My legs were very tired, but there was another tour to squeeze in before the low pressure would swing through this afternoon. The avalanche danger had dropped to its lowest point of the season, so the tour would need to take advantage of this.
The temperature at home in the morning was –17. At 9:30, I was riding up the Pass in the back of a truck with Evan. Peter and Loren were not far behind. It gave me satisfaction to repeatedly hear from Evan, “It’s fucking cold today!” because he grew up here. But on the top of the pass, above the fog below, the sun was warm and it was windless. A beautiful day of inversion. As Evan predicted, it was nearly 25 degrees up top.
We hiked up Glory and skied down the Chicken Scratch chutes to the amphitheater below, affording us beautiful views of Little Tuckerman's. Then it was a quick skin up to the shoulder of Unskiabowl. I had never had a good look at this bowl but knew it was highly unskiable due to the numerous cliff bands. We had to find a line that we could see all the way down so we knew it wouldn’t be cliffed out. Evan and I went down a spectacular steep chute, one of two that cut through the rock face. And we made ourselves remember to come back for the one next to it.
The temperature at home in the morning was –17. At 9:30, I was riding up the Pass in the back of a truck with Evan. Peter and Loren were not far behind. It gave me satisfaction to repeatedly hear from Evan, “It’s fucking cold today!” because he grew up here. But on the top of the pass, above the fog below, the sun was warm and it was windless. A beautiful day of inversion. As Evan predicted, it was nearly 25 degrees up top.
We hiked up Glory and skied down the Chicken Scratch chutes to the amphitheater below, affording us beautiful views of Little Tuckerman's. Then it was a quick skin up to the shoulder of Unskiabowl. I had never had a good look at this bowl but knew it was highly unskiable due to the numerous cliff bands. We had to find a line that we could see all the way down so we knew it wouldn’t be cliffed out. Evan and I went down a spectacular steep chute, one of two that cut through the rock face. And we made ourselves remember to come back for the one next to it.
Peter, who operates on impulse instead of foresight and judgement, had a different method of skiing the mountain, as he had on Chicken Scratch before. He and Loren, who is new to backcountry skiing, had gone further up the ridge and further from the good routes, but managed to pick their way through.
Then the four of us skinned up the ridge that connects to the Great White Hump, boot packing the top, exposed section, and skiing the north face of Horseshoe Bowl. Peter did not join us on the bootpack, deciding it would be easier to just skin up and across the huge avalanche face. As he said afterwards, "Well, I'm alive so I guess it was OK." I like to tell him he has no prefrontal cortex, the neurological center for rationality in the brain.
The whole day, we just went down a bowl, up to the next, down again, up, and down again. A hell of a fine tour, skiing the steep lines when they’re safe, the snow is good, and the skies sunny.
Our plan was to ski the Wilson Faces down to a car we had dropped off below, but the day was getting dark and the ominous low-pressure system was sweeping in, so we skied out of Phillips Canyon and back to Trail Creek again, where it was damn cold.
Our plan was to ski the Wilson Faces down to a car we had dropped off below, but the day was getting dark and the ominous low-pressure system was sweeping in, so we skied out of Phillips Canyon and back to Trail Creek again, where it was damn cold.
The first batch of bowls
The Second batch of Bowls
Chicken Scratch Chutes
Evan admiring his line, Little Tuckerman's in background
Evan's lawn dart in Unskiabowl
Horseshoe Bowl
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