Adam L. Reiner – Splitboarding, mountaineering, and lifestyle in the Colorado Rockies

On our recent Valentine’s weekend getaway to Telluride (fantastic area–ride it if you have the chance!), I made sure to work in a side excursion to Red Mountain pass, above Ouray. Sunday provided some very good conditions for the backcounty. It had been a few days since the last snowfall, and the snowpack seemed relatively stable.

Although I’ve never done any riding off Red Mountain pass, I’ve driven over it on two past trips to Silverton. The stunning scenery of the San Juans along with the seemingly isolation of the area had stuck it in my mind ever since. What is a classic mainstay for locals also makes for a worthwhile road trip for any front-range rider.

Being unfamiliar with the pass, I went straight to the map posted at the parking area. Various areas were outlined: motorized and non-motorized. I have heard of the current struggle between various recreational users on Red Mountain Pass, from various groups such as Backcountry Snowsports Alliance. It looks like the groups made some headway, for I identified an area on the west side of the pass that was designated as ‘non-motorized’.

View up the intended route on the west side of the pass.

We started climbing up a skin-track that was already laid down recently. It looked like it climbed up the fluffy rolling hills directly west of the parking area, so we decided to stick with the track as opposed to trying to find our own way. The snow conditions were variable along the climb. Although the east-facing snow was soft, the skin track bent onto a south aspect that was very icy. (The steep icy face caused me to briefly flashback to my scary experience not too far away on Kendall Mountain last April)

The stunning backdrop of the San Juan mountains!

Along the climb, I was looking back toward the east at the face on the other side of the highway. There were a lot more tracks on that side, and I had wondered if the conditions would be better over there.

Here we are hiking up on the first route. In the background is the cliffs and tracks described in the second route of this TR.

Nevertheless, after climbing about 800 feet, we reached treeline and decided not to go any farther. From there, we mounted our snowboards and made some excellent turns on the nice rolling terrain.

I am looking down my line before dropping in

Miss V. cruising the soft powder

Back at the car, we decided to head up the west side of the road. The face I had admired was a very steep aspect with various cliffs, although I could make out many lines between the cliffs that had obvious ski tracks in them. Once more, this area also had a snow-covered county road that led us on a moderate climb up and around the mountain.

Here we are hiking up the county road on the east side of the pass. The treed glades in the background are the first route of this TR.

We encountered more people on this route. Most of them were skiing or boarding down the road. However, since we saw tracks directly on the west face of the hill, I knew there just had to be a way up to the top. Sure enough, as the road rounded the south side of the hill, a skin track appeared and climbed steeply past the ruins of a few mining cabins and up the backside of the hill.

At the top of the track, we were surprised to see a hut. No doubt, it was part of the San Juan hut system. No one was at home. We snowboarded down past the hut and found some excellent powder lines in the trees. When we approached the cliff band, we followed the tracks out around to the left, and made the final thrilling descent down the steep face–the powder was excellent.

Soft powder in the trees.

Making the final descent.

On a side note, we had a wonderful time in Ouray at the [urlhttp://www.wiesbadenhotsprings.com/]Wiesbaden Motel [/url]. Having just picked it off the website, it turned out to be a great find. The motel features a natural underground vapor cave and hot spring pool, along with quiet and comfortable rooms. It was a very tranquil and relaxing way to end the trip and I recommend staying there if ever in Ouray.

Back down to beautiful Ouray!

Arg!  Enough of the political blogs.  Although I like to publish my opinion on all the crazyness in the world, I was quickly reminded by my estranged heterosexual life partner: “I don’t give a damn about your political beliefs!  I want to see some mountains and powder.”

Well here you go, fans.  I present to you my first turns, all earned without the use of mechanical power and rewarded by the splitboard.

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Sunday, November 23rd — Aspen Mountain

Aspen was not yet open for business at this time, but snowmaking crews crews had been working day and night to build the racecourse for the annual opening event of the Women’s World Cup competition.  Naturally, I just had to get up extra early before the crews started and skinned up the course for some fresh corduroy…my first ride of the year.

