Day 11- Anaerobic Short Swing

This season is proving not as good as the last. Oh well, says I. There is always something to do in the backcountry. One of my faves, especially when I don't have the time for a propoer tour or when conditions are sub-stellar, is the anaerobic jaunt. Actually it isn't a jaunt at all. Does it count as an eating disorder if you work so hard that you vomit? I dn't know, but there is probably an argument for some kind of disorder at least, though I am convicned that there are benefits to taxing your cardiovascular system by redlining it for an hour or so.

Last year my best time on Short Swing road-to-road was 75 mins. I recruited Nate to the idea of trying it out. He and I did a run a few months ago of about the same exertion and had good pace with each other. Plus, I've been talking smack to him about how much faster I am than he is, and how he should train as much as he can beforehand so that I beat him by less when we race each other in the Powderkeg. He's a youngster. I'm trying to keep him in line. I'm planning on bringing him to his knees, puking in the snow.

At the start, less than a few minutes into the skinning, he is going for the pass. I push it to the next level to keep up, not knowing if I'll be able to sustain that rate for the steep uphill coming soon. I want to talk more smack, but I am gasping for air and know that I will fall further behind if I waste my breath choking out words that he won't hear anyway because of the headphones. Once we hit the uphill, one of his earbuds falls out, and I pass him, needlessly, since once I am past him he is right on me again. I let him pass. His pace is brutal, but that is what today is about. I hold back the vomit, and try not to let the pace slack as Nate gets a bit further and further ahead.

I won't bother with an explanation of the downhill, other than to say I probably looked like a drunk clown flopping through the aspens, as my legs couldn't operate normally. I met up with Nate at the road, he was a few minutes ahead of me, but my time was 58:04, seventeen minutes off of last year's best. I attribute that to the power of group dynamic and synergy, when you add one and one and get 2.3, or maybe even 2.4. Thanks for pulling me along Master Nater! I'm still going to kick your trash when it comes to a real race! (I was just holding back this time to boost your young ego!)

Day 9- Reynolds

After the unfortunate avalanche death at a resort and repeated warnings of a dire nature from the avalanche forecast center, a lot of folks stayed home or skied low-angle trees. We went lower elevation south face. The south face doesn't have much of the layer that is producing slides, and there has been a lot of snow lately that is building up on these slopes and hasn't seen too much sun. We skied the south face of Mt. Reynolds. A first for all of us in the group. It was pretty good, and would be better with a few more feet of snow. So, check out the video of Andrew and listen to him hack off the tops of scrub oak with his board. Unfortunately this clip doesn't have the upper section, which was purdy darn deep and velvety and worth the hike, but not really worth a second round I guess because we up and went to a different shot afterward without any hesitation. Those shots are in the photo, along with an avalanche that was sympatheically released by a skier named Tyler who reportedly outran the avalanche.

Day 7- Montreal Hill

Even though we started skinning around 8 AM, there was already a skintrack all the way to the top. On the way up, we analyzed the number of pole holes trying to determine the size of the party, as well as any down tracks to subtract from that number. I can't remember what we deduced. I know that I was wrong, but that's nothing new. It was obvious once we reached the bottom of the run, and could see the entirety of Montreal Hill. There were two skiers, and they we just starting down their run. They saw us as well. Next thing I knew it was mad dash to get up the trail first.

Of course, the skiers were cool and there was no need to rush. The coolest part was when the guy started telling us what a good skintrack they had put up. I know where the guy is coming from. Everyone likes to have his/her work admired and respected. It was a good skintrack, for the most part, except for where it went through the trees and the roots pushed you one way and the braches the other. Drew said the hardest part of the day was getting out of the tree pit when the awkward V3 skin move pushed him down. I wish I could have seen it. There are few funnier things than someone stuck in a tree pit.

We hear them on top of our second lap. The ceaseless "wup-wup-wup-wup" of the rotors send anger from my brain to every part of my body. This was the first time for any of us on Montreal Hill, mainly because this is the first stop on the Powderbirds Heliskiing tour. Now, they were coming to poach our lines. I see them coming over Poleline Pass, and with a few quick switchbacks I am standing on the ridgetop at the start of the run, giving them the single-finger salute at full attention. They fly over, see us, and fly off to another spot in the drainage. We know they'll be back. The avalanche danger today is high, leaving few spots that are safe for them to ski. The favorite one of the heli-maggots is the one we are standing over. The group of Drew, Tyler, Jade and me regroup on the ridge. We take our time with the change-over, and are still on top when they make the next fly-by. We salute again, this time from a relaxed position.

