DUDE, REIN-O!

p>I am still working in Aspen, and living in Carbondale. That will change soon as I am moving upvally to Basalt, to share a 2 bedroom condo with an old Buddy from the Front Range. I am hoping that it will resemble a more urban environment that I have always been more comfortable with. I do like living way up in the woods, but I think I will go crazy without a little more social contact.

I am truly concerned about how I will react when I go back to Chicago this weekend. I used to love the fast pace of the big city. I remember walking down Belmont Ave. on a cold Wednesday night in December, and still coming in contact with dozens of people. Those days seemed so simple. I didn’t have a plan but didn’t really need one, either

I guess life still has not changed too much. I’ve made a few new accessories to my truck, and I am enjoying my job as well as my free time.

As I progress through current times, I find myself devoting more and more of my free time to spending with one single person. This is a bright contrast to what I have been used to. I went from having many, many acquantences in Illinois, to living a somewhat of a hermit’s life in Colorado for the past three years. However, with each new day that I spend with this person, I find myself craving more, and more, and more time with her, and have less interested in other previous passions.

However, my interest in snowboarding is still hanging on strong, so without further ado, I present a springtime TR.

A frustrating two weeks late, Colorado Highway 82 over Independence Pass was finally open to automobile travel this past Friday. My best girl and I planned to meet up and camp on the east side of the pass, near Twin Lakes, CO. Leaving Aspen on Friday afternoon and turning right on Main Street was a surprising change from what I had been used to for the past 5 months. The sun was shining, and I launched my truck up the winding road.

It was late in the day, but I could tell by all the tracks on the mountains, that hundreds of laps have been made by skiers and snowboarders throughout the day. There were a few cars remaining at the top of the pass, but otherwise it was a windy, barren wasteland full of snow and rock. Strangely, the top of the pass is very flat, and I thought it might resemble what Antarctica looks like.

Down on the east side of the contintental divide, Summer was in full swing. After a quick trip down to Twin Lakes, I settled on a nice secluded campsite in the San Isabel National Forest

Soon she showed up, and the fire was roasting with the sweet scent of homeade s’mores.

Saturday morning was beautiful, and the temperature rose very quickly. However, at the top of the pass, it was still frigid, although sunny. From the parking lot, I looked over the massive crowds of people who were dropping off the slopes from there, to hitch rides from the turnout further down the road. Not wanting to deal with a ski area crowd, we headed north, up a mountain named Blarney Peak. During the whole time, all I could imagine in my head was rowdy Irish Bars in Chicago, full of my friends on a chilly autumn evening, laughing and having a good time. Oh, if they could only be here now, on top of the U.S.A., charging forward above 13,000 feet.

My partner was way ahead of me, and I could barely make out her pink hat through the bright white glare of the snow surface. The hike was steep but not technical, and we reached the summit in under two hours.

From the top, we had an awesome view of the surrounding mountains. I could even identify previous lines that I had taken with my snowboard, and examined future possibilities. I finally had my zoom lens fixed, so I was able to take a bunch of close up shots

After a few moments on the summit, looking for the “Blarney Stone” to kiss, we took a smooth ride down the south face and back to the cars.

We were back at camp and on our bikes by 3:00.

Although, on our way off the pass, I spotted some crazy Kentucky headz running the slopes in kayaks!

Kendall Mountain, 13,066′
San Juan Mountains, Colorado

The ancient mining town of Silverton lies just about as deep as you can get in the Rockies.  There are only two entrances into town, and both are over treacherous mountain passes.  Many times, one or both of these passes will be closed to traffic, and anyone in town must find something to do.  It is not hard to stay occupied if you are a mountaineer.  The town is surrounded by jagged peaks.  One such peak, Kendall Mountain, rises 4,000 vertical feet from town.  In fact, you can grab a cup of coffee at the Avalanche Cafe and it will still be too hot to drink when you travel the 4 blocks to the trailhead.

Our party consisted of the splitboarders and a skier.  We awoke leisurely in the Triangle Motel Sunday morning, debating what challenge to take on for the day.  We were torn between heading up one of the mountain passes, or go straight up Kendall Mountain and ride the North face.  Conditions were unknown. It had been warm, and spring conditions dominated the day before on Silverton Mountain.  I myself was not ecstatic about a 4,000 vert grovel, but time was wasting and we had to make a decision.

We drove a few blocks south of Main Street and parked in what appeared to be an old train yard.  From there, we donned touring gear and headed straight at the mountain, only to be met with our first obstacle:  a wide flowing river.  Jaime dove in first, and carefully traversed the stream with skis on.  I followed, and tried to stay shallow as best I could.  However, halfway through my foot plunged past the cuff, and I felt the cold water rush down into my boot.  I gave up on trying to tread lightly, and sprinted through the river.  When I got to the other side, my left foot was dry, but my right was wet.  Jaime reported the same conditions.  I worried for a second about continuing up for a long day in possible hypothermic conditions, then shook it off and continued onward.

For the first many, many miles the route followed a 4×4 fire road up around the west flanks of the mountain.  Brian and Mike took off ahead, while I was huffing it in the middle, and Jaime disappeared far behind.  When Jaime caught up with me after a few miles, he was upset and thought that the other two had missed the turn off into the north face.  On cue, an elderly women came running down the trail, directly for us.

“Are we going the right way?” we asked.
“Yes, keep going, just keep going.  You will see an old boxcar, and stay left.  You will see a big gully that snowmobilers take people up to ski.  Its about an hour to the summit.”
“What is that on your hat?” Jaime asked.  Her hat read “Silverton Mountain Club”  (or school, I’m not sure)
“Its a group of people that believe in what you’re doing.”  She responded.
“Does it have to do with Dolores?” the Burly Dude asked.
“Well she was a member.  Have fun!”  she waved goodbye and continued her hustle down the road.

We continued on, and I thought the road was never going to end.  It truly was a grovel.  Finally the road ended and we were faced with a steep treeless slope.

Brian took off ahead and stopped a few hundred feet up the slope, removed his skis, and kicked into the snow.  Mike followed him, while Jaime and I continued on the splitboards for a while.  When it started getting too firm and steep, we finally took off the skis and bootpacked up the slope. 

It was at this point that I realized this mountain was much larger than I had thought.  As I moved up the southwest face of the mountain I could not see up past the snowy ridge ahead. Soon Jaime disappeared, and I could barely make out Mike far off to my right.  I wasn’t sure where Brian and Mike were headed, but I was pretty confident that the summit was up and to the left.  As I climbed, all I could see was the ridgeline, and the horizon beyond.  It did not seem to get any closer as I followed the footsteps in front of me.

Finally, I reached the ridge and was treated with a despairing sight of a massive alpine bowl.  Brian was far out on the right side of the bowl, and Jaime was making his way up the left.  I followed him on skins, slowly up the moderate slope.  I thought I could make out the summit far up and to the left.

I watched Brian reach a saddle at the far East end of the bowl.  My radio crackled to life.

“How you doin, buddy?” he asked
“I’m hurting, bro.”
“Yeah, lets get the group together and we’ll get a plan.  I think we can ski down from my location.”

Skiing down from there sounded like a great idea, but for as much pain as I was in, I felt that I did not travel all these miles for hours on end without a summit push.

When we all met up, Brian and Mike decided to ski down the East bowl, while Jaime and I pushed for the summit.  Suddenly I felt much more alive and rejuvenated.  With the hours of exhausting skinning and climbing, adrenaline pushed be straight up the final 800 feet to the top.

For the first few steps we were able to scramble the ridge, but then we were blocked by another snow gully on the south face.   Jaime started to traverse, as I watched him kick steps with much resistance.

“This snow is firm!”  he yelled.
“I think I’m going to try to go up this ridge,” I said as I took off up the rocky right side of the couloir.  We separated for a few minutes, and I reached the top, to another saddle.  In front of me was a rounded slope of snow, and beyond it I knew was the summit. 
“Stairway to Heaven, dude!” I confidently yelled at Jaime, who was done traversing the couloir and making his was up the right side.

I made it a few feet up the south face with ease, but then things started getting bad.  Each step I took was harder to kick, and the slope got steeper.  The sun had baked the south face all day, and now in the afternoon, it was a sheet of solid, bulletproof ice.  (For whatever dumb reason, I didn’t have my ice axe or crampons.)  I looked up:  I was less than ten feet from Jaime, who was already on top of the knob.  If I could only make that ten feet, I thought.  I took another step, and kicked as hard as I could at the ice.  Nothing.  I started sketching out.  I looked down the 50 degree slope below me and felt vertigo.  If I fell and slid right, I’d probably fall over the cornice into the East Bowl that our partners had skiied.  If I fell and slid left, I would slide about 800 feet down the gully and to the bottom of the West Bowl that we climbed.   Neither was a very comforting option.