I started skinning up the course just after dawn, passing many snowmaking machines that had been running all night long.

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As the sun began to rise, I had a great view of the town below.  In the middle of the photo, with plastic on the roof, is the building that I’ve been working on all year long.  It is almost to completion and looks amazing.

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Having climbed nearly 1,000 feet up, I decided to put the snowboard on and make some turns.  Here, right before the descent.  It was an incredibly fast racecourse, and I had a little taste of what the professionals were about to compete on in a few days.
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Sunday, Dec 21, 2008 — Backcountry near Ashcroft, CO

This weekend I took an AIARE Level 1 Certification Course.  On the final day of class, my group of 7 were charged with putting together a short tour, where we evaluated the terrain and snowpack and practice safe decision making.

I met some cool people in the class. Here, the whole crew is heading up the mountain.
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Across the valley, we observed the crown of a large avalanche that had occured a few days earlier.  (The crown is visible in the shady area in the middle of the photo)
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After hiking a few miles and a few 1,000 feet up Devaney Creek, we stopped for lunch.  To our south, the Castle Creek valley spreads out across the horizon.
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After lunch, we found a safe spot to dig a pit and analyze the snowpack.  Here, Brian demonstrates a compression test.  It took over 20 taps for the column to fail, but it failed all the way down to the lowest layer of depth hoar.  Not a good sign for avalanche safety in the area.
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Having made a collective decision on the danger level, we agreed to play it safe and ski in the low-angled trees.  The payoff was some incredible untracked powder, and well worth the work.

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Saturday, January 3, 2009 — Mt. Evans

Today Vanessa and I took a very short trip from Denver to a “secret stash” near the Mt. Evans road.  I’ve had some good conditions in years past, when the front range saw above-average snowfall.  This year, prospects were not as good.

Vanessa hiking up through the trees south of the road.  We could see rocks and deadfall.  This caused us to be discouraged of actually snowboarding down.
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Usually, if conditions in the trees are not ready, we could snowboard down the road.  Unfortunately, too little snow in the front range left us hiking all the way back down.

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I did a little scouting to find a good descent line, but after just having spent $100 on repairs to my splitboard, I didn’t think it was worth it to try to ride down with such little snowcover.

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Sunday, January 4, 2008 — Berthoud Pass

Discouraged but not defeated, V and I paired up with a Josh, a bud from splitboard.com, and headed up to the ever-popular Berthoud Pass.  We had an early start, and it was a sunny, blue-sky day.

Berthoud Pass is easily one of the most popular backcountry ski areas in the state.  An alliance of enthusiasts has done an excellent job in making improvements to the old ski area.  While all the chairlifts are gone, there is an expanded parking lot and hut complete with multiple composting toilets.  Here, a train of skiers heads up the established skin track to the west of Highway 40.

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From the top of the west side of the pass, we had an excellent view of the surrounding terrain.  Avalanche danger was considerable near treeline today, so we took some very conservative lines.  Still, my mind wandered in awe at the extreme couloirs at the headwall across the valley.

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On the descent, we found a few inches of powder over some hard crust.  Still, we made some good turns.  Here, Vanessa shows how it is done.

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Josh is rocking the custom splitboard.

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Another great pic of my stellar girlfriend!

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Josh got some great blasts of front-range pow.

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After a good 2000′ of vertical, we rode right to the highway and stuck our thumbs out.  Hitchiking is the standard practice on Berthoud Pass, and anyone with an empty truck bed would be wise to pick up skiers.  With multiple slide paths the threaten highway travellers here, good karma  is well respected.

It was a cold day up there (my thermometer was reading single digits).  Fortunately, we took a coffee break before heading out for a second run.

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That’s all for now!

The first month of splitboarding has had its ups and downs.  January looks promising, and I have some trips to Vail Pass and Rocky Mountain National Park in the works…. STAY TUNED!

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.