it’s like that

I’m pretty sure I’ve mentioned in this space that I like to backcountry ski. I’m no mountaineer, or even a very talented skier, but I get out once or twice a week in the Winter. I’m also no safety expert, although I’ve never had an avalanche incident in the backcountry, and I’ve even taken a level 1 avalanche course.

Wait, what was I talking about? Oh yeah, backcountry skiing. So when you’re heading to the top of a mountain in Winter, you spend quite a bit of time on ridgelines. And ridgelines are often directly above places that are awesome to ski. But you don’t want to center punch a steep, powder covered slope without some beta. Cuz you might die.

Well, one way to get beta on a steep, powder covered slope is to drop a cornice on it.

You carefully ensure through the use of E.S.P. and sometimes by looking and yelling, that nobody is on or below the slope you’re looking at (natch), and then you just lift the cornice over your head, give it a little heave, and let it go, see what happens.

Ha ha ha ha. Okay, sorry. Anyway.

No, of course, you KICK the cornice off, or, if it’s really big (like, van, or bus sized), you get out a long length of cord, and SAW it off. Then you watch it fall on the slope below and see what happens.

Like this (photo stolen from here):

If the slope doesn’t avalanche when a bus cartwheels down it, it probably won’t slide when YOU ski down it. Probably.

What’s my point? Do I have a point? Well, sometimes, we’ll just be hiking along a ridge, and there will be a nice cornice just sitting there, minding its own business, and I’ll just kick it and make it fall. It won’t be doing anything to me, I might not even plan to ski the slope, but I’ll send the cornice down the hill, just the same.

Why? WHY would I ever do that?

Um. Just because. Cuz it’s fun to watch the cornice fall, and fun to see what happens to the slope below when the cornice explodes on it, and the snow slides.

You know what else can be fun in the backcountry? Especially when it’s not Winter, when it’s like 100 degrees outside, and you’re a 4 hour bike ride, or a 3 day wilderness hike from ANYWHERE (like, you know, away from climbing routes, or hiking trails, or other places where people have ever been or are ever likely to be)? Double especially when you’re on a ledge that overhangs by 20 feet, staring down into a remote horseshoe canyon that you can very clearly see the bottom of? And when there are big, cornice-like rocks just laying around, begging to be, er, nudged off the cliff? You know what’s fun then?

I’m not gonna say.

But you know what else it’s like? It’s kind of like drinking milk straight out of the jug. You know what I’m talking about, you eat a cookie, you gotta have some milk, there’s absolutely nobody around, you don’t feel like crossing the kitchen for a glass, so you just lift the jug and chug.

Sure it’s a little gross. Sure you don’t do it all the time.

But I bet you do it sometimes.

And here’s another way drinking milk from the jug is kind of like the rock/cliff thing–I’ll never do it again. When someone is watching.

the chute gets what’s coming to him

I know, I know, it’s May 19th, but I just couldn’t let the chute win. Nope. I win.

We did Tanners, up Little Cottonwood Canyon. A five minute hike from the car to first water, then snow. Sort of snow. There might have been rocks and dirt and trees in it.

You know what’s cool? What’s cool is hiking with the guys who design the equipment you’re using. Those green boots? Check. Those skis with no decals? Prototypes. Crampons? Paul, on the right, brought the prototypes he’s working on. He was so intent on trying them in all conditions, he wore them from the car. (Not IN the car. That would be dangerous. But funny.)

Getting your feet wet here would suck. To avoid the dreaded wet sock climb, we resorted to some moves I learned while watching Tarzan the Ape man.

Yup, one just hucks one’s pack and poles across, gets as close to the slippery edge as one can get, and goes for it.

Bonzai!

And on up into what they call the Valley of Death (not late Spring, but imagine being up here mid-winter–avalanche city).

Here I am with the super duper Little Cottonwood skyline in the background:

Because I’m a crappy photographer, you’ll have to imagine the Little Cottonwood South skyline in this shot. I hate myself.

But here’s the Little Cottonwood NORTH skyline, sort of.

I’m coming, I’m coming:

Ben thinks about his line.

And decides there are better ones:

I contemplate my line:

And decide not to ski. Seriously, I’m still up there. Here. Whatever.

No, just kidding, here I go:

After we skied the upper chute, Ben decided the snow would be much better over there.

And, as always (seriously, ALWAYS) Ben was right.

Sweet creamy corn.

With obstacles:

Tanners was so good, I may go show another chute who’s boss. As long as I have Ben to back me up.

the chute is the boss

Some days you’re the hammer, some days you’re the nail. Some days you’re whatever someone is hammering the nail into. Some days you’re Mark, and it’s more like you’re sliding backwards down a frozen snowfield, bouncing off of frozen avalanche debris. Ouch.

