It was July 1975, and the three of us, Joe, Chuck, and Ed (your 6-lived reporter), were bound for Scott Lake, a high alpine tarn just west of Gannett Peak, the highest mountain in Wyoming. We had no intent of attempting Gannett–this was just an exploratory trip to see the high glaciated basins and alpine meadows of the Wind River Mountains. We’d been in the Winds twice before, and hiking here was becoming an annual ritual.

The approach to Scott Lake is via Twin Lakes, two long blue gems bordered by thick forests of pine, aspen and fir. The slope of the trail was gradual and pleasant, and we had wonderful views of spectacular Squaretop, with its castle-like buttresses that descended perpendicularly thousands of feet almost to lake level.

After about 9 miles of hiking the well-traveled trail, we turned off onto a poorly maintained path that headed up Scott Creek. We camped at timberline, and looked at the prospects for tomorrow. Scott Creek descends through a rock-strewn chasm in the cliffs bordering the canyon we had hiked up. Scott Lake above lies 2000′ up in a classic “hanging valley” cut over eons by creek runoffs since the geological epochs during which the glaciers carved the lower valley.

We were tired from the long hike in with 50-60 pound backpacks, and after dinner, we slept the sleep of the weary and the clueless. The next morning, after an energizing breakfast of oatmeal and bacon, we headed up into Scott Creek chasm. The path that had been faint was now non-existent, and we had to find our way through a chaos of boulders that ranged in size from suitcase to VW Beetle. Those boulders were the remnants of an ongoing battle between relative stability and winter/spring floods. What we were hiking on was a temporary respite in the yearly rock avalanche that pours down from Scott basin during the snow avalanches and the great melt-off every May and June.

As we ascended, the slope became steeper, and burdened as we were with full packs, we had to zig-zag up the slope, finding routes on and among the boulders. We first ascended to the left and then to the right, and back again, moving generally upwards. After a couple of hours of this, as the chasm steepened, we found ourselves actually climbing. We had moved from the “3rd-class” (hands-free) zone to “4th class”, meaning we had to use our hands for balance. In other circumstances we would have roped up, because a fall would have caused some injury, but probably nothing fatal. The greater danger was knocking a rock down on a partner’s head, and with a rope, that would have been more likely than not. So we stayed close together as we climbed. If one of us dislodged a small boulder, it wouldn’t gain great momentum before endangering the climber below, and he could dodge out of the way. What we didn’t expect was that rocks could dislodge themselves without human intervention.

We were at the crux of the climb now. The route seemed to get shallower up above but it was at its steepest now. Chuck and I were together, moving crosswise along a ledge. Joe was off to the right somewhere. Suddenly there was a rumble from above. I saw a coffin-sized boulder falling towards me. I jumped sideways quite instinctively. There was no possibility of planning foot and hand moves on the ledge. The boulder brushed by me, exactly where I had been. (Chuck reached out and pushed at the boulder as it fell. This is from his description of the event later. I have no recollection of it myself.) The boulder continued to fall freely below me as I moved and it made a great whoosh, followed by a booming crash as it hit the boulders below us. The sound echoed in the canyon for a few seconds. There were the usual small rock avalanches afterwards, but nothing more fell from above.

Chuck and I shook our heads as we looked at each other wordlessly. Joe called over, “Are you guys all right?” We affirmed that we were, and without any discussion, we continued on upwards. We agreed implicitly that it would have been more dangerous to descend, and the way up seemed to be getting easier. Trying not to think about the precarious stability of the boulder chasm around us, we continued up to the relative shelter of the cliffs above without incident.

When we reached the top of the rock field, we entered a wide cleft in the cliffs. The creek now ran nearly horizontally, and we followed it through the cleft to where it flowed out of Scott Lake. The basin opened up to us. We had reached our objective. The color of the lake water was a milky green pastel, caused by glacier “flour” in the water. The grey faces of Gannett Peak and the pristine white slopes of Gannett Glacier shimmered and refracted in it, making a dreamy inverted image of the basin. We settled on a patch of lovely alpine
meadow, threw down our packs, and breathed deeply of the thin mountain air. We had brushed against death to get here, and we would savor the beauty of the cirque for two more days. The route out (thank you, Odin). would be on a safer route than we had struggled up. Time to enjoy life and recuperate in one of Nature’s grandest places.

–rakkity