“What’s going on?!”  Jaime asked from above.
“Its solid ice!  I’m getting sketched.”  I said.
“Don’t do this to me, man!  If you fall, I have to come down and get you!  Climb down and traverse over to my track!”
Once again, the Burly Dude had the right idea.  I slowly downclimbed by placing each foot carefully in the steps that I had kicked earlier.  It was a sickening feeling having to bend my head down and look at my feet without getting scared of the 800 foot drop below. 

Finally, I reached the rocky saddle that I was laughing at on the way up.  I hugged the rocks and tried to calm my nerves.  I wouldn’t feel totally safe without my snowboard on my feet, so I switched over and strapped in.  Staying on my toeside, I traversed directly across the couloir (about 20 yards) to Jaime’s tracks.  From there I was able to climb easily, although the steepness still freaked me out.  Only when the slope subsided did I regain my composure. 

At the top of the knob, my partner was already gone, I followed his steps up the small ridge for another 50 yards, and finally found him on the summit.

“Thanks for helping me, again.” I said
“I told you not to go that way,  ‘Stairway to Heaven’ you said” he mocked me.  “You have to watch out for those melted out rocks on a south face…they mean ICE!”
Lesson learned, and I was already in picture taking mode on the summit.
“Put the camera away!  Live for the moment!”  The Burly Dude preached.

I followed him over to the entrance to the massive cut couloir on the North Face of the mountain.  We both got stoked immediately.  We were looking at a continuous line of untracked snow for almost a mile long. 

“I’ll make a few turns and then stop at those rocks and then you follow” Jaime said.  He took off with a yell and carved into the powder snow.  I followed and felt as light as a feather on the blower powder, contrary to the weight I felt during the past 5 hours of climbing.

From the first safety zone, we didn’t stop.  The line was much to incredible.  While the open face ended and the terrain narrowed down to a gully, we continued surfing the massive line.  In an almost ideal way, the conditions went from fluffy powder to spring corn, without a single icy or windblown patch in the whole line. 

I think I finally got the idea of “living for the moment.”  After the physical exhaustion and mental challenges that I had to overcome during the climb, I was now savoring every turn on the snowboard, during a 4,000 foot “AK-style” line directly down to town.

We could have rode forever, but our trip was cut by the same river that we encountered in the morning.  I was no longer worried about getting wet.  I was still high from the ride, that I ran right across the water, soaking my feet completely in the flowing stream.  I met my partner on the other side and gave him a high five. 

I turned and looked up at the gully as the truck approached with our compadres.  They had driven to the other side of town, and watched us decend down the entire face.

“How was it?”  Mike asked.
“Epic,” I replied.
“The Gnar,” according to the Burly Dude.
 

On a rare saturday in which I am in Denver and my boy Brian has a day off from the retail gig, we decided to head up to Loveland Ski Area and hike a few big mountain lines with convenient access via chairlift.  After a few warm up runs, we headed north from the top of Lift 9 and switched over to the climbing skins. We soon were stopped by a rope. We could see four patrollers and a sled high up on the ridge, so we sat and had a snack while watching the show.

BOOM!! Blast after blast went off, as patrol cut the slope. There was one small surface slide, but otherwise the snowpack was stable. Finally, the guy on the sled came down to us with a thumbs up sign, and opened up the ropes.

We scrambled to the summit and switched over the gear. There were two other skiers who bootpacked up behind us. The first guy on teles dropped in off the cornice and made a few turns, and it looked like excellent powder. I hiked a bit up the ridge with my board and made a very smooth drop directly down the face, making great turns in the snow before traversing over to the “chutes”.

There are about four chutes above Lift 8, and each one has its own difficulty and aethetics. The skiers went down the large middle chute, but Brian dropped in at the end and called me over. It was a narrow, S-curved couloir, and I made about 5 good jump turns before straightening it out and cruising down the apron to the main ski area.

While back on the lift, we discussed what to do next. Because it was a full moon, clear skies, and we had all our backcountry equipment, we thought of hiking out of bounds at the end of the day. After talking to ski patrol, we learned that the best way to leave the area was via a gate at the top of Lift 1.

On the way over to Lift 1, we decided to hit up the terrain park for a run. There was some jib event going on, with tents and music. However, the upper park, containing two “big air” jumps, had only a few people sessioning. We hit both jumps with decent speed, and I felt very confident. When we got to the lift, I turned to my partner and said “lets do it again”. We had watched multiple riders brake check before the jump, and land short on the end of the transition. I knew I could gather a lot of speed and air it out.

The second time around, Brian went first and threw a spread eagle. Then it was my turn. I started from much higher than usual, and I straight lined it directly at the feature without making a turn. As soon as I got airborn I completely lost balance. My head and body leaned over to the left, and my board was no longer under me.

“Ahhhhhh!” I screamed as it hit the ground hard. I don’t recall blacking out, because I kept screaming “My legs! Help! I broke my legs!” I was sliding out of control towards the second jump, but stopped myself and managed to take my board off.

The next moments were a blur. Brian had climbed back up to my position, and I asked him to go back to the landing and grab my goggles, which had flown off my head upon impact.

I don’t know how long it took for ski patrol to show up, but soon I was surrounded by a group of people who were all doing different things and asking me questions.

I knew my name, my partners name, the day of theweek and my location. However, I did not know what month it was, nor did I know what I had just done. However, Ski Patrol took one look at my helmet and said “we’re taking you down.”

Still in a concussion daze, they strapped me to a sled and took me to HQ. There I started hearing witness accounts of what happened.

“He was going fast, man.”
“Forty or fifty feet to the ground!”

Luckily, they managed to pull off two of my jackets without cutting them. When they found the avalanche beacon strapped to my chest, they said “That is strong procedure, man.”

I don’t know if I agreed to take an ambulance or not, but soon I was strapped to a backboard and loaded up. Right before I left, Brian showed me the accident report he filled out. On it was a picture of a stick man with a cloud saying “I’m going big!” and spiraling out of control.

The 50 mile ambulance ride down the hill was painful. My head was strapped so tight to the board and I was in exteme pain. My legs were strapped down, and all I wanted to do was flex my knees to see how they felt. I had most of my mental state together, and I chatted with the EMT while complaining of the uncomfortable conditions.

The ER at St. Anthony’s was the most chaotic scene of all. It must have been a slow week, because all these anxious young interns and nurses were all over me, like a scene out of the TV show “ER”. As soon as I got in, one guy says “Sorry, bro, but we’re cutting off these clothes.” Another one stuck some needles and an IV in my left arm. Soon a woman came and drew blood from my right arm. All throughout the nightmare, I could see people passing my helmet around, and everyone was shocked at the condition and telling me how lucky I was to be alive.

After a trip to the CT scan, and X-rays on my knees, I was left in peace. I listened to the monitor beep, and closed my eyes for a bit.

Soon I heard “Hey buddy,” and woke to see Brian standing over me. “You alive?”

“Yeah,” I said, but my knees hurt.

The nurse came back in and told me that I didn’t have any broken bones, and it was probably a sprained MCL. However, the bloodwork showed that I had a high white-blood cell count.

“Isn’t that good?” I asked, thinking back to the elementary school science classes.
“Well, it is a sign of intense trauma, so we are going to flush you with an IV and take blood again. You’ll be here for a few hours.”
“A few hours?!” I whined.

So for the next two hours I was moved out into the hallway. I patiently watched the IV drip go down slowly, while observing the hospital operations. I was going crazy, texting my girlfriend repeatedly, asking her to come and get me the hell out of there!

Finally I was released at 9 p.m., and I hobbled out to the car with a knee immobilizer on. I have proclaimed my retirement from the terrain park, but I can’t wait to heal up the knee and get back into the backcountry for the Spring Season.

What my skull would have looked like without the helmet.

February 16, 2008 

Thousands of people from all over the world come to visit Rocky Mountain National Park each year. Ninety-nine percent of those people have no idea the quantity, quality, and caliber of extreme skiing & snowboarding that God has given us there. It is not just my favorite place to ski and climb, but also just to hike and enjoy the scenery. The thing that sets this backcountry destination apart from the millions of acres of national forest and wilderness areas is that every one of those visiting tourists pays a fee that goes into a system of improvements that creates some of the most easily accessible snowriding lines in the state.  Since we live 150 miles apart during the week, my girlfriend and I wanted to get away somewhere special for the weekend after Valentine’s Day. I quickly thought of the Park, since I hadn’t been there in almost a year, and I’ve never been there in mid-winter.

Excited about ripping some new terrain, I started researching some mellow lines off of Flat Top Mountain. However, past TR’s about the Dragon’s Tail Couloir caught my attention. As I did more and more research, I discovered that while the Couloir was mostly traveled in the spring snowpack, it WAS possible to ski the line in Winter, under the right conditions. A quick call to the Burly Dude confirmed my suspicions. Apprehensive about the current snowpack, my mind was made up when I was directed toward Eli Helmuth’s website, www.climbinglife.com, an EXCELLENT resource for up to date information about the Park. 