Me n Mark n Rob tried to hike up Little Pine couloir early this morning. I did this chute last May, and it was delicious. I’ve since decided to make Little Pine my season ending punctuation mark. Well, it punctuated us all right.

The usual rule for late Spring backcountry skiing is get out early, go home early, to avoid the dangerous wet slide conditions that you get when the snow really heats up. The idea is, hike up when it’s frozen, ski down as it softens, but get off before it goes all mushy.

Unfortunately, Little Pine mushed some time back, and put a largish avalanche debris pile below the narrow choke 1/3 of the way up. And, um, the debris pile subsequently froze solid, leaving frozen boulders and scoured luge runs where the debris ran.

Mark n Rob and I all own ice axes and crampons. Except, today we didn’t think we’d need them, since we were just booting straight up 3,000 feet, and skiing down, a pretty non-technical chute. When it’s all filled in. Which it wasn’t.

As we climbed through the lower debris pile, it became clear that the ski out would be a nightmare. The overnight temperature got much lower than we expected, and the daytime high was going to be much lower than we expected, meaning the snow started absolutely frozen, and softened imperceptibly as we got back in the car. And the higher and steeper it got, the sketchier it got, since, without axe or crampon, our kick steps were all held us to the snow.

Mark at the start:

Rob at the start (his eyes look like they know something bad is coming, don’t they?):

Here’s the kind of angle you’d get from a horror movie, to let you know, something wicked this way comes:

We got to the rock band, and by then we were all pretty much agreed that we wouldn’t be skiing Little Pine today, or even going to the top half. We are just beaters, anyway, not mountaineers, and generally we have a pretty low tolerance for risk. But Rob somehow got up and over the rock band to confirm that above was as frozen and exposed as below. And then he had to come back down.

Here, a thin patina of brittle snow clings to some rocks, and would break off if you kick-stepped too vigorously.

I don’t have a picture of it, since all I could do was stare with horror, but this is looking down at Mark after his kick step broke off and he slid about 100 yards down a frozen luge run, bouncing off of frozen debris all the way down. Mark claims he doesn’t bruise. I’m pretty sure we’ll be putting that theory to the test this weekend.

Mark didn’t move for a while, since he couldn’t unclench. I think his testicles exchanged sides for a while. It takes a good whack to get those babies back in place.

Here’s Rob, trying to down-climb a frozen wall by kicking his plastic boots into the “snow.”

He was understandably cautious. Wherever there was broken debris, the footholds weren’t so bad. But crossing the scoured out avalanche runs left us a bit gripped.

We had worked hard enough for little enough that we skied the frozen crap on the apron, just to show that chute who’s boss.

Oh hell, who am I kidding? The chute is boss.

deja vu (update, which is a weird thing, right?)

[I've updated with Ben dropping the cliff and Mark's video of Ben's front flip.]

My third post ever, just over a year ago, was about skiing Scotties Bowl in early April in fantastic conditions.

This was last year:

Well, this morning we skied Scotties in even better conditions, so good we lapped the upper cirque three times. In this economy.

We almost didn’t get to ski it though. We gathered at the Little Cottonwood parking lot at 5:15 instead of 5:30, because the UDOT website said they were bombing the North side of the canyon (for avalanche control work) and were closing the road at 5:45. We wanted to head to the very top of the canyon and hike up Grizzly Gulch where they don’t ever bomb, and maybe ski down into the Catherines Area of Alta, since Alta had closed that half of the mountain, making it perfect for backcountry beaters like us.

But when we got to the Grizzly parking area, the UDOT guys came over and said “Hey, we’re bombing! White Pine only is open. And you’d better hurry, they’re closing the road down.” My guess is they weren’t actually bombing Grizzly, but there was no time to argue.

We raced back down below Snowbird to get to White Pine and Scotties, but the gate was already closed, and guarded by a uniformed posse. Ben jumped out and sweet talked the guy into letting us down to White Pine, where ANOTHER UDOT guy came and yelled at us. “Don’t leave this parking lot while we’re bombing!”

We get it, you don’t want to kill us with your howitzers. Well, maybe you DO want to, but that would look bad on your resumes.

Anyway.

See that lip and cliff to the left of where I’m heading in this picture from last year? Here, I’ll show you. Imagine that I am Ben. Which is a stretch, since Ben is the best skier I’ve ever skied with, and I’m a putz. But work with me here:

This morning, I was below the cliff, having just skied the chute to the right, and had Ben’s camera. I took pictures of Ben dropping the cliff with Ben’s camera, but the chances of getting those pictures from Ben before the Fourth of July are the same as me ever dropping that cliff. So you get this little modified picture instead.

UPDATE: Ben sent me the pictures already. It’s time to walk to Missouri people.

Dropping:

And halfway down:

And, landing it (you may have to trust me):

 

On the first lap, Ben did a front flip off a cornice on the other side of the trees. Mark has video of that, I think. If he posts it, I’ll link to it.

