Everything was going great. We'd snagged a timed-entry permit for the 7-9a window the night before and rolled through the gate at 630a before the permit was even needed. There were some clouds in the sky, but nothing too threatening. We made great time up the trail past Frozen Lake, First Burroughs, and arrived at Second Burroughs. Our destination was Third Burroughs and an up-close view of her majesty, Tahoma.
We picked up some poop (red fox, I think) and dropped to the saddle between the last two Burroughs. The climb to the summit was a slog, but an enjoyable one with glaciers all around. I scoped out possible glissade routes down and they looked like we'd really get moving.
The views from the summit were sublime. We got a pic of a pika, collected some living snow, and measured the snow depth. Four SCIENCE! project wins in one day. Not bad.
The first glissade off the summit was fast and bumpy, but pretty good. The snow was just soft enough to make it enjoyable. We traversed to the second line and I took off again. I always lead the way to make an extra fast path for whoever follows.
About half way down the 200 foot slide something hard went right up Main Street. It wasn't a rock or a stick. It was probably a chunk of ice buried in the soft snow. Mr. HOS was past it before I could call out a warning with no damage to his undercarriage.
I stayed sitting in the snow with stars clouding my eyes. Was the ringing in my ears new or just my old friend tinnitus? Did my butt always hurt like this? I stood cautiously and found I could walk without too much pain. Good thing since we were still about five miles from the trailhead.
The goats we'd seen on the way in were hunkered down in preparation for a storm that was on its way. The pika were notably absent, but the marmots put on quite a show.
Getting into the car I discovered a new definition of pain and suffering. It turns out one's butt is necessary to sit comfortably. If I shifted to one cheek or the other I was able to avoid searing pain. This worked all the way until we turned onto our dirt road for the last half mile to home. Not even the juiciest of cheeks would suffice to cushion my coccyx sufficiently. I winced and gasped until we were parked.
Mr. HOS ran into the house and announced my latest injury to Mrs. Moosefish and anyone else that was listening. "MOM! Dad broke his butt!" Once the laughter died down we found a way to put an ice pack "down there" and I gave much thanks to Amazon Prime who delivered a butt pillow in time for work the next day.
My advice to you is to not do what I did. But that doesn't mean giving up glissading. How can you avoid such an injury while still enjoying a slide down the snow? Beats me. Maybe there's a market for a cup that extends all the way around? Let me know if you need a tester.
📍On the lands of the spuyaləpabš (Puyallup) people.