Off to a late start, we arrived at the Bear Lake parking lot around 11 AM. However, the skies were clear and I knew we had a short approach, so I was not worried.  Bear Lake sits at an elevation of 9475 feet and is the final stop on the Beaar Lake Road, which makes it one of the most heavily visited areas in the Park. It was no suprise to me that we saw dozens of people of all types unloading snowshoes out of their minivans and SUVs. All eyes were on us as we pulled up in the Subaru and started unloading snowboards, ice axes, and a climbing rope. “Only in the Park”, was an expression I frequently told my partner.

Gearing up in the crowded parking lot. From the trailhead, there is a well marked trail that heads from Bear Lake to Dream Lake, and then finally Emerald Lake. In the winter this snowshoe trail has many offshoots that people have taken to other places, but with a little navigation we were able to make it to Emerald Lake by 1:30. The view of the upper cirque from the lake was incredible. Far up the valley we could see Hallet Peak (a classic trad climbing destination) and Tydall Glacier (a classic spring ski).

Snowshoeing towards Emerald Lake. Hallet Peak rises on the left; Tyndall Glacier farther up left-center. The Dragon’s Tail is the middle of the three jagged spires in the center, with the obvious couloir up the right side.

From Emerald Lake, we branched off North of the main valley and set forth up the apron towards the Couloir. On the way, I talked to some skiers that had come down the upper gorge, and learned that the snowpack was bomber, although the ski conditions were variable. No one had ventured up the Dragon’s Tail today.
Looking at the couloir from Emerald LakeWe made it up the steep apron on snowshoes and stopped under a large boulder. I decided to rope up for a variety of reasons, and we entered the couloir at 2:00. I had mandated a 4:00 turnaround time, so ensure that we would be back to the car by sunset, and I had good plans to top out by that time.
Beginning the steep section

Butler Gulch 1/20/08
Clear Creek County, CO, USA

This past weekend brought me out of the Elk Range and back into the Front Range (aka land of the long flat approaches). My new BC partner, V, has finally built up enough experience for a summit push above tree line. I haven’t climbed a wind-scoured ridge since last spring, so I chose Butler Gulch as the most obvious and accessible area.


A topo of the area–ascent in red, descent in green


“But Gulch” is a well-known playground just off of US-40 on the way up towards Berthoud Pass. We planned to get there in mid-morning, but V’s Subie suffered a flat tire and we were stuck wandering around Cherry Creek in our snowboard clothing for a few hours while we waited to get a new one. No worries, we still made it to the trailhead by 2:00, and I have done the climb once previously in the evening. I remembered how beautiful the sunset was from the ridge, so I encouraged her to go for it even though it was late.


Geared up and ready to go

In the parking lot, we encountered many skiers, snowshoers, and snowmobilers wrapping things up for the day. There was a suspicious cloud presence over the northern sky, but it looked like it might miss our southeastern route. As we took off from the trailhead, we ran into a few more skiers and snowshoers, but no snowboarders. For obvious reasons I knew, the first two miles of the approach are not friendly to a snowboarder on the descent. There are many ups and downs required to make it out.


V snowshoeing her way up the trail

As we cruised up the trail, I enjoyed the clear night and scenery. We stopped running into people after the first mile, and by 3:00 I knew that we had the entire basin to ourselves. I felt like I was in great shape, as we hit the switchbacks and I powered my splitboard up the mountain. Although I could see the sun begin its descent down towards the unnamed summit (Pt 12774′), I knew we could make it. The mountain looked very windblown (like most front range summits), and the snow above treeline was very hard packed. I did not dig a pit, but probed the snowpack in multiple locations, and it appeared stable. I made the decision then that I was going to attempt a big mountain line.


Beautiful terrain from Jones Pass to Berthoud Pass


Summit in sight

V and I reached the saddle and ridge at around 4:00. We took shelter behind some shrubs and looked out on the western horizon. V opted out of the summit push, so I made sure she hiked down a bit to a safe zone below the ridge. Once I was sure she was safe, I donned my alpine Loki jacket and worked my way up the ridge toward the peak. The wind was howling and trying to push me over the edge, but my mountaineering attitude took over as I laid seige. To me, this is what snowboard-mountaineering is all about.


View from the top

I took a few pics from the summit and quickly switched out my splitboard. From the top, there was no direct line on the face. A little bit discouraged, I made my way back down the ridge until I found a line of snow that went. It was steep, and very crusty, so I made sure to carry a pole in case things got too hairy. The snow was variable, just as expected, but I made it to a safe zone and waited for my partner to make her way down.


The author, sending it




There was some pow beneath the crust


V dropping in…




…and wiping out (she’s gonna kill me for posting that)

At treeline, we encountered some more reliable powder. We took turns taking fresh lines all the way down, and then made our way out of the drainage and back to the car before sunset.


I scoped this line on the way up


We passed at least 6 skiers coming down while we were skinning up. Yet this entire roller was left wide open for this lucky splitboarder!


Classic front range tree stashes

Williams Peak — 10,300′
Garfield County, CO

Adjusting to a new locality can be somewhat difficult; especially when the new area has an array of completely different backcountry stashes known only to the locals. When I left Denver, my home for three years, it was hard to leave behind my front range spots like Butler Gulch, Rollins Pass, the IPW, The Park, and my personal local playground–the Mt. Evans Wilderness. For the past few weeks I have found myself transplanted in the middle of the Roaring Fork Valley, with virtually no knowledge of the backcountry terrain.

However, upon my first two weeks here, I was offered a chance to check out the Glenwood Springs locals’ stash: Mt. Williams (a.k.a. “Willie’s”) with a 5 years local and his bro from Denver. This was also the first outing with the girlfriend, who has been super stoked to get to the BC and try out all her sweet new avy gear and recent education. My guide claimed that the lines were “mellow”, and I had a good idea of what was in store: classic winter low-angle glade skiing. NO worries, I was not out looking for insane avy lines this early in winter, and I was just excited to get a tour from someone in the know.

We met up with the GS boys at 10:00 am and headed up the road toward Sunlight Mountain Resort. At the top of the road, we turned off to a hard-packed road and continued to climb. I was surprised at how high the trailhead was, but soon we pulled upon a row of cars parked parallel. No sooner did I turn off the engine, than two snowboarders came shooting out of the trees and onto the road, hooting cries of joy and a most bodacious powder ride. We quickly put on all gear (myself and our leader on splits, the other two board-packing it).

Climbing the skin track

The author skinning up

We hiked up the road for about a half mile then turned off into the trees. The trail was very hard packed and definitely has seen a lot of traffic. However, while hiking, I took note of several uncut stashes of powder, with the occasional line or two around it. Although popular, this mountain is big enough for everyone.
During the ascent, the two guys had quickly disappeard out of sight. V left me in her tracks as she skipped up the mountain with ease, with a snowboard on her back. I was left bringing up the rear, which I am no stranger to, and I groveled along on my split. As I climbed, I took in the wonderful new surroundings. It was beautiful sunny day, and I could see far out west towards Grand Mesa, and the Western end of the Rockie Mountains.

View to the West

Near the upper section the climb, we found a corniced terrain trap. Curious after my avy class the previous day, I decided to try to make the cornice go. It only took one ski kick, and the cornice shattered, dumping blocks of snow into the flat spot below. I was in a safe, controlled location, but it was good to see that activity, in case I saw something bigger and more exposed later.

The small cornice I set off

The weather progressivly got more cloudy, and soon it began to snow. I started having trouble keeping my skins adhered to my boards, and after struggling with them twice, I was finally fed up with them, and shouldered my skis for the next 200 feet to the top. At the top, I was greeted with an ice-cold Miller Lite (they sure know how to treat a Chicago boy up here!)

V and I on the summit, with the awesome Mt. Sopris in the background

Having just taken an Avy Awareness course on Richmond Ridge the day before, I was eager to dig a pit an analyze a snowpack. While I was occupied with my excavation, the summit quickly became crowded. There were only another 4 or 5 people, but about twice as many dogs! One of them made quick work to my lunch, which was stashed in my half-opened pack 30 feet away from me. However, I was fixated on the snow pit. I performed a simple shovel shear test and broke loose a 2′ slab that certainly made me worry. The snowpack was still a little sketchy, but from what I’d gathered, our descent was of the G.F.P. nature, and would be relatively safe.

Jesse looks ready for the descent

From the top, our guide instructed us to ride the roller-coaster skin track down the ridge to the saddle, then drop onto the north face. I did as followed, and found a casual surf through knee deep powder. The terrain was very unique. Occasionally the dark tree run would open up into a huge glade full of untracked snow, and then funnel back into the trees, and out into the open again, at least three or four times. I found countless features ranging from small mushrooms to large rocks with nice soft landings below them.

Gotta love the aspen riding

He missed out on it, but you know I hit that mushroom in the middle of the pic

Eventually I lost track of my crew, and continued to follow the fall line to the road. As I removed my board and walked down to the road, I passed a boarder bootpacking it up.

“I left you a FEW lines…but you better get after it!”

After all, I was now tuned in to the Glenwood Springs local stash, and I definitely planned to go back.