UPDATE. Here’s the front flip (which he mostly lands, but again, you may have to trust me):

Here, a couple lame pics from my camera. Adam and Aaron, who are vying for alphabetical pole position, might have pictures too. For my birthday I want a new camera. Something nice. Now you know.

Here’s Mark, dropping in the East side of the cliffs. The snow didn’t suck. 4 feet this week I think, 700 inches this year. That’ll do.

If we end the season with today (we won’t), I’ll be happy. Here I am being happy:

See how happy I am? I’m very happy.

wherin my friends get me up the hill

A bunch of us met at the mouth of Big Cottonwood Canyon this morning at the usual time (5:30am–you know, after all these years of getting up at 4:30 in the morning to hike, bike, and ski, you’d think I would be over doing a double take when I write that–still totally not, it gives me whiplash). The goal was Argenta, to take advantage of the 100 PLUS inches the Cottonwoods have gotten in the last week or so. Writing 100 plus inches in a week still makes me do a double take.

Today was one of those days. You know how some days you’re the hammer? Today I was the nail.

First, I forgot my poles. This is the first time in my life I’ve forgotten my poles. It’s not the first time I’ve forgotten key materials (I forgot my cycling shoes last summer for a Tibble Fork mtb ride, I forgot my shoes AND my helmet for Fall Moab last fall), but it’s the first time I’ve forgotten ski poles. Which wouldn’t be a huge deal if we were skiing resort, but poles are so handy for skinning up 3,000 plus vertical that even snowboarders use them. Which turns out pretty handy for me.

Saint Tyler let me use one of his poles for the climb, so we both went one-armed. And, it turns out, that was the least of my problems.

The bigger problem was that I felt fat and slow and sleepy. This is probably where you snicker and say to yourself (or, if you’re right in front of me, to me) “Whatever dude, you ARE fat and slow (and maybe sleepy).” You know, like Hamlet–”Seems Madame! Nay, it is; I know not ’seems.’

Anyway. I felt fat and slow, and quickly sorted to the back of the group, excepting Keith, who was only behind me because he was on snowshoes in deep snow, working twice as hard, which, by the way, didn’t seem to affect him.

Toward the top I was so obviously suffering that Tyler, who as I said was totally unaffected by the one-pole thing, drifted back to shepherd me.

How hard do you think it was for me to write that last sentence?

This pic from Adam pretty much sums up how I felt:

Regardless of my pussiness and possible Mono infection, it was a good day. The snow was mostly very soft, though quite wind affected in spots.

Here are the highlights:

Tyler successfully skied a very tight steep chute off the ridge, and when he hit the wind crusted apron, he cartwheeled so hard I thought we were going to have to use the smelling salts. However, he simply popped back up and skied away.

Right below the first apron we came upon a 10 foot lip off of a cornice that overhung by about 5 feet. After Keith drifted off the end of it with a whoop, Tyler decided to center drop it. Just as he was lifting off, the entire cornice gave way with a huge whoomp 20 feet to the left and the right, and Tyler’s tails were caught in the huge blocky debris pile. But just like before, he simply popped up and skied out of it.

This is me after, above the debris pile:

Tyler making skiing look good:

 

Me and my second wind (and borrowed poles):

I wasn’t even thinking pictures today. I was thinking mostly of sitting down. And maybe taking a nap. So any pictures are totally stolen from the other guys.

argenta

So Yes, I did in fact go skiing this morning, took the father in law (hereafter known as “Senior”) up Argenta, halfway up Big Cottonwood Canyon. We were having some trouble deciding on which shot to do, because the Wasatch had just received almost 4 feet of snow, and while yesterday the avalanche danger was rated as “Extreme,” a word they only use about once a year, in the Spring, things settle out pretty quickly, so we figured if we didn’t get crazy, today would be epic. And, in fact, the snow stabilized, and we were in for a treat.

Halfway up Big Cottonwood Canyon, Senior and I still hadn’t decided which shot, and we went back and forth between Spruces and Circle Awl, back and forth, until we rounded a corner and Argenta came into view.

I just pulled over. Discussion over.

Three important things happened. First, Mark, who finished his Scotties shot and came over to Argenta and chased Senior and me up the hill, wouldn’t climb the final switchbacks to where the best view was (thought I want to be clear that it wasn’t because he was tired). Second, the snow was awesome. And third, I dropped a cornice overhanging a gully, and as I landed in the deep heavy snow, both bindings released and I did two complete cartwheels free of my skis.

And on to the pics.

We gained the ridge, and even though we weren’t heading for the true summit of Kessler, just a little higher of where Mark hunkered down gave spectacular views into Mineral and Broads forks. Mark didn’t care. He just sat down there like the dwarves in The Last Battle, and pretended it wasn’t there.

