Several hours above and beyond Shirley Lake, looking down from 1984 Olympic High Camp.
Christian and his friends offered to show me the road. I said I'd like to do that, but my walking speed wasn't as fast as theirs. They offered to wait, if necessary. They treked on. I huffed and puffed. They headed straight up the middle of the snow fields. My tennis shoes would NOT do snow without slipping, so I zig-zagged around when possible, dug in with an abandoned ski pole when I had to. Eventually, I pointed up to a black machine thing and said, "If I'm at that thing, will I see the road?" They said yes, so I thanked them and they went on. I went on more slowly, and more zig-zagged, but at some point I was about 20 feet below the "top," with nothing but a wall of snow between myself and it. I found a small piece of wood, and with that in my right hand and the ski pole in my left, I dug into the snow and pulled myself up it. What a great adventure! (No real danger. I could alway just have gone back the other way.)
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