Indiana Andrushenko and the Snowblind Pass - A Dramatic Continuation

Be sure to first read the opening segment of the story of the snowblind pass before continuing here.

..he didn't think he could possibly go on and began to plot his route back out of this frigid notch.

Yet as this played through his head he eventually got back to the start where he would have to explain his failure. No, this was his only opportunity, he resolved and he could not stand to have wasted so much time only to give up and turn back. Thus he pushed on, breaking the remaining distance into small, more manageable chunks as the entire climb looked too daunting as a whole. Ever so slowly he plodded, settling upon a methodical but slow strategy to avoid his body sinking by step as it seemed to do without warning - sometimes one in 5 paces but then other times five paces in a row, only his crotch preventing him from plunging further. This method was to stomp to create a platform, pause then push off of the platform. It wasn't foolproof, as the platform could still give way and he'd end up freeing his leg only by pushing out with his frozen hands, but it seemed to reduce the frequency of this. Surely he made progress to the next junction and the clouds even parted to briefly warm his head and light the path of previous snowslides that had petered out in the valley around him.

Judging to be approximately halfway up the snowy pass, although this could not be verified for the very top was still obscured from view (and he retained blind faith that it would be passable) Indy stopped for lunch. As if destined the sun also showed itself for the first sustained time since base level. As he munched his outlook grew cheerier and though there was still plenty of snow to cover he began to think he might just be able to do it. Then he heard it - a rumble that seemed to be all around him. Searching the cliff tops nearby he vainly attempted to identify the source but all looked still. Just to his side a few snowballs rolled down serenely, no doubt loosened by the warmth of the persistent sun but definitely not creating that gut-tightening noise. With a sick feeling he turned to look at the cliffs directly above where he was sat, wary that a rush of snow could be hurtling toward him from an unidentified source, ready to wash him from his perch and down the rocky edge he'd carefully climbed to get there. It was beyond the top and from behind a cloud that the source finally presented itself as a jet plane cruised overhead. With a sigh of relief he packed his lunch and began moving on again.

The film version of this adventure would show a montage of young Indiana toiling in the white, slipping repeatedly and stopping often to catch his breath and survey his ever-slowing progress. Not until practically to the end of the visible route up did the top present itself and though it looked reasonable what lay beyond was anybody's guess. The final metres took ages with dead tired, frozen legs lifting sopping wet boots methodically one after the other. Finally he reached what looked to be a massive snow drift and when he stood upon it and peered into the unknown he went snow blind. All he could see was grey and all he could think as the minutes passed was how it had taken him nearly seven hours to reach this point and now there was no going forward and no going back.

Still stood at the summit in an instant the foggy cloud that has encompassed him passed to reveal a glorious scene. As far as the eye could see the the snow spread away down a narrowing chute, and to Indiana's supreme pleasure it was at a degree he could manage on foot. Taking it all in only long enough to compose a plan of attack, attack he did! The sun had come out to play and so had he so his quick steps soon became step and leap, and step and leap. This would last until a leg got trapped in the snow behind him leaving him awkwardly splayed in snowy splits with a dumb grin on his face. This was well and good until both legs were momentarily trapped before letting go sending him hurtling forward where he managed to turn his back just before impact to skid on his shoulders and pack. A minute later though he let his guard down and the same happened without the turn resulting in an ice pellet face plant.

As the pitch and the composition of snow changed so did his approach. A cross country ski style resulted in something like stunted skiing, while a tuck such that he was nearly seated on his heels almost worked as a slide. What did work on the properly packed spots was succumbing to the inevitability that he would be fully soaked and sitting with his legs rigid straight out in front of him. If he caught it right these served remarkably well as a toboggan where he would gather speed until he slammed into an accumulated snow boulder from a previous snowslide, or his sore leg muscles cramped and he could no longer retain rigidity. Actually there was one other instance where he bailed from a slide, this was after a very long distance indeed when he noticed the snow around him accumulating and could not see what was to come over the next hump. It was reminiscent of the boulder landslide in the Zoodochos Pigi adventure as he dug his heels in to pull up just in time to watch as the snow around him plummeted over the edge.

Progress, he noted with delight, was significantly better than climbing up the other side, naturally. As the sun continued to shine he continued plodding downwards, sliding wherever possible. Eventually the snow thinned and rocks began to show through again until finally it was no more. On a rock in the mostly dry mountain stream bed he seated himself to soak in the rays to his soaking garments and eat what remained of his snacks. It was during this break that he made two significant discoveries. The first was that he was way off course, nowhere near actually. The second was that everything in his pack was drenched. With his only clean undergarments dangling off him to dry, he carried on a mostly unmentionable route carefully lowering himself down the crumbly and slick when wet (most everywhere) limestone riverbed. When he deemed it appropriate Indy cut into the mossy forest which eventually let out into a glorious meadow on the other side. The only activity of interest between the sun disappearing beyond the next mountain ridge (but before actual sunset) and when he arrived at his prize was nearly stepping upon a coiled venomous snake. Indiana hates snakes.