Here’s a bad pic of the view, and a crazy gnarled old tree:

From the top:

And we’re in:

Senior disappears into the cold smoke:

I drop, but not quite as well:

 

Out in the open bowl:

Mark makes like he’s water skiing:

 

This is Mark doubled over in laughter because I’ve just dropped that cornice, and notice how my skis stayed right where they landed, and I’m quite a ways away, snapping this picture.

Looking back up at 3200 feet of creamy goodness:

The crux move of the day–crossing the river to get to the car.

kids, stay in school!

You know how when you have a baby, and you’re so proud, because you’ve never had a baby before, and even though it hurt, and brought you a whole  new set of problems you never envisioned, or maybe you did and had a baby anyway, and even though you’re now exhausted, you are SO happy you had that baby, and wouldn’t trade it for anything?

Right. Me neither. Cuz you know, I’m a man.

But still. Today I took Ian backcountry skiing for the first time. Ian’s first Dawn Patrol. To one of my favorite shots, Scotties Bowl in Little Cottonwood Canyon, on a day with untracked boot top powder.

Ian had no problem getting up at 4:45am, which is something that’s hard to say about most 14 year olds, and also no problem missing his 8th grade science test to hit 2500 feet of bliss. Although the Rockstar he drank in the car on the way DID give him some trouble. But only for a bit.

Here’s Ian, hiking in the dark at 6am:

Still going. He can see the ridge, he can smell the ridge:

And we’re ON the ridge:

So close:

Ian’s first de-skinning transition. We’re still working on this.

The group transition shot, on the cornice Ian couldn’t keep his eyes off:

Ian doing the two step drop in all his steezy glory:

And he’s in:

Ian killing the chute, acting like he was born there:

My self-portrait:

Bob got me dropping in old man spazmatic glory style. (Thanks Bob):

Ian cranking the big mountain turns halfway down:

A quick break. Notice the tongue:

And we’re down. The bridge and the parking lot are all that remain.

Oh, did I mention this part? Sorry.

The only problem now? How do I keep him going to school? Kids! Stay in School! There’s no money in this.

family day

At Juvi, they have family day, right? Where you can visit your incarcerated kids?

Sometimes it feels like that’s what we do, since the kids, like all kids, almost always prefer hanging with friends to hanging with mom and dad. I mean, you could say “hey kids, let’s go heli-skiing in Alaska!” and they would look at you skeptically and say “can I bring a friend?”

Kim and I took the kids to Snowbird Saturday, a beautiful, cloudless, warm Spring day. For the first time in a long time it was just us. No friends, relatives, pets. I don’t mean there weren’t other people on the mountain–I just mean we didn’t bring them.

Turns out, the kids rip. I didn’t really know, I guess, since they’re at an age when they disappear as soon as we get on the lift. Today we skied together. It was cool, at least for Kim and me, not sure if the kids thought skiing with us was cool.

Teaspoon (Holden) airing it out:

Ian about to hit it:

And Ian hitting it:

We gather at the top:

For lunch:

And we’re done:

And now the kids go back to their previously scheduled programming.

still going

I bet you thought I was done talking about skiing. I wouldn’t blame you for thinking that–heck, Rick transitions from biking to skiing in October, and he transitioned from skiing to biking like a month ago.

Me, I like to blend my seasons a bit more. Plus, I think I’ve also transitioned into thinking of ski season as the A season and biking as the B season. I’m not saying it’s right (it is) or wrong (it isn’t), I’m just saying. You know. What I said.

Actually, here’s why it’s wrong to turn the skiing off as soon as it gets warm enough to ride your bike. This is from today’s Avalanche Advisory:

Yet another day in paradise with sunny and warm weather, delightful, soft, settled powder on the sun and wind sheltered slopes and mostly stable avalanche conditions. And this time of year, less people are getting out, so there is much more untracked snow. Life is good.

We’ve got poetical avalanche forecasters here in the Wasatch.

Anyway, I’ve been out twice this week, because even though we’re in the middle of march, the powder is plentiful and the crowds are thinning.

This morning, me n Tyler (my mom used to tell me to stop calling my friends “mean”–get it? “me n tyler”=”mean” Tyler? Isn’t that adorable?) went a bit longer than usual, starting from the church across from Alta and heading up the Flagstaff ridge an hour or two before dawn, hoping to skirt Upper Days and drop the next two shots, where we were sure there was some deep untouched to be had.

Here’s the route (the far side of the ridge is what we came up, and then back down, but the picture isn’t see-through, so you can’t see that part):

We had to take off the skis and boot the first climb in the dark, because the skin track was not just frozen solid, but had also been recently sprayed with Pam. Luckily, someone had already had the same problem, so it was a question of stepping in the holes.