We ride the snow and it is beautiful. This is the pinnacle of existence, to ski untracked, soft and fluffy powder snow. I can hear the snow collapse under me with the tell-tale "whoopf," but this slope is not steep enough to slide, and the sound propels me down a little faster.

Day 5- Upper Days

"Whoopf!"

I recognize the sound. Knowing I was on a steep slope I was already moving when I heard Drew's voice yelling, "Avalanche!!!" Three quick steps and I was behind a big pine, leaning into it, waiting. Only a few seconds pass before snow is tumbling past my ski tips on its quick trip to the bottom of the run.

It was the second of three that we knocked off that day. This one was bigger and faster than we had expected. Our protocol wasn't perfect. Luckily it was all still managable and gave us the head check we needed to ski smart to stay alive. This year's snowpack will prove to be exciting, and we will need to have our heads about us!

Check out the video of the third one on my face book page.

Day 4- Grizzly Gulch

Obviously I wasn't the only on with the idea. If I wasn't solo I would go another route. But now I am too far into it, and the danger is high enough that there is some security in the fact that if I go down, someone will find me soon enough. When did the backcountry become so popular? It is a lot of work, enough that I think most people would be kept away. And the cold! Especially today! Wouldn't all of these people be more comfortable drinking cocoa at the Gold Miner's Daughter? I keep going. I pass many groups doing avalanche training. They dig pits that are two feet deep before hitting the ground. Choss-crust-pow. Every pit. Choss-crust-pow. At least I am moving. They have to be freezing just standing around listening to instruction.

As I get to Michigan City, I can see at least twenty people in the area. It is like a resort without the lifts. I skin quickly to the top of Patsy Marley and take my homerun to the car. Short tour today.

Day 3- Meadow Chutes

Sunshine. It is better to skin when the sun is out than when the cold wind blows snow in your face and there is no sign of it quitting. The sunshine lets me skin without an extra jacket and a hat, and to see the others further down the skintrack, advancing upward, smiling, taking in the celestial love. Day three was all sunshine and twelve inches of powder on top of a nasty rain crust. Underneath the rain crust is the faceted layer, one that will haunt the year with avalanches I'm afraid. Sunshine is also better than avalanches.

Nate and I skin ahead and put lines in the fresh snow. By the time we establish an up track we meet with Danielle, Shane and the man who fired me from REI all those years ago- Mike. We joke about it now. It is far in the past and exactly what I needed to happen when it did. Now, we are skiing together. If he were buried in the snow, I would dig him out. We all put our mark on the hill, one at a time, like delicate strokes from the artist on the canvas of the hillside.

The next day I skied at Solitude. I didn't realize how wonderfully framed our tracks are from the top of the Eagle lift. On every ride up I see people oogling over the marks in the snow across the drainage. I hear someone say, those look so good. I smile and think, "It was. It was so good."

Day 2- Superior Skirt

Twas another beauteous mornin' in LCC. On our last run yesterday we ran into the Gong show at the base of Alta, reminding me of the old days of hiking in the ski boots. Praise be those days are over! With the crowds in the obvious spots, we thought long and hard about where the carpet would be, and thought correctly. So Nate, Drew and I headed up Superior from the bottom and took a cherry line from about half way up. Less than two hours later we had two runs each in some decent fluff before the sun started warming the snow to the consistency of mashed yams. I called Sport to let him know that we would be visible to him while he was working away the day at the bird. Nothing like a little jealousy to make my turns sweeter!

If you're looking for me tomorrow morning, I'll be either on the way to the Dez' or getting some more on the north face!

Christmas Come Early

What a day! Last night was a total dream with Obama mopping up. I woke up thinking that it was still a dream and checked the news immediately to make sure the the Republicans hadn't pulled any of their tricks to steal the nation's hope. Sure enough, the country has come a long way. I almost feel patriotic again. After talking to my brother last night about how no one ever really knows what they are going to get when they elect a candidate, all we can do now is hope that some of this momentum continues and Obama is able to live up to half of the expectations that are now upon him. He and I are both keeping our fingers crossed, though we cross them different ways!

