Lean-Gloo How-To
"The NWA shot" in the completed Lean-Gloo
Clockwise from lower left: Oklahoma John, Clark, Me, and Cori
Cori's friend Clark showed up Friday night after having a sloppy day at Mt Baker. We drank beer, and talked about skiing and fishing and welding for a couple hours before Cori showed up. It had been over a year since Cori and I had seen each other, and it was good to reminisce over our exploits as undergrads at Montana State. He reminded me of one hike in particular, up to Hyalite Lake in October of our freshman year, when we had been particularly ill-prepared. By the time we had made it the seven miles to the lake it was getting dark, and we had been postholing in hiking boots and Carharts for a couple miles. Then Cori remembered that he forgot his headlamp. So I got to shine a light on his ass the whole hike out.
The plan for the weekend was to have a throwback to those good ol' days. We would go up and shred the Baker sidecountry on Saturday, then camp out near the parking lot Saturday night. Bonk was planning on driving up as well but planned to meet us in the morning so he could "Hook up on this girl's sailboat and then smoke a cigarette like a boss."
That fell through so he showed up at my place at around eleven Friday night, with the leftover bottle from the weekend prior, which consisted of half some kind of cognac and half R&R whiskey because the whiskey cap had been misplaced. So we played some records and got a talking to from the neighbors at around midnight.
We all slept through our alarms the next morning and woke up to Nikita knocking on the window, because apparently Bonk told him to meet at my place before heading up to Baker. I guess it took a couple tries, because the first time Cori and Clark poked their heads up for a second, saw Nikita out the window, then rolled over and went back to sleep. Finally we all rallied, Bonk and Nikita in a separate rig because they couldn't stay to camp. Cori, Clark, and I all piled into Clark's old two-wheel drive Ranger. We had enough gear and firewood in the back to feel pretty confident about making it up the mountain.
Nikita rippin it
None of the boys had skied the Blueberry chutes, so I got to guide them around for a few good laps. Cori did great on my touring skis, Clark had a bit more slogging to do with his board and snowshoes. Bonk and Nikita were solid on their skis and splitboard, respectively, and I enjoyed the excuse to bust out my splitboard since Cori was better on my skis. Cori had never skinned, so it was a pleasant surprise for him how much easier it was than snowshoeing while packing a snowboard. Clark had never rode the backcountry or even snowshoed I don't think, so he was blown away by the overwhelming quiet of a misty, still day in the backcountry. Nikita and Bonk appreciated learning the new terrain, and I was glad to show them all around.
Cori found out smearing grease in your hair doesn't keep all the rime off.
Clark soaking in the stillness
After four laps we were satisfied, and decided to go down to the White Salmon lodge to see if there was any food to be had. They were shutting down, so Bonk and Nikita decided to head back to the city. Clark and Cori were having second thoughts about building an igloo.
Nikita looked at them and said, "You guys should stay and build an igloo."
We drove around the lot and found an open slot on the perimeter with a big berm to burrow into. I told the boys to just take a break and drink some beer and they'd come around to the igloo idea. So they sat in the truck and cranked the heat and the tunes, and crushed some beers. For inspiration.
I soon realized the plowed berm on the edge of the lot was basically ice. My trusty aluminum avalanche shovel cracked. My steel snow saw, called the "Bonesaw" couldn't hardly cut it. I resorted to just chipping blocks off the top wherever could find them semi-perched. Our neighbor offered to turn on the floodlights that were built into his Sprinter van. So we had a real construction site vibe going on. The boys started pitching in. Clark found some soft enough spots where he could saw blocks, and Cori resorted to using his double-bit hatchet to hew blocks with an industrious sounding "Shink. Shink. Shink."
We had a steady stream of neighbors popping by once we had the walls built up a couple feet. Our two biggest fans were a nine-year-old boy named Seamus who lived in Glacier, and a forty-something guy named John from Oklahoma. John had been lured over by Cori's "Camping Playlist," which had a lot of Waylon Jennings and the Highwaymen, but he stayed to watch the igloo shape up.
"How the heck do y'all know this stuff?" John repeatedly asked us, referring alternatively to the music and the igloo building.
"Went to school in Montana," Cori said.
"Boy Scouts," I said.
Seamus wanted to play, so I told him to go get a shovel and start digging my escape tunnel, because I was trapped at that point. John brought us a pot of stew, but the boys didn't know how to start my white gas stove to heat it up. I had Clark hand it in to me, where I lit it and handed it back to him on the shovel with a footlong flame coming off it. John liked that move. It didn't take long to close in the roof, since we really only needed to build two thirds of an igloo leaned up against the berm. I chipped out a little extra leg room under the berm with the hatchet. There were some slightly alarming cavities under there, giving the slight impression that the berm could tip onto us. Safe is relative.
Later
Seamus popped up through the floor to my rescue, so then I could start shoveling the rest of the debris out the door. Seamus got called to dinner, then John, Clark and Cori joined me inside and we passed around a wee bottle of Old Crow and took selfies.
Cori filled me in on all the stuff Seamus said to them on the outside, about how his family was religious, and how at one point Seamus abruptly stopped shoveling, gazed proudly at the igloo, and gushed "I can't wait for Judgement Day." That unsettled Cori a tad. Said something about The Omen. But I knew Seamus was on our side.
Stoke face
Seamus came back over after dinner, as I was levelling the floor with the double-bit. He regarded the empty pint of Old Crow and said in his most unimpressed adult voice "Old Crow? Really?".
I sheepishly told him it was medicine, because it was made by a doctor, but inside I was thinking, "Dang, what do YOU drink?". Kids.
After we made our beds we went and made the rounds of the three separate campfires in the lot, made some friends and joined a couple folks for a moonlight lap. Clark and I joined a couple nice fellows for a boot up under Chair 7 to the bottom of the banked slalom course, then shredded some virgin corduroy under the full moon. To cap off the night, we went over to the last fire standing and were fed solo cupfuls of pulled pork and 'slaw. That kept us warm through the night.
Some friends old, some friends new, some food borrowed, a Lean-Gloo.
Laser show at Fire 1