Here’s Tyler at the top of Flag. Our route is to go along that ridge behind him, cuz it’s warmer in the sun:

More traversing:

And a little technical traversing (technical for us beaters):

Here’s Tyler dropping into shot number one. I’m sure these shots have names, but I’m not privy to them.

Tyler again, in shot number one:

You can see, there ARE tracks there. It’s hard to get there before the helicopters four days after the storm. But you can also see there’s plenty of snow left for us.

In fact, after we skinned up to the next ridge, we found that the helicopters had respectfully left the center chute in shot number two untouched. Yay.

Tyler drops into the actual chute, which is only about two ski lengths wide and steeper than snot. Which is pretty steep on the snot scale.

And there he is, IN the actual chute. You may wonder how I can get a picture of him both DROPPING into the chute AND exiting the chute.

In a word, Magic.

Okay, NOT magic, since you can see my exit track.

Which makes one wonder, hey! Where are all the pictures of dug?

Of course, we had one camera between us, and it happened to be my iPhone.

So, here’s another pic of Tyler. For Mike.

After this powder fest, we only had to slog back to the the main Upper Days bowl, up the face, and ski 1500 feet of south-facing breakable crust to the car. No pics of that.

gotta start em young

I took Holden and his friend Jake to Snowbird Saturday. Bluebird day, warm, very Spring like. All very nice.

Yada yada yada.

Mid afternoon, I asked them if they wanted to try a little hiking. Holden was immediately game, although Jake was a bit skeptical. So we took the Baldy lift up and got a good look at the relatively easy (considering it dropped off the top of High Baldy) run dropping back down into the Mineral Basin side, off the High Baldy traverse.

This run, which they call “Living the Dream,” is almost never open until later in the year, when the snowpack has consolidated and the avalanche danger is pretty much gone. Well, since the snowpack has consolidated, and the avalanche danger was pretty much gone Saturday, almost everything was open.

But they wouldn’t let us hike it from the top of Baldy, because it isn’t an official Snowbird exit. Only Alta skiers can hike from there. So we had to go back down and take the Mineral lift up, ski down to the saddle, and hike the longer, but mellower route from above Peruvian.

No big deal, really.

The boys DUG it.

Neither had ever hiked for turns before, but we had been skiing since the lifts opened, and hiking was a good chance to shake things up a bit.

They were troopers. It was hot, and we were overdressed for hiking. But the top offered certain amenities.

And nice views:

The run was a bit mellow, but unlike anything they had ever been down. Apart from being exactly like other stuff they had ever been down. You know. Except for the hiking part.

Both boys immediately declared it the best run of their lives. If it hadn’t been so late in the day, I think I could have gotten them to hike it several more times.

I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

a pretty good day

This has been a pretty remarkable year in the Utah backcountry. Not only are we getting lots of snow, but the snow is generally well-behaved. So sort of the opposite of my kids.

A benefit to having a largish group of guys willing to get up at 5am to hike in the dark and ski in the cold is that when, say, 4 or 5 guys CAN’T go, 1 or 2 pretty much always CAN go.

So Saturday me n Mark n Jon got up, got word of those who couldn’t make it, bowed our heads in silence for a second to mourn their absence, then drove up Little Cottonwood to enjoy the feast.

Mark very much doesn’t like the look of that cornice. “You’ll be FINE” me n Jon kept yelling. “No Worries!” Yes, sometimes we follow the existing skin track a little too closely.

So next time Mark took out some anger on a smaller, defenseless cornice:

The line (and the only part of me IN a picture, since I had the camera). Yeah, it’s pretty much bottomless blower:

Mark enjoying some cold smoke:

We did have to do some walking.

Picking our way along the ridge:

After several shots on the north, the long south shot back to the car, um, didn’t suck very much either:

Jon disappearing:

And, another storm on tap for tomorrow night.

If you don’t ski, um, why not?

stupid name

A couple years ago, Rick and I went sploring up in the Primrose Cirque area of Timpanogos, above Aspen Grove. We hiked up the gut of “The Chute That Slides A Lot” (it had already slid, so the danger was low (and I love that name for a ski shot–I think Ben made it up)), went on up to the ridge by Elk Point, and went down along the ridge until we found a very steep, very narrow, cliff-lined chute that looked like it went where we wanted. But it had tracks in it, and the snow wasn’t very good, so we didn’t think too much more about it.

Later I read a trip report of some guys who had skied it, and they called it “the Orion Couloir.” Now, no offense to those guys, who are probably much better skiers than I am, but that’s just a retarded name. You might as well call it the “Moon of Endor Couloir.” It’s that geeky.

Anyway, this morning, after several days of snow, but with surprisingly stable avalanche conditions, we figured we’d go rename it.

It’s now “That One Steep Narrow Cliff Lined Chute.” I like it.

Rick, Aaron, and Rob, getting ready at the usual, very dark start time:

Wait, what’s Aaron riding on?