My second gift from the world came this morning, when, after checking the news, I went downstairs and Nate was getting his gear together. I was thinking that the idea of skiing might be premature and wasn't going to go, but once I felt the energy of someone gearing up for a tour, there was no use fighting the urge. I packed my stuff in record time and was ready by the time Drew showed up. It was worth it. What we skied was seriously the goodie-goodie yum-yums. I might have had the first line of the season from Gunsight at Alta. To top it off, it was bottomless and I didn't touch a single rock/tree or anything but the POW the whole line. This video is Drew taking his line on Gunsight. After you watch the video you might have to fight the impulse to quit your jobs. Think carefully before you do, because we are still in a recession and Dubya is still at the helm. Maybe wait until after inaguration day.

Hopefully both of these glorious surprises are signs of good things to come!

San Rafael Swell

The desert is always beautiful this time of year. For a few weeks every fall the cottonwoods turn to gold, and as the wind travels through them it sound like water is running through the dry stream beds they line, even though no water has wetted the banks since the spring. They stand in stark contrast to the red and tan rocks and the sky, adding surreal bright spots to the landscape. The vertical walls of Wingate sandstone frame the sides of the sky, with the endless sea of blue above. For the third weekend in a row we have traveled to this place to share each other's company as we test our mettle mentally and physically against the uncompromising cracks and fissures of the vertical world. Last weekend we went three days without seeing a cloud, maximizing the enjoyment every minute possible by being outside all the time except when taking the short drive to the crags.

I've entered a phase that has increased my discretionary time. I find no better way to spend it than climbing and simply being in the desert. I wake up in the morning to a slight glow on one side of the canyon, while the other is still masked in the darkness of the dawn. Slowly the light grows until the first beams of sunlight illuminate to upper parts of the tallest cliffs to the West. Soon someone quietly gets out of bed and starts to boil water. The activity is contagious, and soon camp is bustling with breakfast and hot drinks. The sun won't hit camp for another hour and puffy jackets are the norm to fight off the morning chill. Once we are fed and the sun moves closer to enveloping camp, we throw a round of frisbee or play some hacky-sack to get the mojo flowing through stiff limbs. Then, as is the purpose, we climb.

Last week we climbed at the Chocolate wall. One of the things I like about the Swell is that there isn't a good guide for the area. A few of the routes can be found in old guidebooks or on-line, but the overwhelming majority of climbs are not documneted. One simply explores the area, looks for anchors at the top of cracks, and determines if the challange is acceptable. Personally, if I don't think I can do it, I like to try to heckle pals to persuade them to try. It is great adventure cragging. The Chocolate wall is a good example. After some research we found only its location and two route descriptionl although there is much more climbing than that. We found a couple of plum lines that Nate and Drew put up, and I spied a line that had not been climbed and got Kurt to belay me. The first few moves up a flake showered sand and broken rock down onto Kurt as I tried to move carefully so as to not break off the pieces of fragile rock on the edge of the crack. A few dubious moves and I stepped onto a pedestal. Ahead of me was a 600 pound pillar of rock that defended the crack behind it from being climbed. As I tried to move around it, the whole pillar shifted. I jumped back to the pedestal and instinctively balanced not falling off the pedestal with being in the most secure location as not to be crashed by the pillar should it fall. It didn't. But I still had to figure a way around it. "Kurt, are you in a good position if I pull some rock off?" "Hold on!" ws the reply and we discussed appropriate steps for dislodging the rock. He pulle gear and rope from the base of the climb. I tied off to a piece below the pillar and did what I could to tuck the rope into the crack so that the pillar wouldn't cut it when it fell. I planned my movement trying to utilize whatever space I had for my own safety. Once ready, I placed my hand behind the pillar and flex my fingers against it. It moved again and I jumped to my safety place prematurely as it didn't fall. I would have to put pressure on it until it fell and then move quickly. I warned Kurt, stepped back to the pillar and flexed my hand once again behind the pillar and watched as it began to dislodge, almost in slow motion. Once the motion was started and toppling as inevitable I stood back and flattened myself against the wall as the block came loose and exploded on the pedestal. I felt the shards of rock against my bare skin. I closed my eyes. The percussion began with the first explosion and then intensified as the pillar fell to the ground and impacted the ground and rocks at the base and then tumbled down the hillside. Drew said he could see the plume of dust Twin Towers style from around the corner where he was climbing. My heart surging with energy, I yelled down to Kurt to see if he was alright. He was. Calls came from the others to see if we were alright. All I could do was scream with delight!



