Something was nagging at me and I was up early. We hadn't made a decision about today's route last night, instead we planned on letting the weather tell us what to do. The easy way out would be to descend the way we came. Even in a whiteout we could navigate back with the GPS. However, I wanted to see more of the valleys and lakes around Granite Peak. My original plan had even been a wildly ambitious circumambulation around the peak. However, with all our climbing gear the terrain was proving too rugged for that.

I still wanted to drop down to those inviting lakes we'd seen yesterday. Past Avalanche Lake the Snowballs Lakes were supposed to be really scenic - of course I'd only seen a grainy black and white photocopy of a picture.

By 5:30 I'd opened my tent doors all the way and stayed warm in my sleeping bag while watching the sunrise. The clouds were higher on the horizon than the day before, but overhead it was still clear. I was surprised not to hear movement coming from Joe, David and the rest. They were planning on possibly going for the summit today, but I knew they were counting on a really clear day tomorrow. I don't put that much faith in forecasts myself.

An hour later the other group began to stir and were off on their day before 7:30. I had already woken up Cheryl and Helen and we'd agreed to head out via Avalanche and Snowball lakes. After quickly packing up our two night camp we headed back toward the exposed campsites and found Joe and David and their gang hanging out watching the clouds envelope the summit of Granite Peak. They weren't alone. At least 3 mountain goats were hanging around as well.

They were going to watch the weather and make a decision about their attempt today or to put all their efforts into tomorrow. David was hoping they'd summit today, as the cramped bivy would be unpleasant for a day without any reading material. Cheryl worked on her karma stores by donating her paperback to David and we stepped off the edge of Froze-to-Death plateau into the void. Before we were out of ear shot I thought I heard Joe yell "I hope you like boulder hopping."

I considered our options: we could either repeat the rocky traverse to the Tempest-Granite saddle, then head straight down into the valley from there, or go ahead and drop straight down from where we stood. I knew the first route should "go" since some climbers come up that way to avoid the exposed camping on the plateau. On the other hand, the weather was unsettled and I wouldn't mind getting down as quickly as possible. Plus, we weren't sure how icy the snow slopes below the saddle would be and Helen didn't have crampons.

Fanning out so we wouldn't knock rocks on each other, we started heading straight down. The rocks were loose, wanting to roll or slide and gather momentum. Each step had to be carefully selected and a misstep avoided with our top-heavy loads. Every 10 steps or so I'd look up and convince myself that the rocks to the right or left looked more stable and begin a short traverse. Every few minutes I'd look back to check on Helen and Cheryl, praying that none of us badly sprained an ankle or worse. But there was nothing I could do to help them down, we'd each have to pick our own way, moving as carefully as we could.

Five minutes would pass and I'd look below to Avalanche Lake and think how much longer it would take to get there. Then the sound of a few stones sliding would send my head whipping back to check on my partners. After 45 minutes of solid concentration I tried willing the valley floor closer, then tried convincing myself that the terrain was getting much better. The delusions would only last for a few steps until the loose stones began to slide under my feet again.

Finally, after an hour to descend a little over a thousand feet, I hit the snow at the bottom. Two days before we'd climbed uphill faster than that. Now I crossed the snow and took up a platform safe from any rock slides to watch Helen and Cheryl complete their descent.

We all took a breather, then started to traverse toward Avalanche Lake. It looked so close, but we still had elevation to drop. For a few wonderful minutes the terrain nearly leveled out and a few grasses and wildflowers dotted the spaces between boulders. Two friendly goats came right up to us and watched us expectantly. I remembered something I'd read on internet trip reports about this area and turned to Helen and Cheryl, "I'll bet you five dollars they're waiting for us to urinate."

Not sure what to believe Cheryl and Helen stared at me while the goats continued to do the same. Unable to withstand the suspense, I discretely (I had an audience) let fly on a large rocks. Quickly the goats began sniffing and moved straight in. Salt is rare in this environment and they'd obviously figured out a source from the summer visitors.

Our battle with the boulders continued until we reached the top end of the lake. I was hoping to pick up more of a path here, but the beaten dirt quickly faded out into a moraine of boulders. We were no longer descending and didn't have to worry about starting a rock slide, but these huge boulders required careful negotiation to pick our way through with our packs. The best route seemed to lead us away from the lake and during a lunch break I set off to explore a direct approach to the lake. I hoped to find a path right along the shore, but even with my pack off, I couldn't find a safe way around the huge apartment-sized rocks that ended in cliffs.

I rejoined Helen and Cheryl and we continued on, parallel to the lake. I seriously hoped I wasn't leading us astray, further into a route where we couldn't continue and would have to backtrack. Cheryl had twisted her ankle earlier and we were all a little tired after the two long previous days. At lunch she hadn't said a word, and I worried she was either biting back pain or pissed off at me for dragging us this way.

Slow and careful negotiation brought us to the end of the lake. We took a long break and looked at the route ahead. The most direct route back to Mystic Lake would take us by Cold Lake, straight down the valley. It looked like more rock hopping. Above us, we could climb up and then contour around a hill, following a series of lakes to reach the Snowball Lakes, then drop down into the same valley that lead out to Mystic.

So up we went, following a low angle gully then fairly nice grass and rock ledges above unnamed lakes. The clouds were looking more menacing however. And then our goat trails petered out and suddenly I was thrashing through ground hugging heather which hid more uneven boulders. Banging my way out of the heather, we did some more rock hopping as the rains started to come down. After putting on rain covers and jackets, we felt we were getting really close to the Snowball Lakes. After topping a rise I looked down on our goal.

The lakes did look pretty, and we thought we could make out some campsites between them. However, the path down was over slabs of now very slick and wet rock. Gingerly we picked out way, scouting out different routes and occasionally passing down our packs one at a time. I nearly considered rappelling a few sections, but suitable anchors were rare.

The rain stopped at about the time we finally reached the upper lake. We explored the land between the two, but it was rocky and filled with heathers, so after endless wandering we ended up on the east side of the lake on some lumpy grass.

We all crashed in our tents. Personally, I thought today was the toughest yet. Maybe it was the mental pressure of leading on mildly unsafe terrain all day without solid route information. I had been worried about what Helen and Cheryl thought all day, but I later found out that besides the initial descent, they had actually enjoyed the boulder hopping.

I vegetated in my tent with my iPod blocking out all external sounds. Later I stuck my head out and Helen asked if I'd heard voices. I sheepishly admitted that I had been listening to music and felt I'd just lost all my wilderness credibility.

We soon noticed a group of six come up the valley and pass by on the other end of the lake. It was the first people we'd seen all day since leaving Joe and David's group up on the plateau.

After dinner, Helen and I scouted the route past lower Snowball Lake until we could spot a little bit of Princess and Huckleberry Lakes far below. We were feeling more confident about the next day, the route seemed to only improve and get more defined the further we'd gone.