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VI |
Once the buzz of the helicopter evaporated over the Witch's Cauldron, we set up a hasty camp and put our skis on. If the weather was going to turn, we might as well get some turns in first. Skiing across the icecap felt like walking across water, an endless ocean punctuated with granite spires. My heart beat rose, not from exertion but elatement. We scrambled to a small high point to gaze at Mt. Burkett, making hopeful plans that spanned the icecap and was contingent on 8 days of splitter weather.
I was in awe of the magnetism of the Devil's Thumb. Its looming presence both repelled and attracted my whole being on our descent to camp, while we cooked dinner, and even while we slept. The next morning though, the three thousand foot tall monolith, less than a mile away, was cloaked in moisture.