Behind the pillar was a splitter crack- a little treasure that the desert had revealed to us for our effort. Out of the destruction came something beautiful.

Yesterday it rained, and I only had one day of climbing to show for the weekend. Eight of us stood beneath a tree for shelter and drank PBR while watching Nate climb a soaking wet crack. Generally it is a bad idea, but he had climbed it the day before and discovered that there were no anchors. Drew, Monica and I were returning from across the canyon climbing in costume (festive, eh?) and heard the call for "bolts and beer" from Nate, and obliged. We did our part, but the bolts weren't cooperating and after much hammering and explicatives Nate rappelled from a few few cams at dusk. They then pulled the rope and it stuck in the crack. So there we were the next morning in the rain watching Nate on a cliffside that was reflecting the sky it was so wet and he retrieved gear and won the bolt battle. He descended safely, wet, but glad to have escaped the vertical slip and slide.

We'll be down there again this weekend. Your welcome to come along and do your best with the disc golf and the campfire antics and the belching contests. You might find an arrowhead, or find yourself worn-out, tired and scared, but you'll definitely find yourself indelibly marked by the soulfulness of the experience.

Little Pine Coulior

Believe it or not, there was about 16" of fresh yesterday. It was blower-fabulous up high and mash potatos down low. All in all pretty good for May first skiing. I got out with Nate for tour number five-oh for the season, skiing one shot off of Kessler- the West Coulior. It was another new line in a year of new lines for me. Sorry, no photos!

Here is one of Little Pine shot from the White Pine trail in Little Cottonwood Canyon. WE've been talking about it a lot for the past four months, especially while skinning past it across the canyon in the early morning light. The perspective is foreshortenened, in the photo and viewing it from the White Pine trail. It skis from 11,100 to 7,800 feet, or thereabouts for 3,300 vertical of the most direct fall-line bliss. Drew and I agree that it is one of the choicest lines in the Wasatch. Don't let anyone know! Actually, tell whoever. Anyone willing to put in the work to ski this line deserves it to be filled with luscious pow-pow!

The "Y" Coulior

Anyone who rides snow long enough in Little Cottonwood canyon learns soon enough about the "Y". Whether it is from overhearing others discuss it, seeing ski tracks in what, from the road, appears to be a near-vertical sliver of snow, or, for the lucky, from first-hand experience, the "Y" is the window into the Wasatch backcountry from the passenger window as one rides up the canyon. It is 3,200 vertical feet from the top headwall to the bottom of the final apron, taller than the top of the tram at Snowbird to the bottom of Gad parking lot in what starts at the road and goes up, mostly in plain view, and doesn't vary more than a few degrees from forty.

We've been in a bit of a snow drought in SLC. I hadn't been on my skis in over a week because the snow baked in the sun all day with nothing new to freshen it up. I'm a snob. I only want to ride in it if it is powder! It finally snowed, so yesterday we skied to the saddle between Twin Peaks and Sunrise Peak, skiing a few shots of 5" of pow-pow on top of a carvable crust. It wasn't awesome, only pretty good. It needed more snow. I woke up in the morning around 4:45, and the snow was blasting Sugarhouse. I texted Drew and Tyler. I got a message from Drew. He'd locked himself out of his house the night before, not getting to bed before 2 AM. He'd been sleeping for only two hours before he let me know that he wouldn't be getting up before seven, and that we should let him know where we would be and he might try to catch us. I hadn't heard jack from Tyler, and wanted something worthy to ski so I couldn't go solo, so I looked at the window at the snow coming down, shook my head in dismay, took off my ski clothes and snuggled in back next to Leia. "It'll be nice to sleep in until seven!" I thought in consolation as I spooned in next to her warm body.

