The next day we decided to go for the big summit, since the weather forecast seemed more favorable than the subsequent day. That morning most of the high school kids felt better, and even the ones not fully recovered could at least ski down on their own power. After the group departed, we had to face the dilemma that new people were going to show up that afternoon while we were still out on our climb. If it was a group that reserved the whole hut, they would be awfully upset if they saw our stuff occupying a bedroom. Or, if it was multiple groups that totaled more than 12 people, then someone would be left without a bed before we got back. What to do?

We decided the best choice would be to clean up the hut completely and move all our stuff out of the bedroom and pile it in a corner downstairs, hoping that the new group would not notice until we got back. There was also a never-ending discussion about what to say when we encountered them. If it's a single group, that's easy: we just beg for mercy. If it's multiple groups, do we just not say anything, hoping that no more than 12 people will show up, and then admit our deception if the hut gets overcrowded? How do you negotiate with several different groups at once? And even if there were multiple groups totaling less than 12, if we didn't let on that had no reservations, then how do we explain why we piled up our stuff in a tower downstairs instead of claiming our beds? And to further complicate matters, maybe the new people would already have met the school group on their way up, and David already told them what had happened. Tough questions. So to solve this, we decided we'll just have to wing it, and chose smooth talking Tom to be our spokesman when we got back.

Due to all the cleaning we didn't get out till 10 AM. It was a 1-mile ski over scenic, moderate grades to the base of the broad shoulder of the mountain, and then a 1-mile ski up the shoulder, for a total elevation gain of 1800'. On either side of the shoulder the slopes dropped off precipitously, but it was so wide we couldn't see down either side. That 2 miles took us 4 hours, as we gasped at the rarified air. Winds were moderate going up the ridge, with the sun in and out of the clouds, but the weather improved as the day went on. The wind had packed the top layer of snow fairly firmly since the allegedly fine skiing two days before, but it was not hard and crusty. The views in all directions as we climbed were as spectacular as any we have seen on other trips. The going was slow and agonizing, but mostly just because of the altitude, not the conditions. At about 13,000', we decided it was pointless to try to keep skiing, as the slope was getting steeper and it didn't look like the top part of the descent would be so much fun on skis. So we took off our skis and walked, sinking knee deep at times. When my GPS said we had only 250' (horizontal) to go I thought it was a mistake, as the summit still seemed a quarter mile away. But the top was a completely featureless white lump with no sense of scale, and in fact it really was close. Still, that last 250' probably took me 15 minutes, at the rate of one step every few gasps of air.

We reached the 13,209' summit at 3pm, with the sun still high in the daylight savings sky. Despite the gusty breeze it did not feel very cold. This peak was right on the continental divide, with the two directions of the divide going roughly north and south on corniced ridges, perpendicular to the shoulder we just came up. If we had taken the time to do so, we could have polluted both the Pacific and Atlantic Oceans in the same pee. But we stayed only long enough to take a few pictures.

Walking back down to our skis was easy and we took off our skins and put on our skis and for the descent. The skiing conditions were excellent—the highest good skiing we ever had on these trips. A few minutes after starting to down, still at 12,900', I stopped to watch the others above me. There I saw Chris take a fall. He came to a dead stop but he yelled. I didn't hear what he said, but I knew what it was, as I saw a lone ski shooting down the mountain away from him at high speed. Instead of heading down the shoulder in the direction we were skiing, it careened down the south side, and then dropped out of sight over the edge. We had decided to remove our safety straps earlier in the trip, that are required for area skiing, because if caught in an avalanche, you want to get your skis off quickly. We had never before experienced a "fatally" escaped ski in the backcountry.

When the ski disappeared, I felt like someone died. I was imagining how hard it would be to get someone down the mountain on one ski, and here we were near the top of our highest 10th Mountain summit to date, late in the afternoon, 5 hours up from the hut. Would we need a helicopter rescue? Call snowmobiles? It seemed hopeless, but Tom decided to go looking for the ski. I knew there would be no hope of going directly down the mountain on that steep south slope, but maybe we could find the ski thousands of feet below in the woods, retrieve it, and bring it up (10 hours later while Chris froze up here?). Tom took off his skis and gingerly walked out toward the edge. Luckily, it was the rocky windward side of the slope, so the snow was not deep and footing was good. But with every step the slope got steeper. Tom was out no more than about 50', when I was totally shocked to hear him yell "I found it!" I thought he had to be mistaken, or it was a joke. But amazingly, the ski hit one of those rocks, flipped over, and got jammed to a stop just before dropping off into infinity.

After this frightening event, we decided maybe we should make some safety cords, especially me with release bindings. Tom had a long piece of nylon rope, which we cut into pieces and used to tie our boots to our bindings. Now safely attached to our skis, we continued down the slope. The remainder of the ski down from there was stupendous and dream-like. Even where the snow was a little wind-packed, it was not difficult to make nice turns. In my GPS track of the descent, I counted 58 turns in the next 20 minutes, descending 1000' in 0.6 miles. The sky cleared up completely and it got sunny and warm.

We reached the 1-mile mark to the turn-off from the shoulder, and continued skiing down from there in woods and glades. In sunny areas, the snow was warm enough to melt and then freeze on your skis, so you had to keep moving. We arrived at the broad meadow before the hut rather quickly. It was obvious that the new people had arrived, so we sent Tom off ahead to negotiate with whoever was staying there. The hut is actually uphill about 50' from the meadow, insuring that if we weren't already exhausted, this last little ascent without skins would cinch it. Total time for the descent (including the little time back up to the hut) was only 1.5 hours, and that included time spent retrieving lost skis and making safety cords.

When I arrived at the hut, I saw Glenn standing on the deck, smiling. There I heard the incredible good news: the hut was again reserved by a single group, but they were going to let us stay! Alas, it wasn't the Swedish Ski Team, but close: a group of 12 nurses (11 female, 1 male) who snowshoed up for their yearly hut extravaganza. They didn't come here to go anywhere, but to stay and party for just one night. They were happy to let us have the 4-bed room and said we could stay as long as we didn't track in snow and were willing to party with them. Typical of hut groups, they brought up way too much food and booze, but untypically they also carried up cans of soda, bread, baking goods and other things you'd be more likely to see on a car camping trip.

I don't know if the nurses felt inhibited from any planned form of partying with the four of us present, but it did not seem so. Because there was one man with them (and two others were planned that canceled) it didn't seem like we interfered with any intended form of female bonding.

Sharing a kitchen when there are only two groups is pretty efficient. After dinner, some of us stepped outside to experience the full moon. Later, for a good part of the evening, we participated in a game where you pass around an electronic gadget that displays a word or phrase, which you have to get your teammates to guess, sort of like charades but you get to talk. If you missed (or the device buzzed for some seemingly random reason) you were subject to a "truth or dare". I will let those who experienced this to elaborate, as I was so pooped I had to retire by 10 PM while the party was still going strong. I heard later that midnight was the average bedtime.