Yup, Aaron’s a knuckle dragger. We’re getting downright open minded as we age.

I think what’s happening here is Rob is complaining that Rick smells, and Rick is seeing if he does:

The snow is deep, and we’re excited:

This is where my camera battery, which was charging all night, died. The zero degree temperatures pretty much mean that my camera battery is good for about 5 pictures. I should know better than to waste them on the uphill. So the following pics are from the iPhone. Which also seems to be on its last legs.

The entrance to that One Steep Narrow Cliff Lined Chute is, um, steep.

And the chute is narrow:

And cliff-lined, as Mark navigates the narrows:

The knuckle dragger, ripping up his first real backcountry descent:

Rick just points em downhill:

And rips on by:

I don’t know who this is. But I’m pretty sure he’s with us. Let’s just assume it’s Rob, since I don’t have a different picture of him skiing, and he wears the same color pants and jacket as his twin. Doesn’t that sort of thing usually stop with twins once they’re over 10 years old?

Each of us pee’d on the chute, so that our new name would stick. But I pee’d the most.

And bien voila! That One Steep Narrow Cliff Lined Chute.

box elder is so over

I’ve tried to get on top of this mountain and ski that damn face 4 times.

Each time something turned us back. First time, Rick S and I had no idea what was even up there, we just wanted to go look. We went up in a blizzard, skied the right shoulder, and went home.

Then we went in from Tibble Fork, skied the Left Shoulder, and went back.

Then me n Rick went up from Alpine again, but went up the gut of the cirque to the cliff band, and went back.

Then we went in with Ben and Jon and Mike, skied the Uterus Chute, and went back.

This time, no going back.

Me, Mark, Mike, Tyler, Quinn, and Rob the Wonder Twin, started up about 5:30 in the AM.

It’s about 6,500 feet to the top from Alpine, and there were only four of us by the time we got to the Summit Ridge:

The top:

It’s a bit steep:

Some skiing:

Me at the bottom. Do I look like I’m skiing or snorkeling?

Here’s the line we ascended and skied. By the way, it’s generally bad when one fourth of the way down a 40 plus degree, 3,000 foot, cliff-band covered face, you cartwheel and lose a ski.

But it’s cool when you do it and your tumbling ski sticks itself into the snow for easy pickup by a following friendly skier.

some days are better than others

That title would have been perfect for last week’s tour in Days fork, when Mark and I did multiple laps of Upper Days in a couple feet of 5% Utah smoke.

But it works for Saturday too.

Six guys, all from the same neighborhood, get up at 4:30 on a Saturday morning to hike up a hill just across the street from two world class ski resorts that have all sorts of fancy contraptions to get you to the top WITHOUT walking.

And yet, I think we got the better deal.

Mount Superior from the Church, we skinned to Pole Line Pass and as far along the ridge as we could, then booted to the summit. We dropped the north chute off the top, down into Cardiac Bowl, then lapped the sumbitch cuz it was so good. Then we skinned back up to the ridge and skied Little Superior down to the road.

It was, in a word, spectacular.

When the skinning got steep:

We switched to booting:

 

Which was also steep:

This is me. Do you think skis have changed much since you were a kid? I look like Buzz Lightyear, about to fall with style.

Mark ends his long nightmare (he’s not fond of exposure) and finally summits:

Jon contemplates the entry:

Rick trying to get the poster shot:

 

Even the finishing south face was great. I feel like I stole something:

I crossed the road to Snowbird, met Kim and Holden, and skied till 4pm.

Some days are truly better than others.

day of days

I know, I know, that was D Day. Whatever.

Today was Day of Days. We got 3 feet of snow this weekend, it came in very warm and wet (in fact, beginning with rain), then gradually got colder and colder, resulting in a well bonded, right-side up layer cake of stable snow topped by a delicious frosting of 5% Utah Smoke.

It’s worth the risk of getting into work a couple hours late.

So me, Rick S, his doppleganger Rob, Mark, and newbie/neighbor Mike did the usual meet at the mouth of the canyon at 5:30 (yup, AM), and we were hiking by 6. As we pulled over at the parking area by Alta ski area, across the street from Our Lady of Snows church, we quickly realized that the first bluebird day following a 3 foot dump was going to bring out the masses. I’ve never seen so many cars at the trailhead at 6am (when it’s still pretty much dark, and would be for another hour). We could see a trail of headlamps making its way up the mountain like some kind of religious processional.

Turns out, that was a good thing, because breaking trail in 3 feet of snow is really hard, and this trail of hikers had created a freeway for us to follow.

Rick and Rob, at the Flagstaff ridge as the sun comes up:

Course, Rick S and Rob and Mike were too chicken to tempt fate and their respective bosses, and passed on dropping the north side, and settled for the powdery goodness of the south side.

Mike, dropping in for his first ever backcountry powder feast:

Mark and I do not fear THE MAN, and so we dropped the north side for a few laps.