Just before I fell back asleep, Tyler calls. He's ready and waiting. He just hadn't gotten back to me. I told him our plan was jacked, and that we'd make a new plan at seven. At that point, there was no consolation about it, it would be nice to sleep until seven! Sorry Tyler.

By 8:30 the sun is up. I feel a bit out of place driving to the canyons in the daylight. Still, though, I'm stoked. We are having our safety meeting on the drive with some Culture playing in the background as we discuss the plan. The Alta snow report says 10" new. On top of the snow from yesterday it will be awesome, and the sloughs will be manageable. A repeat in Coalpit would have been awesome, but it was too late in the day to get there safely. We settle on Maybird, getting laps on easier angles. This plan, though, lacks the urgency that we're beginning to feel. We know that the season can't keep this up forever, and the chance to ride the classic lines shouldn't be passed up. Then, as Drew gazed out the passenger window, he looked back at me and smiled. "The Y!"

I slam on the brakes and pull into the unplowed parking lot. He had spoke in the nick of time. I get stuck in the snow with the truck half-way in, the back-end still out in the road and slowing the canyon traffic on a powder day. It seems deep, and I may not be able to get out easily. "I'm down," is the consensus from all our mouths, so the truck goes into four-wheel and we're in. Committed.

After the treacherous river crossing, we throw our skis on our packs and start booting. There is no skinning on this tour- this time we go on foot. From the bottom I look up. With the first step I get closer to finishing over three-thousand feet of hiking through snow, sometimes icy, sometimes hip deep, in ski boots with a pack and skis on my back, a height that is over twice the tallest building in the world. On the trek up, there would be only one platform where the tree of us could all stand without the pull of gravity at our heels and the weight of our packs, urging us back into oblivion below. Here we would pow-wow (food, water, rejuvenation). Kicking steps, booting, slogging or whatever you call it cannot sweeten the experience. It's brutal. To know that the step you now take is only one in a string of thousands can be a mental strain on top of the obvious physical strain. The perch offered us a respite from the strain.

I understand that "couloir" is the French word for "hallway." I might be wrong. In the Y couloir the application of this term is clear. From our stance in the perch, we looked down on an icy section that we had just ascended. Drew had been putting in the pack below this section, and I took over for the ice. Because he snowboards, he gets to wear soft boots that are more comfortable than plastic boots, but can't punch through the ice like the solid end of a ski boot. The ice is hard, but I can force in three or four inches, and do, making my way slowly toward the perch. During our pow-wow, Tyler makes grim predictions about skiing that section. If one of us lost control on that ice, it would take much speed before he would be pinballing against the sides of the rock hallway we were in. Drew was certain that it would be fine. My thoughts were aligned with Drew and cautious of Tyler. All though people like the game of pinball, nobody ever wants to BE the pinball!

More booting. The snow in the couloir is uneven. In some places it is down to the ice that formed over the last drought while in others it is over hip deep. What had caused this uneveness is explained best by the "angle of repose" principle. Any material substance has an angle of repose, the angle at and below which it will be at rest- sand, soda cans, salamanders and snow. If one of these was dropped from one point and allowed to build up into a cone shape, the angle of that cone would be the angle of repose. If, say, a pile of sand was built up, any sand steeper than the angle of the cone would eventually break-off and tumble down the cone. The angle of repose for snow centers around 37 degrees. The deep sections of snow were deposits of snow from above that sluffed off of the slope because the slope was too steep to hold the snow. The icy sections were the base where the snow was released. The skiing would be great if we could maintain fall-lines in the stuff that was soft enough for turns.

After more than four hours of slogging uphill through snow we near the top. The headwall is the steepest section of the couloir at what I would guess is near 50 degrees. It is so steep that it feels like we are on a ladder. The snow starts to change and the base is less supportable so it is more like a tread-ladder where we fight for each upward step. Tyler is a few steps above me. He is wrestling for purchase and kicks hard into the slope. I watch as a crack starts from his boot and shoots horizontally across the headwall for fifty feet. The top ten inches becomes fluid and moves down the slope like silent water. The headwall, surprisingly, is treed, and I can't see how far the sluff runs as it disappears in the pines and out-of-sight, but it was a lot and was gone in a hurry. Tyler and Drew didn't hear it or see it. The few seconds it took them to respond to my shouts was enough for the slide to be out of gone. Tyler, at least could see the crown and was startled to see what he had done. He looked down at me. My pole was in the slide path, but I was not. That amount of snow wouldn't bury a person. The fear is getting swept downhill out of control, especially when there are trees and cliffs below. If the snow above me would have went I suppose it could have been enough to knock me off of my feet and send me into a tree. The top of the Y would be a bad place to get hurt fo' sho'.

