$1500

CUSTOM OPTION: Add Child’s name and date to remember your ski trip!

Custom Paper Prints: 16X20=$110 • 18X24=$150 • 24X36=$235 • 34X45=$500

Custom Canvas Gallery Wraps (standard depth 1.5 inches ready to hang): 16X20=$670 • 18X24=-$770 • 24X36=$1500

FREE SHIPPING in 5-7 Business Days!!

[beutlerdesign]

Snowman Skiing: Crested Butte

Giclée Archive Poster Prints

Paper Prints: 16X20=$85 • 18X24=$120 • 24X36=$210 • 30X45=$475

Canvas Gallery Wraps (standard depth 1.5 inches ready to hang): 16X20=$475 • 18X24=-$670 • 24X36=$770 • 30X45-$1500

CUSTOM OPTION: Add Child’s name and date to remember your ski trip!

Custom Paper Prints: 16X20=$110 • 18X24=$150 • 24X36=$235 • 34X45=$500

Custom Canvas Gallery Wraps (standard depth 1.5 inches ready to hang): 16X20=$670 • 18X24=-$770 • 24X36=$1500

FREE SHIPPING in 5-7 Business Days!!

[beutlerdesign]

Santa Holiday Skiing : Telluride

Giclée Archive Poster Prints

Paper Prints: 16X20=$85 • 18X24=$120 • 24X36=$210 • 30X45=$475

Canvas Gallery Wraps (standard depth 1.5 inches ready to hang): 16X20=$475 • 18X24=-$670 • 24X36=$770 • 30X45-$1500

CUSTOM OPTION: Add Child’s name and date to remember your ski trip!

Custom Paper Prints: 16X20=$110 • 18X24=$150 • 24X36=$235 • 34X45=$500

Custom Canvas Gallery Wraps (standard depth 1.5 inches ready to hang): 16X20=$670 • 18X24=-$770 • 24X36=$1500

FREE SHIPPING in 5-7 Business Days!!

[beutlerdesign]

Santa Holiday Skiing: Jackson

Giclée Archive Poster Prints

Paper Prints: 16X20=$85 • 18X24=$120 • 24X36=$210 • 30X45=$475

Canvas Gallery Wraps (standard depth 1.5 inches ready to hang): 16X20=$475 • 18X24=-$670 • 24X36=$770 • 30X45-$1500

CUSTOM OPTION: Add Child’s name and date to remember your ski trip!

Custom Paper Prints: 16X20=$110 • 18X24=$150 • 24X36=$235 • 34X45=$500

Custom Canvas Gallery Wraps (standard depth 1.5 inches ready to hang): 16X20=$670 • 18X24=-$770 • 24X36=$1500

FREE SHIPPING in 5-7 Business Days!!

[beutlerdesign]

Snowman Skiing: Jackson

Giclée Archive Poster Prints

Paper Prints: 16X20=$85 • 18X24=$120 • 24X36=$210 • 30X45=$475

Canvas Gallery Wraps (standard depth 1.5 inches ready to hang): 16X20=$475 • 18X24=-$670 • 24X36=$770 • 30X45-$1500

CUSTOM OPTION: Add Child’s name and date to remember your ski trip!

Custom Paper Prints: 16X20=$110 • 18X24=$150 • 24X36=$235 • 34X45=$500

Custom Canvas Gallery Wraps (standard depth 1.5 inches ready to hang): 16X20=$670 • 18X24=-$770 • 24X36=$1500

FREE SHIPPING in 5-7 Business Days!!

[beutlerdesign]

Snowman Skiing: Park City

Giclée Archive Poster Prints

Paper Prints: 16X20=$85 • 18X24=$120 • 24X36=$210 • 30X45=$475

Canvas Gallery Wraps (standard depth 1.5 inches ready to hang): 16X20=$475 • 18X24=-$670 • 24X36=$770 • 30X45-$1500

CUSTOM OPTION: Add Child’s name and date to remember your ski trip!

Custom Paper Prints: 16X20=$110 • 18X24=$150 • 24X36=$235 • 34X45=$500

Custom Canvas Gallery Wraps (standard depth 1.5 inches ready to hang): 16X20=$670 • 18X24=-$770 • 24X36=$1500

FREE SHIPPING in 5-7 Business Days!!