Grass Mountain Microwave Radio Site
Ok, I've been away. I admit it, I've been smitten with FB lately and have gotten away from my writing. I need to return my focus to writing and less virtual social graces. (GOOD LUCK!).
After a recent discussion with a good friend of mine, recalling to me to the winter of 97/98 spent while working for Northwest Microwave in Yakima, Wa. I decided to use the many events of that year as fresh material to write about, to get the juices flowing and try to find my bliss.
That winter was one for the ages, starting with a dastardly storm in November that dropped 18" of snow in one November night that followed with an ice storm right on it's heels dumping 2" of freezing rain on top of it, basically imobilizing everything in it's path. Many flat roof's came down that year, along with sheared off power poles that split under the strain. I got called out to our Rattlesnake Mtn site which took me away from home for three days, chasing my ass into a powerless radio site in the middle of nowhere, on the edge of the Hanford Nuclear Res. We were buried all winter. At home, and in the mountains the horrible weather lasted well into spring when I got caught in a late May snow of cascade cement, putting a foot and a half over the top of a partially melted base of solid ice and frozen snow. The only good thing about that winter was that I lost over 30 #'s.
This particular event happened during that winter at one of Northwest Microwave's (NMI) radio sites located on Grass Mountain, just east of Enumclaw. Some of the details are a little hazy, I've tried to forget about them, but there were some rather humorous events that occurred along the way. Maybe my friend, Dave, whom I met while working @ NMI will help me to recall some of these events too, *WINK*.
Based out of Yakima, I was to meet up with our Seattle Tech; Dave MacDonald and go up to the Grass Mountain just after that first major snow/ice winter weather event of the season. Grass is off highway 410 by about 10 miles on private timber land east of Enumclaw. Most of the route is logging road maintained by the company that owns the property, but the last 1/2 mile is not. NMI provided "snowmobiles" to get in and out. Although, their idea of "snowmobile" left a lot to be desired considering their condition. These mules looked (and ran) as if they had been beaten bloody under a heavy load. If I had a gun with me, I would have done the honorable thing and....
If there is too much snow, like this season, the last couple of miles of access are not plowed and the top is only accessable via some kind of snow machine. From there, you can go via the road or there is a short cut up the hill that follows the power lines. It's a fun ride on a snowmobile and that's the route we took my first trip up the hill. Dave actually got a new snowmobile to break in that winter, but he said it was undersized/powered for what the job requires after repeatedly cursing about working for a "real company". Not only do you have to drag all your gear up the hill, usually you're pulling a sled carrying a few hundred pounds of test equipment. The machine needs some umph to haul up and across the hillsides to get to where you need to go, alive I might add.
I never really rode a snowmobile all that much so I needed a little 101 on not only how it operates, as well as how to load, haul and unload it too. I did take the it out a couple of times in Yakima to get used to it. That was rather cool, getting paid to learn how to ride a snowmobile! Dave was very supportive. While showing me the finer points of unloading I sorta paused a little to take it all in. Dave looked up at me and yelled; "Quit gawking Pickard, and help me pull your ****ing sled off the trailer"!
What a great teacher, ol Dave. Mr Patience, instilling his confidence in me.
Finally, the sled loaded and hitched to the beast of a snowmobile. We were off on a mostly gray day, not snowing, but plenty every where you looked. Dave shot out of the parking area like a rocket and I tried to do the same thing with my machine. It was akin to stepping on a sponge, as there was a lull between the throttle and actual acceleration. Up the road we went, sailing along on this gray overcast day without the heavy snows, I was able to keep Dave in my sights.
Off the road we went onto the power line shortcut. My heart pumped as the wind blew in my face. The trail was rather fun. It was easy to spot Dave and follow the path. We zipped right on up the hill to the top, just below the radio site, where the road crests over the peak and is not plowed from there. We paused there because the rest of the trip in could be sort of dicey due to a hillside we had to cross, which ended in a hard right turn that shot up steeply to the site. I remember Dave's advice; "Let me go first, give yourself some room, gas it hard, stand on the uphill side of your sled and don't stop until you get to the top. DO NOT STOP!" He emphasized before screaming off to what must be the road, although I couldn't tell through all the drifts, all I could see was a white line through the trees. By this time, we were up in the clouds too, making depth preception rather difficult.