We spend a few minutes stomping out a platform above a tree. This one, unlike the shelter of the first perch, came with its own vertigo. Here we pow-wow. I take some video. Getting skis on is a delicate procedure. Any inability to properly place gear could result in loss of that gear. As well as being a bad place to get hurt, this would be a bad place to see a ski accidentally unlodge and torpedo down the slope! Below us is Little Cottonwood Road. It is a constant point-of-reference on the way up and down the Y. At first in the coulior the traffic is faintly audible, especially as people gear-down to check their speed before the big corner. Further up, there is only an occasionally percussive rumbling to be heard from the bigger trucks hauling luxuries for the resorters at Snowbird and Alta. The road becomes a visual experience like the Peter Pan ride at Disneyland where things are happening but no sound results from it, like an ant farm. I see the tram. I figure Sport is probably skiing right now, but he is far to small to see.

I get first line and opt for the upper bowl, half of which has already slid leaving only an icy base behind. I hoped to ski the fresh snow next to the fracture line, but as I approached it, it all slid as well. I find myself in a predicament. All of the fresh yummy snow has sluffed and ran for who-knows-how-far. The edges of my skis now clawed into icy snow on a fifty degree slope above trees and unknown conditions below. I cowardly slide down twenty feet to where the angle eases off before making my first turn. Still icy. I pull another safety turn. It is still icy and I slide a way on my edges. My stomach unsettles. I steer gingerly away from the trees. Then I hit a soft spot. My turn releases the snow around me and it sluffs at the same speed I am beginning to turn. I make a few turns in my slough and cut out to the side, taking the risk of turning into some small trees. I figure the trees will hold the snow better. They do. I watch the sluff run past me. I cut back into the path because it is still to steep for tight tree turns. The sluffs don't carry much snow with them and soon I am in steep powder heaven. The turns are like falling into feathers. My stomach relaxes. This is what I came for.

I find a safe place to stop and watch my boys. Drew takes a bold line through the trees and blasts into the open slope. He cuts some big, fast turns through a bowl before cutting into safety. Tyler skis the nasty-lasties on my slope. I watch and hear the death turns he performs with precision before hitting the softies on the opposite side of the bowl from me. He charges past me through the pow-pow, being chased by his sluff. For partners, these two bros are golden. Few people are willing and able to get up early for serious backcountry snow on such a consistent basis. They have been the perfect compliment to the consistent stellar snow of 07-08.

We continue down in this yo-yo fashion. The road becomes closer and bigger. The couloir is wide enough for all of us to be skiing powder lines. The spots where the sluff piles up are like gigantic pillows to float through, turning us into transient submarines as the snow piles against the chest and from there over the head. Those riding below disappear in puffs of cold smoke. All of this is framed by granite-walled sides, partly cloudy skies above and the huge south face of Twin Peaks as the background. Gorgeous!

Finally the granite walls terminate and the snow spills out onto the apron and down to the river. We stop at the bottom of the apron to look up and to celebrate. A fellow Drew knows from works hiked by and stopped to chat. Out on the road we see Nate and Eliot drive by. It is good to be part of a culture that values the quality of life, and choose a life that includes time outdoors because of all that nature offers, experiences like this. Experiences that will fall short in this and every written description, but one that are commonly understood. Praise to those living close to their dreams!


