(Actually, snowshoeing on New Years Eve is nothing new. In 2001 Dan and I were on Mt. Bachelor and in 2003 Amy and I were at White Pass.)

Hey, wait a minute, you go snowshoeing with Dan's dog, but not Tokul? What's up with that? Turns out Tokul's a bit under the weather after having spent two days working through a bar of Dove soap she ate. Yummy.

Mother Nature's been pretty stingy with the snow this season, so the downhill skiers are all still moping about while the lifts sit idle. This past week, though, the Pass got a small amount of snow that didn't melt as soon as it landed. This time next week even those too lazy to climb to the top of the mountains themselves will be back in business.

There was, however, just barely enough snow at the Pass to allow Dan and I to strap on our snowshoes at the northern PCT trailhead. I say barely because as soon as you got into the trees you could find bare patches or areas that were more ice than snow. The teeth on the snowshoes would grind through these areas making all the hairs on my neck stand on end. The paucity of snow did allow me to feel like I wasn't breaking the rules, however, so that was a consolation.

We were the first people on the trail since it had snowed a couple of inches, but we had no problems following a single set of tracks as it wound through the trees. The first 2.5 miles is part of the PCT heading north and climbs about 1,000 feet very slowly. From the junction with the PCT we headed down into Commonwealth Basin.

All along we had been trying to remember the details of this trail from our very first snowshoe expedition with Nick. All we could remember was that Dan had popped his shoulder out on a section of the trail with a steep dropoff. I thought it was in the woods, but Dan was sure it was in the open. Neither of us remembered the climb to the PCT intersection.

When we finally entered the Basin we both remembered the view. A thick forest lay below us with snow covering each tree. The trail took us down to Commonwealth Creek and then ended. The map showed that the trail continued on the eastern side of the creek, but we found tracks on the west side and continued through the snow-covered meadows there.

Soon we had lost the tracks and had to ponder our next move. We could see blue sky just over the next small ridge so we made a straight line for that. It's been a while since either of us have been out for even a moderate hike (my last was two days before surgery) and we both felt it climbing this little hill in the snow.

Oh yeah, the snow that was "clear, groomed, and compacted" was a thing of the past. The snow in the Basin was like powdered sugar and about two feet deep. The snowshoes that had been a minor convenience earlier were now a necessity even though the tracks we had followed off and on were made by a hiker without snowshoes.

Atop the ridge we found the real trail again. This was the beginning of the 1,300 foot gain to Red Pass and it didn't mess around. The trail pretty much stuck to the spine of the hill with tight switchbacks its only concession. We paused at each peekaboo view as much for a break as to admire nature's bounty.

At 20 minutes to noon Dan reminded me he needed to be back at his house at 3pm, which meant noon was our turnaround time. A glance at the GPS showed we were at about 4,500 feet. We'd need to climb the remaining 800 feet in just 20 minutes. Uh huh. Likely.

I pushed hard, but at noon we were just below 5,000 feet. Dang. It looked all the world like there was daylight just over the next little rise and Dan clearly wanted to see it. I suggested we climb it for a peek and Dan agreed. We popped over the ridge a few minutes later and found we were at Red Pond or at least what would have been Red Pond had it not been buried under snow.

When we came into the clearing we lost the trail, but we could easily see the 300 foot climb that lay between us and Red Pass. We were already over our time limit so we opted to turn around and save the Red Pass for another day. (Red Pass used to be on the Cascade Crest trail and would have given us a glimpse of the upper Middle Fork valley.)

We had seen no one on the way up, but the trail we had broken was clearly appreciated by those behind us. The first were a pair without snowshoes. Right behind them was a guy on cross country skis. We continued down and ran into a trio of hikers just a little up the hill from Commonwealth Basin. We talked with them for a while about where they were in relation to Red Pass and about GPS reception (or lack thereof).

As we left the real trail we saw that everyone we had met so far had followed our ad hoc trail up the hill. (When in doubt follow someone else. Maybe they know where they're going.) Who knows, if there's regular traffic on the trail without a major snow fall our trail may last the rest of the season.

The rest of the hike back wasn't terribly impressive. The snow got progressively worse and the number of people got progressively higher. In the end we saw something like 18 people on the way down. It obviously pays to get up early even if we only left at 8am.

The final numbers were about 10 miles and 2,000 feet of elevation gain. I didn't fall on my arm even once, though I did hold my sternum strap when I felt there was a chance. (I figured if I started to fall having my hand affixed to my chest would be a good reminder not to do something stupid and catastrophic like throwing it out to break my fall.) Hopefully, the snow will continue to fall in the mountains and we'll get out at least a couple more times.