<SPAN class=postbody><FONT size=2>Roughly halfway between Denver and Las Vegas, the ancient mining town of Silverton sits in a remote valley between two treacherous mountain passes. A backcountry ski trip here takes much more planning and determination than your regular jaunt in the front range. Early Friday mornign my partner loaded up the truck with everything we might need: winter camping gear, backcountry equipment, frontcountry boards, firewood, food &amp; drinks, extra fuel, shovels, and a 15′ x 30′ thermal concrete blanket for serious protection from the elements. As we started out from Denver we ran into our first obstacle immediately: dead batteries in the truck. Gratefully, Bob the maintenance man came to the rescue with a jump start, and we set off. <BR><BR>Within the first hours the evidence of the massive storm front was realized. It was snowing at the top of Vail Pass, and pouring rain in Glenwood Springs. To play things safe, we bought brand new batteries, and performed a parking lot install in the rain. By the time we reached Grand Junction, the skies were clear again, and we headed south towards the legendary San Juans. <BR><BR>By the time we reached Ouray the sun had set, the temperature dropped, and the snow was falling. True winter conditions were upon us. Having owned the truck for just about a month, I was anxious to try out the tire chains. Before climbing Red Mountain pass, we chained up the rear tires using a makeshift bungee system. The traction was incredible, but the snow was falling so heavy that I had to drive at 15 mph just to maintain visibility. About halfway up, we passed a loaded semi truck spinning his drive wheels with futility. I felt bad, but there was nothing we could do to help, so we continued on. The descent of the pass was much less treacherous, and the Powerstroke handled with might. <BR><BR><IMG src=”http://a775.ac-images.myspacecdn.com/images01/61/l_42ab55d5f9b884a666fdc425a965163e.jpg” border=0> <BR><SPAN style=”FONT-STYLE: italic”>Treacherous pass conditions</SPAN> <BR><BR>My first impression of Silverton, at 10 pm during a snowstorm, was interesting. We drove cautiously down the middle of main street, passing many closed businesses, but a few houses with warm lights coming from within. There was virtually no one on the road. Our plan was to drive directly to the ski area, and camp out the night. However, from town we had to climb a 6 mile hill, which had obviously not seen a plow since the storm started. The next two hours would go down in town history. I dropped the truck to 4H and blasted up the first S turn, and spun out immediatly. <BR><BR><IMG src=”http://a373.ac-images.myspacecdn.com/images01/111/l_d9c2a2d40c0a47d2073e86fce5c214bc.jpg” border=0> <BR><SPAN style=”FONT-STYLE: italic”>Brian’s turn to chain up</SPAN> <BR><BR>”Check the chains” Brian said. <BR>I got out and looked at the driver side tire: the chains were gone! I looked around the vicininty, but they could have been anywhere from here to Ouray. Luckily, I had two more sets so we chained up the missing rear and one of the front tires. <BR><BR>While we were chaining up at the base of the hill, a red Toyota SUV streaked by us, steered by a grinning schralper from New Mexico who introduced himself as Marley. “Once you get past the S-turn, you’re in the clear!” he yelled out his window as he rallied his 4×4 up the hill. We watched him make it a few yards past our original tracks, and then turn around and come down. Determined, he climbed up again…and came back down. “I’ll get up there eventually!” he yelled, and we were impressed by his determination and he yo-yo’d up and down the hill a half dozen times, making it up a little farther each time. Finally he was past the first half of the S-turn, but appeared to be stuck. With the chains on the truck, we followed in his tracks with ease. Once we passed our new friend, I asked Brian if we should help. <BR><BR>”Hell no, man…just keep this rig moving, he can follow in our tracks.” With the window down, I could hear the chains slapping against the wheel wells. ‘click…click….click…wooosh!” <BR><BR>”Shit, we just lost the chain!” I got out and found a broken bungee cord and the chain a few yards back. “I guess we gotta chain up again!” I yelled. It took a few minutes to chain up again, and by this time Marley had pulled up behind us. We put together a plan where I would lead the charge, and he would follow and watch for us to throw any more chains. <BR><BR>The snowpack got thicker the farther we drove up the hill. It was nearly 6 inches deep in some areas. Very slowly we made our way up, but kept throwing chains. Brian and I took turns going out into the storm to chain up, getting colder and wetter each time. Strangely, even with the weight of the truck, as soon as we lost a chain we lost total traction in 4 wheel drive. Eventually, while I was chaining up for the fifth time, Brian headed around the front of the truck. <BR><BR>”Hey dumbass…do you know you have manual locking hubs?!” he yelled. <BR>”Oh…I do know,” I explained in embarrassment as Brian locked the hubs in. <BR>”Haha…I’m never going to let you live that one down,” Marley said. <BR><BR>When we reached the parking lot, we could see the vague outline of the chairlift through the darkness. Brian backed the truck in next to a metal storage container, and we began to set up camp. My camp was easy: fold down the back seat into a bed and lay out my bedding. However, I helped Brian set up his tent underneath the tailgate of the truck. I had borrowed a large thermal blanket from the jobsite (the kind used to keep fresh concrete from freezing), and we stretched it from the tent in the back to the front of the truck. With the blanket over the cab and my two sleeping bags, I was quite warm and comfortable despite the massive storm outside. I finally drifted off to sleep around 2 AM, greatly anticipating the epic ski day in the morning. <BR><BR><IMG src=”http://a844.ac-images.myspacecdn.com/images01/106/l_16d012acddd4000225dfc440458c6c4b.jpg” border=0> <BR><SPAN style=”FONT-STYLE: italic”>Setting up a late camp</SPAN> <BR><BR>At 6 AM I was awoken by voices outside in the darkness. “Who’s over there?” one said, “Wake them up, tell them they have to move their car.” <BR>I looked out the window and saw that Marley, parked directly in front of me, was already outside and talking to the ski patrol. In the distance, a very large road scraper with a plow attachment was furiously plowing away. He came so close to the back of the truck that I thought he might rip Brian in half! I jumped out to warn him about the tent in the back. <BR><BR>”Hey dude, do I need to move my truck?!” I asked a ski patroller in red. <BR>”We’ll pull you out with the plow,” he responded. <BR>”But, we have a tent back here!” <BR>”What?” he asked me, then looked in the back and turned to yell to another guy “Hey! These guys have a tent set up!” <BR>”Tell them to pack it up!!” <BR><BR>Freezing cold and dreary-eyed, I put on my wet ski clothes and Brian and I frantically broke down his camp. <BR>”Hurry it up…this plow is a county guy, he’s pretty pissed” the ski patroller told me. They sure are cordial up here, aren’t they? <BR><BR>Before I could even warm up the glow plugs, they had hooked up chains to my bumper and yanked me out of the snow. I drove around to the side of the road near Marley and some other guy who was pulled out, and got out to get the beta on the situation. <BR><BR>Marley introduced me to Aaron, the owner of Silverton Mountain. “Our power is down, we’re not opening today,” he told us. “Go back down to town and make alternative plans.” <BR>”Well, I brought my skins,” I said. <BR>”Me too,” Marley said, and asked Aaron, “How are the conditions for touring?” <BR>”I would advise against it, there is serious wind loading going on up there, we may not even be able to do any avy control today.” <BR><BR>Disappointed, we eventually drove back down the freshly plowed road that we fought against the night before, and settled in at the Avalanche Coffee house. They had just opened for business, and for the next 4 hours made it our headquarters for operations. They had started a warm fire, and the fresh coffee was the most soothing thing I had experienced in the last 12 hours. Slowly, more and more skiers and boarders filed into the coffee shop. Everyone was dealing with the same situation: what the hell to do in Silverton during a snowstorm? <BR><BR><IMG src=”http://a374.ac-images.myspacecdn.com/images01/28/l_c78624b2ca619445f72a85a71ba9bd1d.jpg” border=0> <BR><SPAN style=”FONT-STYLE: italic”>The storm-slammed village</SPAN> <BR><BR>We met a cast of characters here. There was J.B., a tall storm-chaser from Denver who drove all the way down for his first turns of the season. We also met Bobby, a dreadlocked college student from Leadville, and his buddies, who had their laptop set up and investigating various weather and avy sites. As the cafe filled up, I made my way through the crowd, discussing conditions, expectations, and plans with many people who had traveled from Albequerque, Denver, and Wyoming, just for the opening of Silverton Mountain. After a few hours, with Brian cussing up a storm, and myself sprawled out on the couch with my blanket and slipper, the staff had informed us that we were wearing out our welcome (they just love us city f olk out here!) J.B. invited us back to his room at the Triangle Motel, where he said he had an extra bed and a TV with plenty of college football to watch. Together, Brian, Marley, and I ventured back to J.B.’s room and I was finally able to get some much needed rest after the rude awakening we had encountered hours earlier. Brian had gone to investigate the town, shoveling snow with the locals, and hiking up to the “big Jesus statue”. Bobby and his buddies did a small tour up the still-closed Kendall Mountain ski area. Mile-a-Minute Marley was constantly in and out of the room, expecting his friends to show up any minute, although they still had to battle with the mountain pass on the trip from Durango. <BR><BR><IMG src=”http://a212.ac-images.myspacecdn.com/images01/35/l_f0d4a6ed5e786631a4e17025615d911b.jpg” border=0> <BR><SPAN style=”FONT-STYLE: italic”>I’ve heard He came here to perform a miracle: creating gnar-nar terrain!</SPAN> <BR><BR><IMG src=”http://a353.ac-images.myspacecdn.com/images01/104/l_a4147959f98e6fab07a7ff6843ea10b8.jpg” border=0> <BR><SPAN style=”FONT-STYLE: italic”>Touring the town</SPAN> <BR><BR>After a refreshing shower, I headed down to meet the crazed New Mexican at the Silverton Brewery. I walked down the middle of mainstreet, past dozens of closed up businesses. I began to realize that Silverton prospers as a summer tourist destination, but in the winter time most of the businesses are closed except for coffee houses and bars, the two most patroned establishements by extreme skiers. The Brewery was a warm, welcoming place. Marley greeted me at the door and welcomed me to his home turf. About a dozen patrons were here, all strangers with one thing in common: trapped in Silverton. I traveled to the end of the bar and ordered a domestic Stout and some mozzarella sticks. Next to me was a tall rugged dude in a carhart and cowboy hat, chewing on some Copenhagen and conversing with the staff. As I got to know him, he claimed to be from northern Arizona, and came to Silveton because he “got pissed off one day” and headed towards the mountains. Now he makes a decent living operating construction equipment. When work was slow, he just hung out at the bar. I started to envy this simple mountain life. <BR><BR><IMG src=”http://a709.ac-images.myspacecdn.com/images01/106/l_6e9569487d519237fe3b5f1b689e5714.jpg” border=0> <BR><SPAN style=”FONT-STYLE: italic”>The only people having fun during the storm</SPAN> <BR><BR>I also met a Serbian fellow in knee high rain boots. He was a contractor from Philadelphia, who had come down here to buy some equipment, but couldn’t haul it out of town due to the storm. Not a local, or a skier, he was truly more “trapped” than anyone else. However, his outlook was bright, and he enjoyed the company of the bar, buying rounds for us adventure athletes and asking many questions about our sport. <BR><BR>Between Marley and I was a snowboarder from Denver, who had his laptop set up on the bar. “Do you splitboard?” I asked my one-plank brethren. <BR>”No, but I want to buy one,” he replied. <BR>”Dude…check out SPLITBOARD.COM!” I told him as he punched it into his computer and set up a bookmark. The dude was really interested in the website, as I helped him navigate through the forums and informed him about the second hand splitboard sales that he could find. <BR><BR>A few beers followed by a glass of Maker’s Mark, and I was beginning to feel very at home in the bar. The only female patron next to me was a strange one, shouting randomly at everyone and offering gummy worms out of a small plastic container. Upon further inspection, I noticed large green and red nuggets mixed in with the worms. “What do you have there?” I asked. <BR>”Nothing,” she replied and slid out the door into the alley. When she returned, she was about 10 times more loud and more obnoxious, and the green buds were noticeable missing from the container. <BR><BR><IMG src=”http://a339.ac-images.myspacecdn.com/images01/73/l_1b132707bb27ba9782dfa1452b5a25fa.jpg” border=0> <BR><SPAN style=”FONT-STYLE: italic”>Want some magic worms?</SPAN> <BR><BR>Having my fill of whiskey, I drifted off to sleep near the end of the Missouri-Oklahoma game (roughly 7 PM) and didn’t wake until J.B.’s alarm went off at 7 AM. I heard him dial his phone, then silence for a few minutes. Finally, I asked “What’s the word, dude?” <BR><BR>”They’re not opening” he replied sadly. <BR>”Well…lets get hiking!” <BR><BR>Outside the hotel, we hooked up with Bobby’s crew, and made a plan to attack the Minnehaha basin, just up the road past the mountain. During the drive up, I finally had a clear sight of the surroundin peaks, and I was blown away. The sheer dramatic rise of the San Juan mountains is like nothing up north. Peak after peak extended for miles, all covered with bright white snow. We were the first group to the trailhead. Brian, Bobby, and I set off on skins, and J.B. and Bobby’s boys bootpacked behind us. Naturally, I was the only splitboarder in the group! <BR><BR><IMG src=”http://a656.ac-images.myspacecdn.com/images01/94/l_1ee99873989617315e7139910d753737.jpg” border=0> <BR><SPAN style=”FONT-STYLE: italic”>Hitting the skin track</SPAN> <BR><BR><IMG src=”http://a79.ac-images.myspacecdn.com/images01/21/l_74556950070b6208e929fbdf4c564bbe.jpg” border=0> <BR><SPAN style=”FONT-STYLE: italic”>J.B. ducking a log with skis on his back. On the second time around we discovered that the slednecks had brought their chainsaw.</SPAN> <BR><BR>We headed up the County Road 53. There was a noticeable skin track underneath the fresh snow. The skinners traveled with ease, but the booters were having a hell of a time, postholing through two feet of fresh snow. Periodically we would stop to look down the adjacent slope, drooling over the potential lines to be had. As tempting as it was to drop in from the road, we decided to head towards tree-line for our first descent. Soon we lost the booters, and continued up to find a magnificent hut at the top of the hill! <BR><BR><IMG src=”http://a199.ac-images.myspacecdn.com/images01/92/l_6f53f988544190d6a30ba8ac0737106e.jpg” border=0> <BR><SPAN style=”FONT-STYLE: italic”>A backcountry paradise</SPAN> <BR><BR><IMG src=”http://a766.ac-images.myspacecdn.com/images01/18/l_8caaf9a37abe5bd3771fd8532a3fd635.jpg” border=0> <BR><SPAN style=”FONT-STYLE: italic”>I bet I could throw a trey off the roof</SPAN> <BR><BR>The panorama view of Silverton Ski area and Storm Peak was incredible, and the hut proved a suitable lunch spot as we sat for over an hour basking in the midmorning sun. We encountered a few tele skiers who had been up the day before, and while we were waiting for the rest of the group, they took advantage of the situation and grabbed the first lines of the morning. Finally, with no sign of J.B. or the others, we strapped in and hit the vertical. <BR><BR><IMG src=”http://a231.ac-images.myspacecdn.com/images01/82/l_279f5de9ce455566dcb811a55230bfae.jpg” border=0> <BR><SPAN style=”FONT-STYLE: italic”>Bobby dropping in</SPAN> <BR><BR><IMG src=”http://a142.ac-images.myspacecdn.com/images01/30/l_ec7f9d59641fa7889e6ef30a5f325e25.jpg” border=0> <BR><BR><IMG src=”http://a593.ac-images.myspacecdn.com/images01/55/l_6620e89c7c4eeec9b353352a6b1fecb8.jpg” border=0> <BR><SPAN style=”FONT-STYLE: italic”>Brian schralping it</SPAN> <BR><BR><IMG src=”http://a759.ac-images.myspacecdn.com/images01/102/l_a7e8f650cd0e874509339c8cd24b8166.jpg” border=0> <BR><BR>The end result was possible the best lines I’ve ever surfed in my life. The terrain was incredibly steep, and with three feet of fresh powder, provided plenty of face shots. Although the hike up took some endurance, making snowboard turns in powder worked my body and lungs ten times as much! I had to stop about every 400 feet just to catch my breath, and naturally got stuck in the snow. With so much snow on the board, it was impossible to get started without digging out the nose of the board. I was drenched with sweat and soaking wet with snow, but I didn’t care! We took turns snapping various pictures. At one point, Bobby had the camera on the road at the first switchback, and I bombed an open line through the trees. When I saw the flat road, I freaked out and threw on the brakes, throwing a white blast in the faces of everyone around! <BR><BR><IMG src=”http://a2.ac-images.myspacecdn.com/images01/2/l_07afeaa6061709c9325136e7934105e9.jpg” border=0> <BR>[img]Time to show the two-plankers how its done[/img] <BR><BR><IMG src=”http://a871.ac-images.myspacecdn.com/images01/68/l_02a08bceba589b22a536dac696f297ce.jpg” border=0> <BR><SPAN style=”FONT-STYLE: italic”>Your trusted narrator</SPAN> <BR><BR><IMG src=”http://a610.ac-images.myspacecdn.com/images01/6/l_622d73a4dda69a421f9c46f296dbd691.jpg” border=0> <BR><SPAN style=”FONT-STYLE: italic”>I’m in there somewhere, I swear!</SPAN> <BR><BR>The face shot was so strong that it took a few seconds before I could see clearly. “Oh shit! I hope I don’t hit a tree!” I thought. I hit the road and threw on the brakes, hearing laughter from my comrades at the sight of me covered in snow. <BR><BR><IMG src=”http://a936.ac-images.myspacecdn.com/images01/46/l_f6f6fdacb4481512ce3b3170b7ceea67.jpg” border=0> <BR><SPAN style=”FONT-STYLE: italic”>A face full of snow: priceless</SPAN> <BR><BR>During the descent, we noticed many slednecks taking over the trail. When I got sight of the trailhead, I found a virtual tailgating party, and when I stopped at my truck, who was there to greet me with a high five than the dude Marley himself. <BR><BR>”How was it?” he asked with a grin. <BR>”Sick, dude!” I was at a loss for words. <BR><BR>It was only about 1:00 in the afternoon, so we took 15 minutes to dry out the skins, cook some soup, and head back up the skin track again. The second run was just as good as the first, but with less stopping and camerawork, I was able to send 1000 feet of vertical in minutes. <BR><BR>With the sun on its way down, we said goodbye to our new friends and hauled off to Denver. Although we never really got to ride Silverton’s chairlift, we got the full effect of how extreme the mountain really is. The plan is to head back down in the beginning of January, so I’ll be having plenty of powder dreams during the next month! <BR><BR><IMG src=”http://a539.ac-images.myspacecdn.com/images01/87/l_3635b90422d95f300889c906a7e86062.jpg” border=0> <BR><SPAN style=”FONT-STYLE: italic”>The legendary San Juans can only be experienced firsthand. I shall return!</SPAN></FONT><BR></SPAN>