Mark, showing how there’s room enough for all, even when everybody’s out:

Me, crossing the border between light and dark:

Me, showing my fancy rocker tips:

And more me, because this is MY blog:

Mark, showing off reason number 10 why skiers should NOT have a beard and mustache (you don’t want a close up of that pic):

 

Someone afterward claimed that this was the best day of the season so far. That same someone went on to claim this was a top five day of all time. Maybe top three.

But when that same someone made that same claim to his wife, his wife quickly countered “It’s like sex–you don’t have to rank it. It’s all good.”

Which is good advice, really.

it’s a pretty, great state

No new snow for 10 days. Maybe more. But we’re getting cabin fever, and sometimes the backcountry is just a waaaaay better place to exercise than the gym. Well, not sometimes, really always, but what I’m saying is, even when the backcountry isn’t freshies, it’s still good, and even when it’s “only” good, it’s waaaaay better than the gym.

Anyway.

Me n Tyler n Jon met at Little Cottonwood parking lot at 5:30 (yes, AM), quickly rejected booting up Coalpit #4, and decided to go to the White Pine trailhead, just down canyon from Snowbird, and head to the Pink Pine Ridge, which divides Red and White Pine Canyons (Get it? White Pine PLUS Red Pine gives you a PINK ridge–how clever is that?), and has a tasty (whoops, I just broke my own “no using the word tasty to describe anything but cookies rule) chute at the top of the ridge.

We expected manky and stanky snow. Turns out, it was only manky.

Climbing Pink Pine (well, HERE we’re resting, but you get the idea):

Toward the top, the going gets a bit steep, and when the snow is thin, booting is better than skinning:

Tyler, with the GQ shot:

I was wrong before, THIS is the GQ shot:

Jon posted a couple short clips to YouTube of the booting:

And another, in case one video of us walking slowly uphill isn’t enough to satisfy your appetite for videos of us walking uphill slowly:

Either the deer have been at that tree, or it’s a bad place to be in a thunderstorm:

Jon volunteers to do a “stability test”:

Tyler decides it’s safe:

Really Jon? All black?

Not too bad for 10 days of  no snow:

The snow machine is sposed to turn back on today. Then it won’t suck so much to get out (sarcasm alert).

peak bagging

We’re in the middle of an 8 day (so far) warm dry spell here in Salt Lake City, and when that happens in January in the Wasatch, that means one thing:

Peak Bagging.

When you get a week of warm clear weather, the snowpack consolidates, and melts during the day and freezes at night. And melts during the day. And freezes at night. But more importantly, it melts during the day.

Which makes climbing to the tops of big peaks safer and a bit easier, and also tends to make nice “corn” or “spring” snow for the ski down.

In the spirit of peak bagging, me, Kim, her Dad (Senior), Rick S, Rob S, and Mark got up at 4am Saturday to bag Lone Peak, which is the 11,200 foot mountain on whose foothill I live.

4:30 am, getting ready to roll:

and 5:30 at the trailhead:

Does it look like Senior has electric boobs. I think Kim is afraid.

A little obstacle. We had trouble with obstacles.

Alpine in the distance.

A snack is in order when you’ve just climbed 3,000 feet.

Are you wondering where Rick and Rob and Mark are? They are waaaay too fast to be caught on camera.

2,000 feet to go.

And so on.

And by now Kim wishes I hadn’t brought the camera.

Senior practices his Yoga. It’s the upright turtle pose.

Finally, some skiing.

Writing about taking pictures of filming:

Rick is done waiting.

Our own private playground.

More obstacles:

 

Seriously, how hard can one city make it?

Mark tells his wife not to worry, and sorry we’re two hours late.

Done. Yay.

i do like snow

Remember a few weeks ago, how paltry the snowpack was up in the Silver Fork  Meadow Chutes?

Yeah, those days are gone.

There’s something about 2700 feet of vert, 12 inches of fresh (although, a fresh little zipper crust on it too), and still getting in to work by 9:30.

Okay, that last part I’m not so crazy about. But the rest I’m very in to.

something is better than nothing

Something is better than nothing. That’s what Elliot Smith sang, and I didn’t really get it or agree with it when I first heard the song.

But now I get it. Now that the snow is finally falling here in the Wasatch, now that the snow finally reaches to the road, now I get it. Because even though we’re getting pounded, in the conundrum that is avalanche science, getting pounded, then going a month NOT getting pounded, then getting pounded again is a bad thing.

Clear? See, the problem is, that snow we got a month ago sat uncovered and rotted, so when lots and lots of new snow finally falls on it, the new snow, well, it slides right off. But not by itself, it waits for you (or me) to step on it first.

But I’ve got cabin fever, and brand spankin new skis that I love, so I can’t wait. There’s always someplace to go, and something is better than nothing.

