A deep november day on Teton Pass. Notice: my snowpants are black.
In the hut on top of Mount Glory
Rob Backlund, a man who preaches to earn your turns and release the training heels.
It was good to be back in Jackson and it was also good to have been
gone for a year. That way we could see it from a different angle and
see how important it was to us. It was a good year to miss as it was
freezing cold and didn't snow much. But Rob and I returned in October
and a week later it snowed hard and we went up to the pass to tour
around and maybe find a good grass slope on Edelweis to make some
turns.
It didn't snow again for a few weeks and that was fine. I had
plenty of work to do to build up an income before the season was
really under way. When it did snow again, Rob and I did the long hike
up Glory and skied the northeast face of the Great White Hump. We had
did long laps in the deep snow, and were very happy with our choice
to come here. Skinning up a different route in search of different
terrain, we had to cross a slope. We went one at a time with me in
the lead. When I got half-way across, there was a thunderous
"Whoomf!" and I immediately looked back at Rob and yelled "Get Off!"
With my skins still on and my naxos in climbing mode, I would not be
able to put up a fight against and avalanche. I knew I was screwed.
It wasn't too far of a runout though, it wasn't exposed, and Rob would
not be caught. So I braced myself, and it didn't come. We turned
around and got off the damn slope anyway.
The next storm was not far behind and we lapped the western ridges of
Glory, not dropping below halfway for lack of snow. It was a warmer
fall and the snow only fell on the upper half of the mountains, and
rained below that. The pass was high enough so we were quite pleased,
and we found plenty of good skiing and nobody was up yet. In town,
everybody looked at us funny in our snow pants and skis.
But we were in great shape and when the next storm hit at the end of
November, the pass was in full force again with more people than I'd ever seen before.
On the pass, a fat texan couple in fur coats took pictures of backcountry skiers like we were giraffes on the Serengetti, another world from their lives.
The big woman asked me, "Where are you hiking to?"
I pointed my ski pole up the boot pack of Mt. Glory and said, "See
that big green billboard up there? That's near the top. We're going up there."
"Are you crazy or something?"
"In my book, you'd be crazy not to do it. Doing the stairmaster for an hour, THAT's crazy."
Then we crossed the road, skis strapped to our packs, and we entered
our world apart from theirs.
The bootpack up Glory was crowded. We didn't mind the crowd though because we knew where the snow was good and not tracked up. And we were proud to have our
climbing legs very strong while the crowd did not. We hiked up
quickly and effortlessly, passing the huffers and puffers every few
minutes and not having anybody get close to us. Occasionally there'd
be some guy who didn't want to get passed and would quicken his pace
to get ahead by ten yeards, but then he'd get tired and you'd be on
his heels again, then he'd sprint forward again and slow down and you'd
be steadily back on his heels and he'd pull over, completely
exhausted, while you hiked up quietly and quickly with agile steps.
By this time the pass was great and we'd been skiing for a week
straight. We went to the ski cabin in the Gros Ventre mountains too.
In late October my old ski buddies Peter Hudnut and Conor Mulroy moved
on out to Jackson. Conor said it was the best decision of his life.
Rob said that Jackson is really like an extension
of the Colorado College: same people and same lifestyle. And many
times I go up to the pass I run into friends from college I had not
seen in years. It's like a mini reunion on top of the pass. And I
feel proud to think that our little college pumps out more mountain
town residents per capita than any other college in the nation.