<SPAN class=postbody><FONT size=2>As my Bears utterly imploded in Detroit last week, I needed to take drastic action. At 3:00 Sunday afternoon, I called up Rob. <BR><BR>”Hey what are you up to?” <BR>”I’m thinking about going snowboarding,” <BR>”Where?” <BR>”Well, I’m looking up at the mountains…they look white.” <BR>”There’s snow up there…I’m down.” <BR><BR>The sun had already started to drop down in the western sky by the time we hit the highway at 4:20. We cruised up to the hills listening anxiously to the final outs of the Rockies game. Once they won the game, we celebrated briefly but then quickly got on the text messages to friends back in town to request tickets. <BR><BR>We rounded the bend and got a first glimse of the continental divide. It was a little discouraging. All the mountains were dusted with snow, but there just didn’t seem like enough had fallen yet (still September in the mountains, although the changing aspen leaves added a nice touch of scenery.) The trailhead was bone dry but that didn’t stop us from starting our assault on the mountain. The last time I had been here, in early April, everything had been covered in snow. However, the wind at the base of the glacier was just as brutal as it was in the spring. <BR><BR><IMG src=”http://i43.photobucket.com/albums/e396/luca_brasi944/070930_St%20Marys/IMG_0864-1.jpg” border=0> <BR><BR><IMG src=”http://i43.photobucket.com/albums/e396/luca_brasi944/070930_St%20Marys/IMG_0865.jpg” border=0> <BR><BR><BR><BR>Rob pointed out various features around the lake, and Brian offered his predictions of the upcoming winter snowpack. At around 11,000 feet, I was proud to see that some local squids had build up a nice little rail park on the largest patch of snow. Our mission led us beyond the park, but I snapped a few pics of the upcoming gold medalists. <BR><BR><IMG src=”http://i43.photobucket.com/albums/e396/luca_brasi944/070930_St%20Marys/IMG_0868.jpg” border=0> <BR><BR>We hit the high ridge above the glacier at around 6:30pm while the sun was still up. Instead of the abundant summer wildflowers that I had seen in the mountains for the past 4 months, there was nothing but a cold, desert tundra. I pointed out some of the various lines on the north face of James Peak: star light, shooting star, and super star…and bailout. <BR><BR>”Bailout is for the pussies,” I told Rob, “this year we’re going to hit up the shooting star.” <BR><BR><IMG src=”http://i43.photobucket.com/albums/e396/luca_brasi944/070930_St%20Marys/IMG_0871.jpg” border=0> <BR><BR>By the time we were ready to ride, all of the skiiers and boarders had left. However, their small booter remained. I rode down on some solid but smooth hardpack and took some pics of the other two guys hitting the jump, then hiked up hit the jump myself. It seemed to be well built. <BR><BR>”One more time,” I told Brian, “I think I’m going to put some junk on it.” <BR><BR>With the camera rolling, I hit the booter and threw the rotation…but didn’t quite “stick” the landing. </FONT><A class=postlink href=”http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eNHNMTyprK4″ target=_blank><SPAN style=”FONT-SIZE: 18px; LINE-HEIGHT: normal”><FONT color=#5493b4>This Video</FONT></SPAN></A><FONT size=2> speaks for itself. <BR><BR><IMG src=”http://i43.photobucket.com/albums/e396/luca_brasi944/070930_St%20Marys/IMG_0877.jpg” border=0> <BR><BR>Done with the jump, we started to ride down. The snow was less than ideal. After sideslipping through mostly dirt with a thin layer of snow on it, I finally was fed up and walked down a good 100 feet. Just when I thought it was time to put the board back on the pack, I caught sight of an untracked patch of snow about 80′ by 30′. I walked over and picked up a handful. <BR><BR><IMG src=”http://i43.photobucket.com/albums/e396/luca_brasi944/070930_St%20Marys/IMG_0890.jpg” border=0> <BR><BR>”Dust on crust, boys!” I yelled and frantically strapped on my board to beat the others to first tracks. We each got about 4 good pow turns and the patch was tracked out. I donned the headlamp and started the dark hike out. <BR><BR>Consensus on the trip: still no fresh snow. However, I am glad to have earned some September snow. There will probably be two long months to go before the season gets into full swing. But with two hunting trips, a vegas trip, weekends of football, and hopefully a few more weeks of baseball in Denver…the time should pass pretty quickly.</FONT><BR></SPAN>