Me n Mark n Tyler headed up Big Cottonwood canyon early this morning, just hoping to get a workout in, and maybe a few bonus turns in good snow. We hiked up Silver Fork, to the north knob of the Meadow Chutes, staying low angle (below 35 degrees) and low elevation (below about 9,500 feet), and in the trees.

Up high (but not too high) we actually found really good snow and had a good run. We would have lapped it, but Tyler is VERY IMPORTANT and had to get to the office.

This is what Silver Fork looks like when the snow is stable and deep:

or this:

Not today. Today was about getting out, hiking, getting the heart rate up a bit, practicing our bushwhacking.

Down low we learned how to ski very light so as not to disturb the gophers in their holes.

But I think we woke a few up.

But you know, something is better than nothing, right?

the italians, they are CRAZY

I’ve mentioned the Italy ski trips, which were awesome, by the way. But I’m not here to give you travelogues, like “we went up this mountain, down this other one, it was hard, the skiing was great, yada yada yada.”

Actually, what AM I here for? I dunno.

Anyway.

On our first climbing/skiing trip over there (I think we’ve been four times), we stayed in the tiny village of Alagna, in the cabin next to our guide’s restored 700 year old house (I may be exaggerating a tich). We would get up and eat a small breakfast in the small hotel restaurant next door, and stop at a small deli on the long walk to the tram station and load up on plain ham sandwiches, and sometimes we would get lucky and eat lunch at a little restaurant tucked waaaay up in the Alps, where they would serve us the best carbonara I’ve ever had, and then we would ski back down to Alagna, clean up, and go out to another little village restaurant for more amazing food.

Which brings us to crazy Italians. We arrived in Milan on a Sunday, and spent a few hours roaming Milan, sightseeing, eating gelato, and getting used to parking on the sidewalk. Then we drove the several hours to Alagna, found Armin’s house, slept, and then skied all the next day. By Monday evening, we were very tired, and very hungry. But apparently Monday is not a good night to go out to eat in Alagna. Armin made a few calls, and arranged for us to eat at a little hotel up the street, we should be there at 8:30pm. We cleaned up, and headed to the restaurant. And found it pretty much deserted.

After we knocked on the door for a few minutes, someone finally answered and asked us what we wanted. We said “Armin sent us.” He disappeared for a minute, then returned and said, in a heavy accent “Yew were zupposed to be haeare at aaaate.”

“Oh, we’re sorry, Armin told us 8:30. Never mind, thanks anyway.”

“No no no, pleazeee come eeeen. Vee vill mahke zomezing fer yew.” (If you’re wondering why I’m writing an Italian talking with a mixture of a German and French accent, I’m wondering the same thing. These guys were German Italians, and spoke better German than Italian. Which was good, since none of us spoke Italian, but Senior spoke German. But not well enough, which we shall see. None of which explains the crazy phonetic spelling I’ve got going on here.)

We were ushered into a small dining room, where we were the only guests. A waiter appeared, and told us the first course would be Spaghetti, and the second course would be Steak. Then he disappeared to find someone to actually make this food.

From the kitchen we soon heard raised voices. Then RAISED voices. With our limited French and Spanish and German knowledge, we gathered that someone was very upset that we had been allowed into the restaurant. “WE CLOSE AT 8!” shouted a voice (I’m sparing you the accents now). “THEY ARE FRIENDS OF ARMIN!” “I’VE ALWAYS HATED YOU!!” (I may be making that last one up.)

And then the sound of crashing dishes being flung at the wall. More shouting. Some scuffling. We all prepared to get up and leave as quick as we could. Suddenly our waiter appeared with a food cart and a HUGE bowl of spaghetti, which he started scooping into our individual bowls. When he got to Rick S., who was last in line, he had about 5 portions left in the big bowl. Which he simply dumped into Rick’s bowl, spaghetti spilling over the sides onto the table. And then he left.

We were too freaked out to do or say anything, so we just started eating. Rick looked resignedly at his bowl and said “I am going to die.” Not from eating all the spaghetti, which was clearly impossible, but because he couldn’t eat it all, and leaving some of the food uneaten would obviously result in all of our deaths.

When we were just about done with the spaghetti, and plenty full, our waiter appeared with another food cart. Full of T-Bone steaks. He went around the table passing out the steaks. There was one extra. We stared at each other, wanting to be supportive, but totally prepared to throw any and each of us under the bus if need be.

“Keine?” the waiter inquired? None of really knew what that meant, but to ME it seemed to mean “Finished?” So I said “Yes, Keine!” with a big smile, trying to look very grateful. Apparently though, “Keine” actually means “Do you want some more?” And I had just said “Why YES, I’m famished!” Guess who got the last T-Bone? (Never be the first to talk. Never!)

We left a rather substantial tip. I like to think of it as protection money.