I gassed it and followed up two short hills next to the huge power line towers and off to the left before cutting right and following Dave's tracks because I could no longer see him through the gray mist. It sort of opened up onto a long sidehill, on a gentle climb but with a steep pitch sloping away to my left. I put both feet on the up hill rail and gave it all she had. Glancing across the seat while speeding along, I could see down the hill, a long, long, ways and also saw what Dave meant. If you stop, there's no place to turn around. You go too slow and the machine sinks right into the deep snow and gets stuck forcing you to dig your way out. I could feel the heavy sled reluctantly following me as I had it at full throttle, my butt now dragging in the snow on the uphill side.
Needless to say, my heart was pumping and I knew that the hard bank turn was coming just as I hit the thickest part of the cloud bank and couldn't see much past the windshield. Around the corner I went and prayed I had enough, but I lost traction about 2/3 the way up at a turn off to another radio site just below ours and started to dig into the snow. That was it, no farther foward so I shut things down. I pulled off the heavy cases holding the test eqpt and had to drag each one the rest of the way up hill. Then I jumped on the snowmobile rode the rest of the way to the top, cutting a wide 180 around so I was facing back towards the road I came up on and broke through the clouds. Sweating, damp & panting, I looked up after shutting down the sled. My eyes feasted on the view.
We were just above the cloud layer in the sun! Brilliant blue sky over head, Mt Rainer crowding my backdrop and a fluffy gray/white layer as far as I could see at my feet in every direction. A few snowy peaks poked above like tops of bald heads. I felt like I could have walked right out onto it. One of the coolest things I'd ever seen. What a nice reward for the hard work to get there.
We were co-located at this site with the Dept of Natural Resources (DNR) who had a two way radio repeater. NMI's radio room was a small crackerbox in one corner. Dave gave me the nickel tour and I got the test eqpt. out to do the PM. By the time we finished that afternoon, darkness was coming in quickly. We loaded up and made for our trucks. Dave said that we'd take the power line road back down again and just to follow him out.
By the time we took off, it started to snow as the sun dropped under the clouds. When we made it back down to the road, fifty cent sized snowflakes were pelting me. My goggles were getting coated and as I sweated, they would get fogged up easily, even with the best anti-fog spray. You had to keep moving to keep them clear. We stopped briefly before sailing back down the road into the snowy night. I could see Dave's red light on the back of his snowmobile, that's how I kept tabs with him. I couldn't seen anything else but the flying snow out of the dark sky as it hit my lights. If I followed too closely I got the wash off of his track so I had to back off a bit. Did Dave? HELL NO!!!
I kept up with him okay until we hit the power line trail and he friggen took off like a bullet. I had a hell of a time keeping up, the sled bouncing and tipping, me nearly blind from all the flying snow. Still I could see the little red dot in front of me. Going much faster than I felt comfortable with to keep up as it kept getting smaller and smaller if I backed off. It would disappear around a corner, then I'd see it as I cleared the next corner, only to see it disappear again. Snow filled my face and goggles, torn between terror and anger I kept going and following the red dot until I couldn't see it anymore. Another corner, no red dot. Next corner, no dot but tons of snow flying.
I slowed, now more pissed than scared. "That son of a bitch!" I yelled. Now, slowly moving along, trying to see tracks through the white out. Here I am, all alone on a dark, wintery hillside that I know very little of. I could DIE! Around another corner I turned and nearly ran over Dave who just getting upright after dumping his snowmobile on it's side, along with his sled carrying the test eqpt. I stopped my machine and shut it off just past the wreck, and sang him a four letter serenade greeting. He just laughed at me, so I just sat there and caught my breath while I let him right his snowmobile and load his sled again by himself. Lucky for him I wasn't going ludicris speed or I woulda probably left treadmarks all over him.
After a bit more animated discussion, we made it back down to our trucks without any other problems. It was still snowing pretty good as we loaded the snowmobiles onto our trailers. Dave suggested stopping at a watering hole in Enumclaw, called "The Mint".
I have to say, those were the damn tacos I've ever eaten. Behind the bar is a row of micro brew taps, 25 or so if I remember correctly. The beer flowed, the food scarffed down, warming our bodies back to feeling. It was a pleasant, fuzzy walk back to my hotel room (about a block and a half from The Mint). It was snowing hard still, but my pace was slow and measured while I crossed the street just after a pickup went by. I noticed the red tail lights and felt relieved that I knew exactly where I was going even with a buzz on.