Last week was the week from hell: cumulative fourteen hour workdays capped off by camping out in a tent on the jobsite Thursday night while the night crews went at it, and then full blown chaos Friday morning. If any of you happened to had crossed paths with me last week, I apologize for being a total spaz. After all was said and done I was completely burnt out on dealing with people, and I wanted nothing more than to escape into the wilderness on my own.

There were a couple of things that made this latest ski-mountaineering adventure special: it was my first solo mission, and could quite possibly be my last time on the snowboard for the summer. As I left the jobsite after everything died down Friday, choosing my destination was a no-brainer: Taylor Glacier.

As a frequent visitor to The Park, this was specifically my first time back to the Sky Pond cirque in almost two years. So many missions ago, I had experienced my first alpine expedition here, as Briguy and I attempted to climb the Petit Grepon. Although we did not summit, the two days spent bivying out around Sky Pond were a total trip. I remember looking up at Taylor Glacier, thinking that there was no way in hell I would ever ski it. Now, two years later, I knew there was no way in hell that I WASN’T going to ski it. Since then I had been back on the Grepon, but from the Gash, and was only able to look down into Sky Pond.

As I began to gather beta on the line Friday night, I started to get a little nervous.

“Yeah…its pretty gnarly” The Burly Dude told me over the phone, “It is steep, like 60 degrees at the top”.
“I climbed it” the Beta Bambino said, “It keeps getting steeper and steeper…no I didn’t ski it.”

Even Haddad’s book claimed the glacier to be incredibly steep, with a cornice at the top and a runnel down the middle (I would later learn that this description couldn’t be more correct.) Regardless, I set out for The Park on Saturday and stopped in the backcountry office to secure an overnight bivy permit directly at the base of the glacier. It hit the trailhead at 4:00 pm and immediately mob’d up the trail.


Trekking up past The Loch, Taylor Glacier is the obvious snow field high above.

Glacier Gorge trail is probably THE most popular hiking trail in The Park. This would be my fourth time up the trail, and I could have done it blindfolded. Still, as I passed at least 100 people both going up and down the trail, I found that my overnight pack and snowboard on my back made me quite the tourist attraction.

“Think you’ll find snow up there?” I know I will, I saw it from the road, didn’t you?
“What are you plannin’ on doing with that thing?” I thought I’d use it as a picnic table.
“That’s a heavy load, young man.” After the 3rd mile you get used to it.
“How high are you going?” To the top!

The most gapers were gathered near Alberta Falls and the lower part of the trail. They were the most confused by my equipment. As I trekked higher, I ran into more folks who knew what I was up to, and the silly questions were replaced with comments like “Good luck!”, “You’ve got some guts!”, and “It must be worth it.”


Above tree line at the Lake of Glass, the ski line starts to unfold.

I hauled ass up towards The Loch faster than ever before (actually, the snowboard was a little bit lighter than the climbing gear that I usually packed in to this area). Taylor Started to come into view, and I felt the adrenalin beginning to flow. As the sun began to move into the evening sky, I scrambled above tree line to Sky Pond and felt like everything was familiar, just as I left it two years ago. As I moved around the pond, I passed directly under the looming monoliths of The Saber, The Sharkstooth, and the elusive Petit Grepon. They were all void of any climbing activity, as if just standing guard into the night. However, my business was not with any of these soldiers, and I rallied past them, heading due south to the dark corner of the entire cirque, and the wide white apron of Taylor Glacier, finally arriving at my destination in a little under 4 hours.