LIFE IS LONG




Note: For those of you disciplined enough to endure my dribble, I'll let you know that I entered the Powderkeg backcountry ski race. Results and pictures can be found at http://www.bdel.com/powderkeg/

Coalpit

This is how the schedule has gone so many times this year, far more than ever before, and how it went yesterday morning. I get up at 3:30 AM, sometimes before the alarm goes off and put the teapot on the stove. I check the gear to be sure it is dry enough. The teapot whistles. I pull it off the stove and shut the door to the bedroom so Leia can sleep peacefully through the ritual. I start the mate (mah-tay, I can't figure out the accent on the keyboard!) and put the rest of the hot water in the thermos. I eat, drink mate. I put my climbing skins on my skis so I don't have to do it in the cold. I finish packing my backpack with food, water, shovel, probe, avalanche beacon and a bunch of other stuff that I figure I need because I have forgotten it in the past and wished I didn't. I write down where I am going and with whom I am traveling on the white board, kiss Leia and answer her that I have written down that which I wrote. By 4:30 I have Andrew and Tyler in the truck. We prepare to adjust our altitude. We drink mate. By 5:30 AM we are at the White Pine trailhead with our skis on, except Tyler. We stopped at his house and there were no lights on. He didn't answer his phone either. He called, though, right as we were about to lose reception in Little Cottonwood Canyon. He said he was coming. We told him to go fast and we would tour slowly to start.

On the trail, the cold of the parking lot fades. I remind myself every morning that, even though I am freezing when I'm getting my gear together, once we start skinning my body will warm itself. And it does. The last to lose the coldness are my fingers. Soon enough they are warm too. We work our way up and across the side of the canyon passed the White Pine and the Red Pine drainages. The weather is clear and we look down on the Sandy nightscape and the lights of the few cars going along the bottom of the canyon. By the time we reach the Maybird drainage the sky lightens. It begins with a gradual light blue, and then suddenly the peaks on the north side of the canyon go bright pink. The color is reflected in all the snow around resulting in a dull but discernible glow. Though I've seen it an uncanny number of times this season, it doesn't lose its brilliance.

We've been breaking trail since the trail split in White Pine- we are the first ones here since the last storm. Everything is uniformly covered in a blanket of white. We are the first to disturb it by cutting a skin track direct as possible to our goal. The extra effort to put in the track made it inevitable for Tyler to catch-up, and he did. As I was relieving myself, reveling in the early morning glow, Tyler came flying around the corner and got an eyefull! He had put on a brutal pace to be able to ski today's line with us. He looked it too, all red and sweaty. He was dripping so hard that icicles were dangling from his beard, breathing hard as an angry, restrained child.

By about nine AM we stood at the top of the Hogum 500. The resorts were opening and folks there were already talking about yesterday's powder. In front of us was over 1500 vertical feet without a track but the one left behind by us. We had been eyeing our line and the approach to it all along our way up the ridge that separates Maybird and Hogum drainages. The top of the Coalpit drainage could be seen just to the right of the top of a long narrow couloir called the Hypodermic Needle, obvious just right-of-center in the photo. To get there we would have to skin up the slope toward the Needle, and, just before the bottom of the narrow section, traverse the slope above the cliffs to the right to access the ridge. The first 1000 ft. of the Coalpit headwall are visible in the photo. But first before we coulkd begin the ascent toward the Needle, someone had to ski all of this glorious powder!

By eleven AM the temperature was heating the slopes we were on. The apron of the Needle, where we were putting in our skin track, faces Northeast. It receives morning sun. When the sun firsts hits the slope, the air is still too cold for the snow to be affected. By now it is warm, and the snow has started to change. The top layer is getting moist. It sticks to my climbing skins and ski making me carry an extra ten pounds of weight up the mountain and the skins don't slide smoothly on the snow. Worse, if it gets to wet it could slide out from underneath us. The slope we are going up is the perfect angle to avalanche it the conditions are right.

The scariest part is the traverse above the cliffs. I watch Drew as he moves into the danger zone. The snow here is variable, with most of it in good condition, but some spots are icy where they have been buffed by the wind. In one of these spots Drew kicks out a pin. He says it is a freak occurrence that has only happened a couple of times in all his years of backcountry skiing. Now, perched on an icy spot on a slope over 35 degrees hanging above cliffs and certain death, he reaches down to save one-half of his snowboard from sliding all the way down to the bottom of Hogum Fork while balancing precariously on the other half of the snowboard. Ho got it all under control, put his board back on, and continued skinning to the ridge. My turn.