Indiana Andrushenko and the Snowblind Pass

As arranged, his driver met him before there was even time to break fast. The transfer went without a hitch, even with the driver consumed in conversation while manoeuvring around gravelly hairpin corners with doomed drops a mere sneeze away. A puttering motor boat was waiting at the prescribed location and Indy jumped aboard without hesitation. For three hours they navigated the narrows with mammoth mountains, vibrant green in colour due to their spring budding trees, shooting straight up on either side of the highlighter blue waters. At the end of the lake both Indy and driver loaded into a clumsy orange vehicle to the nearest town centre. Further still was the departure point for his latest treasure hunt and following a confrontation with a spy wishing to cut himself a large slice of the spoils in exchange for a lift to the map's beginning, he struck a much fairer deal with a friendly native.

When he finally arrived and began asking about his destination all of the locals became grim which Indy found perplexing. When pressed they would say "the path is closed due to snow" but to his Canadian brain those two phrases cancelled each other out as if they had said nothing and he continued to stare at them expectantly. Finally he found a quiet but well-informed man from the area who, with furtive glances around, retrieved a tattered old map and pointed out the way all the while emphasising the potential follies and warning that even he was not comfortable traversing it in these snowy conditions. Indiana thanked the man who continued to express doubt as they parted. With all of this information to digest he supped and studied the vague map with great intrigue, willing more details to appear, before retiring early.

Cracking at dawn he ate heartily to store energy for the trek to come. Over breakfast an elder related that only a local with a dying grandmother on the other side would attempt what he was about to attempt which somehow buoyed his spirits, interpreting that it was possible! With this in mind he set off with a mixture of excitement and dread. Early into his journey he discovered he was without his ever-important hat and sprinted across field and yard to retrieve it and be back on his way. Fortunately a rival treasure hunter passed and happened to be headed in the same direction on a different journey so they struck a truce and Indy received a short lift to the wooden bridge. This evened out the lost time for the hat - time that, although it was early now he worried may prove to be of utmost importance on the other end of his journey.

An hour more passed hiking down the marked path until it ended abruptly. This had been anticipated but none of the reconnaissance had instructed him which of the endless options to follow next. He traipsed the hillsides next to the barren river bed but could not ascertain a marker and peering up at the gigantic peaks looming over him did not offer any further indication as to how he was supposed to traverse them to the other side. Doubt crept into his mind; if he couldn't even find the start of the trail how was he supposed to complete such an arduous and demanding trek? Each time he tripped, slipped or met another dead end his confidence diminished.

Verging on despair he sat atop a rock to study his map and then recalled a shoddy map he had received prior. There was one key difference, for this one showed a minor trail running alongside the river. Cutting down toward it he did indeed find a track which he followed for some time with a touch of hope. When he did finally spot a marking he had been expecting he nearly leapt with joy and relief. This track carried on for some time until it reached the beginning of the climb, presumably all the way over the kilometre vertical rise and down the other side. 

While donning his invisible shielding he peered up in the direction of a noise like a jet engine and watched as snow gathered itself and launched unabashedly over cliff's edge and down the mountainside. Into the forest he began, at first along upward paths like he'd taken nearly every day in preparation for this journey. This was sweat inducing work, so much so that his wristwatch fogged with the effort. In short time patches of snow presented themselves on the route and he cutely sidestepped them in an effort to keep his feet dry. This quickly proved fruitless as the snow overwhelmed and there was no way but through it, yet he was careful to brush the snow out of the tongue of his boot each time his foot slipped deeper than his ankle. Gathering a hiking stick for balance he eventually found himself in a deep snow covered field with coniferous trees on the edges but any of the paths or markings that might guide him were all blanketed. Trudging up to his lower shins now after a short time he spied a landmark from his gathered information however it was well off and up toward a seemingly impenetrable mountain peak. Seeing no other option he moved towards it until along the way another landmark pushed him in an opposing direction which seemed more feasible and he followed that with the snow getting noticeably deeper. Utilising his stick he would dig it in and then step carefully but even still his foot would sink knee deep from time to time.

As he emerged from the woods the real mountain pass presented itself in all its terror before him. Truthfully it wasn't all of its terror for although the steep, snowy way up was foreboding the true summit could not yet be seen around a cliff.

He set forth to cross the first field and found it outrageously demanding work. Often his foot would sink too deep into the snow to step off from, even sliding right down to his hip without ever touching bottom on increasingly frequent occasion. By the time he reached the other side of field one his walking stick had sunk right to his red hand a number of times and he was out of breath which was especially troubling when considering how little progress he had made. Being at the edge of the pass and the foot of a rocky cliff he decided on an attempt to climb rather than hike in the deep snow. Hucking his stick aside he preferred to use the familiar branches of the noble pine trees which he knew due to their flexibility would only bend but not break, even under the full weight of his body. Despite pine assistance the going was slow as the rocks beneath the mounded snow were both slick and steep. After far too long he reached the end of this particular ridge and stopped both to slow his clamouring heart and survey the onward journey. A cold wind swept down behind him, for the sweat of the forest had long since frozen, and made the already bleak outlook only that much worse. He had traversed a seemingly negligible portion to the top, a less steep portion, he noted dourly. With so much of him already spent he couldn't possibly go on and began to plot his route back out of this frigid notch.