Ascending the snowfield


A five star bivouac at its best


View of the valley from camp!

RMNP backcountry rules restrict any bivouac to be on rock or snow. The sharp and uneven talus was out of the question, so I picked a nice flat spot on the snowfield that gave me a nice view of the entire valley, and set up camp. Unless there were climbers settling at the Cathedral Spires, whom I didn’t see, I was completely alone without another human being for miles. Once the sun was down, the Alpine cold began to set in, and I boiled not one, but two, water bottles to warm my bag. I sat back and watched the sun set behind the Sharkstooth, and the orange alpenglow line krept higher and higher on Taylor Glacier until it was covered in shadow. I was relatively comfortable, but had to get out around 2 AM and boil a third bottle for the sleeping bag. After that, I slept peacefully until 6 AM.


Alpenglow on Taylor

The July sun was up before I was, and as I crawled out of the sleeping bag. I could tell it was going to be a hot day, and I need to get moving on the glacier before it got too wet. I pulled on my snowboard pants and boots, attached my crampons, and stowed everything else in the pack (I didn’t want to leave anything at camp in case I decided NOT to descend Taylor). I could see the top of the glacier, and I guessed it to be about 800 feet above my camp. There was a huge cornice at the top, but the side was melted out and I could see a route to the top of the ridge. What worried me more than the cornice was the deeply cut runnel directly down the middle of the glacier.


Starting the climb


The runnel, probably 400 feet long and quite intimidating!

The slope started out flat but very quickly turned almost vertical within the first 200 feet. For the rest of the climb, I gripped the ice axe by the shaft and stabbed the pick into the wall of snow in front of me, then made careful kicksteps as I made my way up one step at a time. I couldn’t have asked for better snow consolidation. It was just quite melted out enough that I was able to kick into the snow and support myself, but with an icy underlayer to support the crampon spikes. Occasionally I would encounter exceptionally hard or soft snow, and I had to self-arrest a half dozen times to keep from slipping. For some reason it was usually my right foot that would slip out, and I would jam down on the ice axe to catch myself as I looked down at the steep icy face below me.


About midway up the couloir. This pic really puts it in perspective of the seriousness of one small mistake.


The final, and steepest part of the climb to the cornice

I continued to climb as the sun got hotter and hotter. All I had for water was boiled snow from this morning, and I tried to avoid looking into the cloudy silt filled liquid as I drank frequently. I started to feel a little sick, but there was no turning back. As I made it to the part of the the face where the two couloirs split off, I decided to stay the course and continue to climb straight up, but I had to cross the runnel to get up to the top. I inched my way in first with my ski pole in my left hand, then swung the axe as high into the middle of the groove as possible, then very carefully traversed my feet until I was on the other side. I swung the axe again up the far wall, and crawled over the lip to the left side of the runnel.

Once in the final couloir section, I pumped all the way to the bottom of cornice and finally dropped my bag and breathed a sigh of relief. There was room enough where the cornice melted out to squeeze through, but it required some very dexterious rock climbing skills to get through.


A little squeeze chimney. Briguy would be proud!


Looking down at the route. I still can’t believe I climbed that!

While climbing the Cathedral Spires last summer and the summer before, I would often look across at Taylor and wonder what the other side looked like. Was it a steep headwall like the north face? When I finally climbed over the cornice and reached the Continental Divide I laughed out loud at my sight. Before me was a wide open grassy meadow full of green grass and bright yellow flowers! I felt as if I was in the Sound of Music. As if on cue, I looked to the West and saw three women trekking across the fields. Although my route was extremely challenging, I hadn’t even thought of encountering any other Alpinists up here. After talking to them, I discovered that they had come up Andrew’s Glacier (a lot less steep than Taylor) from the North and they were on their way to Mount Powell, on the other side of Taylor.


“The-Hills-are-alive….!!!”


Hundreds of lines on all these north facing slopes!


The climb took me about two hours, and I spent the next hour relaxing in the morning sun and taking in a spectacular view of the Sharkstooth and the Grepon. Finally, at 10 AM I decided that the snow was probably soft enough to attempt my descent.


If you’ve been here, this picture needs no explanation. For everyone else: the huge formation on the left is The Sharkstooth, the smaller double summit is the Petit Grepon (right) and The Penknife (left), and the rock in the back is The Saber.


I think this is either Chiefs Head Peak or McHenry’s Peak. Any input?


“Steep” is an understatement

I had spent the entire winter and summer earning my turns in the backcountry for this one single moment. The line I was attempting was steeper than any couloir I’d ever ridden. I was alone, but had all the necessary skills and practice to make my way down the face. The area below the cornice provided a nice platform to strap into my board, and I loaded up my pack and donned the ski goggles. I looked down at the suicide run I was about to attempt. I could have stood there all day without dropping in, but I decided the best way to overcome the nervous feeling was to just ‘go for it’.


Good thing I brought up the brass balls

I dropped in and made a quick toe-side turn. Immediately I could tell that a 60 degree slope no joke! I slid down about 50 feet and then made a jump turn towards heel-side. That is when I lost control. My edge went out and my pack was slammed against the wall of snow behind me. It all happened in an instant, and before I knew it I was trapped inside the treacherous runnel and sliding out of control, pushed pounds of went slush down all around me! I tried to self arrest with my axe behind me, but I knew the only way to self arrest would be to roll the snowboard back to toe-side. However, the runnel was so deep and narrow that I couldn’t make the turn, and I felt my slide getting faster and faster. My pack was pushing itself up and over my head, and I pushed the snowboard against the sidewalls of the luge track in any attempt to slow myself down.

Although I started to freak out when I first fell in, I rationalized the situation. Since I obeyed the “climb it first” rule, I knew that the runnel would eventually run out onto the apron, and the slope would start to flatten out. When this happened, I was able to jam the ice axe between my legs and bring myself to a stop. Breathing heavily, I just sat there trying to put together everything that had just happened. How many turns did I make before falling in? How fast was I going? For a split second I was scared for my life, but now time was stopped and I just sat on the side of the apron laughing at myself, “Way to gaff that one up, dude!”


One final look at the beast
The snow apron extended out almost all the way to Sky Pond, and I got back on the board, stowed the ice axe, and gracefully carved my way down the rest of the glacier, making as many wide turns as possible to make up for the wasted turns above. I reached the end of the snow field and took off the board for good. It was a thrill, but I was glad to be done. I changed into shorts, put on some sunscreen, and began the five mile hike down the trail.

I encountered the same hikers and tourists coming down the mountain, but my story was reversed.

“Did you find snow?” Sure did!
“You didn’t…you did!” one man said to me “You’ve got more guts than I do.” No, I’m just crazy.
“Where did you ride?” I just pointed back up at the lines in the snow.

I couldn’t help but feel like a rock star. No one saw my gaff session in the runnel, but they could see my tracks high up in the snow and knew immediately what I had gone through. I didn’t tell any hero stories, just the truth, but most were still amazed at my feat. As I got closer to the trailhead I encountered more of the tourist crowd in converse sneakers and jeans that had never even hiked above tree line, and recieved more and more shocked looks as I hauled ass down the trail to my car. Another mission completed and I’m still alive…


Last look from the road on the way home…

La Plata Peak - 14,336′
Northern Sawatch Range, Colorado
Saturday, May 26, 2007
Ascent via Northwest Ridge
Descent via North Couloirs
Crew: Adam (aka Your Narrator), Jaime (aka The Burly Dude aka The Gaff Leader), Jacob (aka The Bong Gaffer aka The Summit Toker)

This weekend was supposed to be my “graduation trip” from the CMC Ski Mountaineering course. Overall I thought the course was kind of lame (30 or so gapers yo-yoing trees on most of the trips). However, if I hadn’t had taken the class, I never would have met the Burly Dude, who also happened to be the splitboard instructor. He started the class in March with 3 students, and now he was down to the only one willing (or crazy enough) to follow him up and down the sickest lines the Rockies have to offer.We bailed out of Denver at 6 pm last Friday with plans to escape “urbanization” and have an epic Memorial Day weekend. The Sawatch Range was our destination, although we were still torn between Elbert or La Plata. The Box Creek Cirque of Elbert has the repuation of one of the all-time classic ski descents with 4,000 feet of continous corn. However, Chris Davenport’s TR of La Plata’s north face had us totally stoked for a steep couloir ride. As we made our way south of Leadville, Elbert grew more and more appealing, but we decided to head up to the La Plata trailhead to see what it was like. The Burly Dude had planned to meet The Bong Gaffer somewhere on Route 82, but without phone service, the possibility of finding the guy was getting slim. It was near dark when we reached the La Plata peak trailhead, and not soon after arriving did a dark pickup truck pull up next to us with a toked-out New Mexican at the helm with a wild Cheshire Cat-like grin.“Hey, you wouldn’t happen to be The Burly Dude?” the stranger asked. The Bong Gaffer turned out to be chilling on the side of the road when he just happened to look up to see my Silver Subaru streak by with a set of splitboards on the roof. Now that the team was assembled, we were able to put our heads together and decide what line to hit the next day. We decided to head back down the road to the Elbert Trailhead, but got quite confused by Lou Dawson’s description of the trailhead start, and since I had a misprint of Roach’s book that was missing Elbert and Massive (”when will I ever climb those two?” I contemplated at the time of buying the $5 misprint…cheap-ass), we were out of beta. It was already 10pm and after a little bit of shit-talking and debating, we finally made the decision to head back up to the La Plata trailhead and hit up the north face.