My program was to overcome the terror and the vertigo and the risk of the snow deciding to slide whilst I was crossing above the cliffs by staring at the three feet of skin-track in front of me and skinning like hell to the ridge. It worked. The dragon left me be again today. At the ridge I had my first view ever from the Coalpit headwall. I smiled knowing that I was going to ski this line. It may take eight hours to get to the top of it and only twenty minutes of skiing (or probably less!) to come down. Every step on the skin track (a reward in itself) is worth it.

The Descent:

First we put our skis on while balancing on the ridge. There are no good spots. I lean against a rock and keep one foot planted in the snow. I have to take my skis off of my backpack, which involves swinging the weight of the pack around me and bumping it into rocks, either of those likely stealing my balance and sending me into the rocks below. Each one goes on like surgery. Worst besides falling myself would be to lose a ski. The only "safe" way down is on top of them. Down below I can see the road in Little Cottonwood Canyon. I think about the dangerous descent and long hike through powder that I would face if I mishandled my ski, take my time and I get everything on without screwing up.

The headwall drops for 1,800 vertical feet. The top section was wind-buffed, icy and required some safety skiing for sure. Some sections were soft, encouraging faster turns, but soon enough turned again to ice. If you wrecked it would be a fast ride to the bottom!

The bottom half of the headwall, brought good powder turning. We pow-wowed for a while to admire the surroundings. None of us had ever been there before, and now we had the whole drainage to ourselves! Underway again we skied another near 2,000 vertical foot shot of the greatest snow on earth, and finished with a narrow gully that rode like a slide at a waterpark that spit you out over a waterfall into the bottom of Little Cottonwood Canyon. In the summer the waterfall makes the entrance into Coalpit nearly impossible. In winter it fills in with snow and is easily skied!

Coalpit Headwall S4

Another great day brought to you by '07-'08!

My first time...I'm so nervous!

It's winter. Leia is ready for the cold and snow to end and the spring to get going. I'm content with the possibilities of record snowfall in the Wasatch this year, and hope that it doesn't stop until June. I got Leia a puffy coat for Christmas so that my exuberance over the snow is more tolerable for her. It makes her arms look like she could beat the crap out of anyone, but don't worry, she's really a nice girl with slim and sexy arms!

Today I skinned to the ridgeline between Big and Little Cottonwood canyons to discover the backdoor to one of the chutes that descend from the ridge directly to the road in Little Cottonwood. I was out alone under blue skies in the upper reaches of Mill B South in the Twin Peaks Wilderness Area without another person's tracks visible, even though it has been days and days since our last storm. It is good to know that there are still places that are untouched, where a person can experience real solitude. It is also good to know that my truck is waiting for me, ready to take me back to my sweet girl and cold beer in the fridge! (For the record, only the latter is in the fridge!) Options are wonderful, especially when it means you get to visit these palces and don't have to spend a night alone in the middle of freakin' nowhere!

As I carefully approached the ridge, not wanting to accidentally fall over the other side, my first thought was, "What the hell am I doing here alone!" My purpose was to check it out, to discover the secret passage to 3,300 vertical feet of pure fall-line skiing so to return later with others and ski the line more safely. After the initial shock of seeing dinky cars way down there on that dinky road and feeling that I could toss a snowball out in that direction and have it land on some New York tourist's car at terminal velocity, my next thought was, "I could ski this right now, even though I am alone!" There was a passage through the rocky ridgeline that would put me on snow, giving my skis something to ride all the way to the road.

After a few moments the vertigo and excitement lost control and my instinct to survive returned, I decided to descend that way I had come up. It was already passed noon, and the shot faces south and was inevitably heating up. Besides, Leia had told me, as usual, to be safe. She is a smart girl. Not two minutes after I had made my decision to play it safe and had started to prepare for the descent, a wet slab avalanche released and went cruising down Little Pine in the exact path I had momentarily intended to ski. Some of you may attribute this to the still small voice. I call it the universe continuing in its conspiracy to keep me alive for another adventure another day. A rose by any other name still makes me happy to be alive!

The first photo is looking down at the Little Cottonwood Canyon Road from the ridgeline today. The second one shows my tracks, both up and down, from the ridge. Down was much faster! Also there is a video from a couple of days ago in Hogum Fork in the Broken Plate couloir-enjoy!



PURA VIDA!