Why, I think it's "Booty"!
Booty!
That's what it is.
All major storms have
tales of
woe. Some
can't be helped, and some are
self-manufactured. And sometimes Snow Pirates profit from the misfortunes of others.
This story starts as a good pirate tale should--with a rumor of buried treasure. We received a garbled, incoherent voicemail on Sunday night from one of our friends, at some bar, in some state of mind, rambling on about people she knew, a snow storm, Humvees, Michener cabin, and a sled of goodies abandoned in the snow during the retreat from a failed expedition...
We had to call her back to get a slightly more coherent telling--it wasn't much better, but enough to set off scheming for a treasure hunt.
It all started on a dark and stormy night. In this case, it was last Friday--you know, two storms ago--like eternity, almost. Four fine folks from Harrisburg (why can't the city start with an "F", too?) rented Michener Cabin from the PATC for the weekend. On Friday evening, in the gathering snow, they hiked the one mile downhill from the trailhead on a Michaux forest road that would not see a snow plow under normal circumstances. Friday night was a raucous good time, with wine and cheese and other sundry delights, ensconced as they were in their warm and snug little refuge, while the snow continued to pile up outside.
They awoke Saturday to a winter wonderland of deep, deep snow. The reality of the storm set in, and this, coupled with their uncertain firewood supply, drove them to mount a retreat back to their vehicles at the top of the mountain. So they packed up their gear, shouldered their packs, and loaded their sled with their chest of goodies. Alas, dragging a sled of goodies uphill in deep snow while post-holing proved to be too much. The sled was was probably falling over every few feet as it tried to track in the footsteps that were too narrow for it, causing it sit very off-camber and off-balance. The fearless four decided to jettison the chest and save themselves. Back to the cars they post-holed. It couldn't have been an easy slog, uphill most of the way and with the burden of loaded packs.
Of course, when they reached the cars, they were really no better off. They couldn't get out. Snowed in. Somehow or another they finally contacted someone to inform them of the situation and the National Guard was dispatched in a Humvee to rescue the errant woodland merry-makers. So, now the folks were safe from their predicament, but their cars were still stranded almost a mile in from where the last plow blade touched.
Sunday they returned to the scene and hired a local with a plow to open the road into their cars. I have no idea how much that cost...but they were able to retrieve their vehicles and fled back to the relative safety of the town again...and a warm, jovial bar...where they could get happily inebriated and regale the dumbstruck crowds with the tale of their misadventures over the previous 48 hours. Which leads us to the voicemail from Sunday evening.
And our scheming.
Monday didn't work.
Tuesday evening it started to snow again.
Wednesday we considered making an attempt, in the midst of the blizzard, but saner heads prevailed. Good thing or we might have been constructing our own tale of woe.
Thursday dawned clear and beautiful. After working, digging out, and taking in some sustenance, we decided it was time. Wait too long and some other dirty pirate may beat you to the prize. Can't trust pirates, you know.
We drove to the end of the plowing, turned around and parked the snow schooner. A quick, fortuitous discussion with the resident there confirmed the story of Humvees and a hired plow. And so we started breaking trail. It was
work, even on powder snowshoes. But it was beautiful work.
We assumed we would see some telltale lump in the snow that would tip us off. Where it wasn't drifted, we could still see the slight depression of the foursome's tracks out. Down, down the whole way to the cabin we went with nothing to show for our work, except for a nicely broken trail to go back up. No lumps, no bumps, nothing.
We conferred. It made no sense that they left the chest in the cabin. Based on the description of the contents, they would not have simply left it without making an attempt to take it along. It had to be up the trail somewhere. Probably not that far up, based on how much of a pain it would have been to pull it without a snowshoe-wide track to guide it. Definitely no further than the steepest pitch. We decided we would take our time on the way back up and look closer--perhaps they moved it to the side of the trail--and also poke and prod with our poles in case there was no discernable lump in the snowscape. Having a broken track to follow out would help this as our work would be cut in half.
So back up we started. With every step we poked the snow to either side of the track. We scanned the surrounding bumps. Is that a huckleberry bush, some low laurel, or a treasure chest? About 150 yards up from the cabin, my left pole made a very different sound. A hollow, plasticky thump. Could it be? I unstrapped the avalanche shovel and started to dig. Sure enough, we found it!
Many "Aye, Mateys" were exchanged as we took inventory of our booty. We tied it to our sled and started back up the mountain, triumphant, but with almost 2 miles of snow slogging back to the schooner. Back at the truck, we were triumphant, tired, and happy. This pirate treasure was no tall tale!