I finally got settled into my sleeping bag around 11 and set the alarm for 4am. Surprisingly, it was either a very warm night or just a warm location, because I slept well in my 15 degree down bag without getting the chills like most camping experiences. I was actually up at 3 with anticipation for the climb, and tossed and turned until the alarm finally went off.

“Yo, Burl…lets get on it!” I yelled to the motionless shape 30 yards away. He shot up and went over to the truck to rouse the Bong Gaffer, to no avail. I fired up the Jetboil and made some instant coffee and oatmeal while getting all the gear ready to go. Finally, when we were just about ready, sounds of movement came from the pickup.

“Are you guys ready to go?” The Bong Gaffer asked.
“Yeah man, we’ve been eating breakfast waiting on you.”
“Oh, cool…I’ll be ready in a second.”

The truck was silent for a second, and then I heard a recognizable percolating sound, and our third partner emerged, dressed and ready to hit the trail.

The sun was rising as we crossed over the roaring waterfall of South Fork Lake Creek. We took the standard Northwest Ridge route, so we never saw our descent line until almost to the summit. However, as we made it to treeline, it was no later than 6am and I could see the northeast face of Sayers Peak already starting to get baked. Our line on La Plata was more true north facing, but since it was almost June, I knew we had to rally to get up there before the snow got too wet.

Making our way up the northwest ridge as the sun was starting to hit.

Many people will tell you that La Plata’s standard route is a “long-ass slog”. They are not joking. The full weight of my snowboard was doing its work on my back as I scrambled up the skree and talus to the ridge. While technically a class 2 hike, it was one of the toughest climbs I can remember doing. We even got passed by some alpinists from CO Springs: G.I. Joe and his Swedish blondie companion. The Burly Dude started to contemplate some options for making the guy disappear and running off with the girl, but I reminded him that our true mission was to hit the couloir, and that pushing an American Soldier off a mountain on Memorial Day weekend would not bring good karma to our party.

Bluebird on the summit

As usual, I summited the mountain about 20 minutes later than everyone else. I found The Burly Dude playing around with his ice axe (that Swedish girl must have really gotten to him) and The Bong Gaffer looking quite content sitting in the rock wind wall.

“VIC-TORY!!!” (I’m sorry but I just had to do it!)

View of the Elk Range to the West

Mt. Elbert and Mt. Massive to the North

“We’ve got the line all scoped out, you’re gonna freak,” The Burly Dude told me. The sky was bluebird and it was still a little early, so we hung out for another 30 minutes before packing it up for the descent.

We were able to descent directly from the summit (about 10 yards skier’s right of the summit is the entrance to the couloir). Amazingly, the entire upper section was full of winter-like powder! The couloir extended about 1500 feet before opening up to a nice corn apron. We took turns at the lead, ensuring each rider a substantial amount of virgin snow to carve up. There were some tricky sections, but nothing extremely steep or tight. I would rate this couloir as a definite classic.

The Burly Dude starting the descent

The Bong Gaffer (this crazy bastard took a standing leap over a rock straight into the gut of the couloir…he called in an “ollie”)

“Don’t gaff out!”

Our lines from the upper section

Complete descent line in red

During the hike out to camp is when things started to get bad. To get out of the La Plata basin, we had to traverse over the northwest ridge back to the South Fork Lake Creek gulch. This was not easy, especially in the wet nasty snow. As we made our way across one of the very steep drainages, I lost my footing (I was first on skins, then in boots) and slid down a very steep face about 100 feet before I could self arrest. Without radios, I tried to yell up to my partners who had already crossed over to the western drainage.

“Get up here!” I could barely hear The Burly Dude yelling from somewhere above.
“I fell!” I responded.
“Stop…fuck….climb…fuck….fucking!” was basically all I could make out from the echo of his yelling (isn’t it amazing how even in the worst conditions you can still recognize the word “fuck” over most other mumblings?) , but it was obvious to me that he was getting upset.

I tried to climb back up the steep slope, but the snow was already melted and just postholed to nothingness, and couldn’t even find the solid ground to push myself up on. Skinning wasn’t an option: it was too steep to grab an edge. The only chance I had was to ride the snowboard on a hard traverse and make it out to the western drainage (which I knew was dry), somewhere below my companions, and hike back up. That did not work out as I planned. Even though I picked the most direct line, I got deeper and deeper into the woods. Finally I had no choice but to pack the board and bushwack my way out. I spent the next three hours climbing over downed trees in the La Plata basin drainage. I had a map and compass, and the view of Ellingwood Ridge to my right, but nothing but dense forests to my left. I figured that if I just kept heading left (west), I would eventually cross over the ridge and find the standard route trail, which would take me over the wooden bridge and back to camp.

I never found the trail. I ended up all the way at the river drainage. It was almost 5pm and the sun was beginning to go down in the western sky. I kept stumbling across lightly worn trails, and I would follow them, but then they would disappear. My boots were soaking wet. At this point I was really starting to freak out, and the possibility of spending the night in the wilderness was becoming real. I did a mental check of my condition. I didn’t have a sleeping bag or pad to stay insulated through the night, but
I knew I had a lighter and some paper, and there was more than enough dead wood lying about to make a fire to keep warm.

As I was making my way up the South Fork Lake Creek, repeating Hail Marys and wishing I hadn’t laughed so much at Bear Gryll’s antics on TV, I spotted something I thought I’d never be so excited to see: the bridge we had crossed during the early light twelve hours before. I screamed in excitement and ran for the bridge, bounded up and over the last remaining hill and saw the welcoming sight of my car and the other truck.

“Whoop whoop!” I yelled, expecting to see my two companions, but I only saw The Bong Gaffer. Apparently The Burly Dude had waited up top for me to climb up. I was informed that he was going to wait two hours and then eventually hike down. After hearing about the selfless actions of the group leader and class instructor, I felt even worse, but there was nothing I coulud do but sit around at with the spaced-out New Mexican and his plastic Graffix and wait.

Not more than 20 minutes after my return, our last party member made his way down to the trailhead. Expecting to get reamed out…I immediatly reached in the cooler for an ice cold one and offered it to the grim face before me. But there was no reaming.

“I’m glad you’re here” he said.
“I’m glad you’re here” I replied.

As freaked out as I was while lost in the woods, I could tell he was even more freaked out at a failed responsibility. But now that the crew was together again, we were finally able to relax and resume the shit-talking about hitting up more lines the next day.

After debating the possibility of hitting Elbert the next day, we decided to save it for next year and stick with plan A: return to the front range and hit up Mt. Evans now that the road was open to summit lake.

On the way out, we stopped in the tiny town of Twin Lakes. While in the car waiting for the Bong Gaffer at the Liqour Store, we were looking at a nice little log cabin on the side of the road.

“Man, I’d love to live that life,” The Burly Dude said, in reference to the simple cabin life. While staring at the cabin, its tenant emerged. He was a bearded looking gentleman with a hunters vest and a big belt buckle. He stopped and stared back at us…saying nothing.

“We’re just checking out your cabin” I said in a friendly tone (no need to upset the locals on our way out)
“Oh…its very nice…gets cold sometimes” he said in a very boring and dry tone. He stopped there and kept on staring. “You boys look familiar…”
“We’ve been in a few movies,” I fibbed, hoping to catch the townie off guard.
“Extreme skiing…” The Burly Dude played along with my game
“That’s right….Chris, right?” The Townie responded (directing towards The Burly Dude as if they were old friends. “How is the skiing quest going? Still have the website?”

I almost lost my composure at this point. Was this really happening? This Twin Lakes local believes that the ski bum sitting next to me is Chris Davenport?! The Burly Dude caught on right away, and took the opportunity to keep it going.

“Website is looking great…you should check it out. We just skiied La Plata today” he said.
“Oh, we’ll we’re glad you boys are here!” at this point the man was right next to my window.

On the other side of the car, The Bong Gaffer emerged and was confronted by the townie. Apparently I should have never judged this book by its cover (or belt buckle), but this guy turned out to have some excellent beta on Mt. Evans, our destination for the next day. He even told us a wild story about how he “had to haul two dogs up the route using some webbing…” The following video is a little amateur but great for a laugh.
Finally, we had to part ways with our new friend (who no doubt was on his way to the local pub to let everyone know that ‘Chris’ had stopped by again) and head back up north for tomorrow’s adventure.