Neil Hunt

Events

Neil Hunt

by Linda Bresee

I first met Neil Hunt on a backpack trip that I led up Thunder Creek. We were scheduled to stay at Middle Cabin but found the area closed for restoration. The ranger gave me a permit to stay at McAlister Camp, a bit further up the trail.

Neil was lean, tan, grizzled—an elementary school p.e. teacher. Obviously he was in top condition. As we arrived at the parking lot, Neil had his pack on and was jogging in place while I waited for an overweight woman to struggle out of her car. I could see it was going to be an interesting trip.

I asked Neil to lead the way, after explaining our new destination. I felt I should stay and shepherd the slower hikers, much to the disgust of the heavy lady. My friend, Jeri Shevlin, was in the slower group but easily able to outdistance the portly one. I was walking along, deep in thought, when I came upon Jeri, sitting beside the trail with a bloody head. She had walked into a broken branch which gouged her right at the hairline. A bandaid soon fixed her up.

At last we caught up with Neil and the rest of the group. They were at Middle Camp and were so ready to stop for the day that several already had tents up. They were quite unhappy when I informed them that we had to go a bit further. I would not change my mind as I believe in and support the restoraton projects. We pushed on and soon came to McAlister Camp, an attractive new campground with an unattractive supply of voracious mosquitoes. We managed to have a fun and funny evening together, listening to Karen’s Deep Texas accent and to Jeri’s DownEast accent, but the mosquitoes were getting the upper hand; we had to go to bed to escape them.

The next morning, at 6:20 to be exact, my tent began shaking. It was Neil, pack on his back, ready to go. He just couldn’t take the mosquitoes any longer. By 9:30, we were all on our way out, ceding the campground to the bugs.

I encountered Neil and his wife several times after that at Meany Lodge, once when we had fresh powder to ski. I had never skied fresh powder before and spend the entire morning trying to leam how to do it. I loved it, but it wore me out.

Neil was, at that time, taking an Alpine Scramble Class, and he had his map and compass assignment with him. He said he needed help, and I needed the rest, so we spent about an hour after lunch working on the problems. When we finished, Neil suggested we go ski Railroad Meadows. I declined, with thanks, of course. He insisted that I would do just fine. I insisted that I would not. I reminded him that I was a beginner and a chicken to boot. No sweat, said Neil. There would be no problem at all. “With all this powder,” said he, “it is a fine time to ski Railroad Meadows. It is so pretty.”

Well, what the heck, thought I. Just how rough could meadows be anyway? I agreed to go along.

My first indication that maybe I had made the mistake of my life was when I saw the sign posted at the top of the tow: “Do not travel this trail alone!” I pointed it out to Neil. “Pooh pooh,” said Neil. “Just follow me. No trouble.” Stupidly, I chose to believe him.

I should have known better, of course, having done much ridge climbing, but too often when I think of meadows, the mental image generally is one of horizontal real estate. Railroad Meadows is not horizontal real estate. It comes under the heading of “vertical.” I yelped to Neil when I looked straight down its slopes. “Don’t worry,” said he, “it’ll be just fine.” Yeah. Right.

He told me just to traverse, kick turn, traverse, kick turn…I was not good at much beyond traversing. To kick turn, one must first stop. How does one stop in deep powder? Only the Double Bun Self-arrest Method worked for me…i.e., simply sitting down. This does eliminate the need of doing a true kick turn. I’d just roll to face the proper direction, struggle back to my feet, traverse a ways, and sit down again to reverse my direction.

I wasn’t too far along in this when I spotted The Canyon. I could see no reason why I was not about to plunge down into it. “No sweat,” said Neil. “See, there are ropes strung between the trees down there to catch you if you fall.” Well, that certainly was reassuring. And he further assured me that I would not fall. I did not feel assured. Just the fact that I was in a place where it was necessary to string ropes up between trees to catch falling skiers was enough to convince me that I definitely was in the wrong place. I personally felt no assurance that I would not fall. Nor did I find any comfort in looking at those ropes. They did not look to be close enough together to catch anything.

Tensely, I repeated the Double Bum Arrest, the struggle back to my feet, all the while putting a smarting cramp in my right thigh muscle and gasping for breath. Suddenly, my horror heightened, if that were possible. The way Neil was going led straight to a skinny little path skirting the edge of a cliff. It was the infamous Psychopath! What was Neil doing to me? Why was he doing this to me? The snow was too soft for crawling along on hands and knees, which was all I could think of doing.

“Just get up some momentum and you’ll have no trouble,” soothed Neil.

Momentum? Surely he jested. If I couldn’t creep on hands and knees, I’d have to creep on skis. Or on ski, as occasionally became necessary when sloughing snow left no room for two skis. At one point, a tree competed for space on the trail. I wrapped both arms around it and hung on. Neil thoughtfully pointed out where someone had fallen.

Rigid by now, I inched forward. At last the trail widened, and I could actually put two skis on it. Soon I was safely back on terrain more within my ability. Relief should have flooded my body, but all that flooded my body was the muscle cramp that had settled in my thigh muscle earlier. I gave Neil a very dubious and less-than-heartfelt ‘thank you’ and went back to my bunny hill. I should have beaten him senseless with a ski.

After an hour or so had passed, Neil came by the bunny hill and suggested we go in for tea. That was his first smart suggestion all afternoon. After tea, as we walked back to the tow, he said that Railroad Meadows should be no problem for me this time. This time? No way, I said. I was still a beginner, still a chicken, and I now knew that meadows aren’t always horizontal, but he was right. It was easier the second time.

When temperatures drop really low, the ‘cat driver usually hangs around long enough to be sure that our cars will start. Just getting the frozen doors open can be a problem. If the car wouldn’t start, Tom would put a tow rope on it and pull the car until it got going.

During one unusually cold spell, many cars would not start. Neil’s car presented the most stubborn problem. Tom towed it out of the lot, across the overpass, around and back. The car just would not start. Round and round they went. They were almost set to give up on it when Neil sheepishly asked for one more turn around. The car started immediately. Neil had equipped his car with an anti-burglary switch. He had forgotten to switch it off.