SKI
May 5, 2015
It's been about almost two weeks since I returned from the final ski trip, and already I find myself straining to remember all the details; It felt like ages ago since I first split my board and started uphill, but I'll do my best to recount most of it, all while somehow keeping my thoughts in order and you, the reader of this blog, engaged (if anyone really reads this besides my parents and cheek-pinching long time family friends).
Now for those of you that are unaware, or just those that are confused when I use the term "ski" (I can already see many of you thinking, 'wait, Clay became a real man and learned to ski?' I assure you, I have not yet done either), I feel that I must clarify. My mode of transport is a split board, that is, a snowboard that splits in half lengthwise to form skis to climb uphill, and magically forms back into a snowboard to ride downhill. So whenever I throw around the word "ski," I'm using it lightly, maybe it subconsciously brings up my self-esteem after years of mockery for restraining myself to one plank, or maybe "snowboard" is just too many syllables and I just like to be efficient. But that's enough yapping, lets get to the story telling.
For our first day we went to Sunshine village just to get the snow under our feet again and shake off the cob webs, but I won't get much into that particular day. Long story short, it was a bad day, moral was very low after that. From there, we picked ourselves off the floor to head off on our first winter camping excursion, two nights and three days in the Sunshine backcountry. The team had a great time! There was about 30cm of frech snow to soften every thing up and cover any remaining tracks (which was especially good because we were very fearful of an icy ski in) and it also gave us a fun route-finding challenge. Off we went into the unknown with little guidance (for the purpose of learning from our mistakes) skinning through thick forest in search of a pass that none of us had every seen before or knew how to find. After a bit of searching and pointing in the right direction from our guides, we arrived at camp with relative ease.
After a great first night, we skied over to Healy Pass to get in some turns. We did some exploring and got more uptrack lessons, before attaining a small but scenic peak. From there, we split off into two groups based on experience level. My group headed down the slope first; coverage was thin at the top but by the bottom the cruising was smooth and carefree. Shortly after arriving at the bottom, we got a call on the radio that one of the girls had gotten hurt. Concerned but unable to achieve further contact with the group at the summit, we skinned back up to meet our other party once again. There we found Haruhi with a badly twisted knee and ankle, with no conceivable way of her getting off the peak by her own strength. The helicopter had to be called. Discouraged but not beaten, we all made our way back to camp after a speedy and worry free evacuation. One more night was spent at the same camp, and by early afternoon the next day, we were back at the van, excited to be done but eagerly awaiting the next trip.
For our next outing, we headed to Asulkan Pass in the Rogers Pass to continue our Avi assessment experience, culminating with AST2 level training. The ski in was a bit of a jaunt (Asulkan has been affectionately nicknamed 'A-slog-in') but we made it in without too much difficulty, accrediting most of our success to the lack of new snow and almost zero trail-breaking. The forecast was for heavy snow the first night, slowly letting up in the morning with light snow for the rest of the trip, hopefully lasting 5 days. Now for those who have not been into Asulkan, the crux of the approach (at least in avalanche terms) is a small section of unavoidable avalanche terrain called the 'mouse trap.' The mouse trap is a convergence of three massive avalanche prone slopes all leading to a single terrain trap runout zone, of which you must walk directly through. Stability there is variable, but we hit it at a particularly bomber day so our fears were minimal, but it lingered in the back of our minds, fully aware that we would have to cross it on our way out.
We woke up the first morning absolutely buried. 40cm fell over night which exceeded the forecast and is mother nature's equivalent of projectile vomit. It would be hard to get more snow to fall in such a short period of time. So for our first full day, we waited. Visibility was horrendous and stability was unknown with the freshly loaded snow so we spent the day constructing a castle of a cook-shelter, with stoke high for the following days of blower snow conditions.
We woke up on the second morning and it felt exactly like the first. The forecast by this point had been completely ignored by the weather powers that be and we were getting very concerned about the days to follow. This prompted a lengthy avalanche discussion with the guides. Here we were, burried in snow (by this point about a metre in total) with a bunch of the team scared to ski storm snow (depths they had never imagined possible) while others like me had an ever burning enthusiasm strap on my snorkel and "go huck some gnar" as my guide would say.
It was at this point the guides broke the news to us, "it's calling for rain tomorrow." This removed all doubts in our minds. With a metre of unconsolidated Selkirk pow and rain coming to saturate the slab, we knew we had to bail so that we could cross the mouse trap, and not just that; slopes were all around us! Even if we had stayed, there's nothing that would would have been able to ski safely.
As disappointing as it was, it was great to be put in a situation where those tough decisions had to be made. Human factors are a big part of avalanche problems and we had to make the adult decision. Besides, we spent the next day at Bow Summit learning all sorts of avalanche awareness techniques and the day after I got in one of the most fun descents of my life at Surprise Pass, a narrow chute leading to a unimaginably long run overlooking the Chateau Lake Louise.
At this point many of us eagerly awaited or upcoming ski mountaineering trip, while others who were falling ill or priorities were not skiing were beginning to dread the upcoming expedition. The plan was to ski the Wapta Icefield, not an entire traverse as we didn't want to spend too much time moving camp as it would take away from our learning and how much downhill we could squeeze into a six day trip. The plan was rather to establish two or three camps, allowing for more long day trips and evening laps on the Diablaret Glacier.
For me, the trip was amazing. At first my excitement was a little bit lacking, mostly because I am interested in steep gladed runs with challenging cliffy terrain, of which glacier skiing does not really offer. Still I still feel as though I will spend more time skiing the terrain of the Rogers Pass and Selkirks, but I certainly have much more of an appreciation for skiing glaciated terrain and the fun there is to be had on it. Glaciers are very mellow terrain, mostly flat even, their saving grace is that they are gernerally at very high altitude and have a large number of prominent peaks poking through. This allows for generally quick ascents of very large peaks (for us it was 10,000+ feet) and extremely long runs with seemingly endless turns. I always saw photos of runs freshly skied wit hundreds of European style turns in perfect synchronicity following the slope to its eventual mellow termination (as my Norwegian friend would say, 'I like turns') and I always thought, "that looks so boring." It was not until I myself was on such a slope that I was making turns like that and loving every minute of it! Granted, I still made about half as many turns as the Norwegian; In any case though, the perfect soft snow is just too infectious to ignore.
It was so cool to be out there on an endless expeanse of white, knowing the terrain below us was riddled with crevasses, but having confidence knowing that the three metre snowpack would support us. Never before have I stood over 10,000 feet and there I was, not just standing upon, but skiing off of peaks nearly 11,000 feet at the top. Still I fear glaciers with my very limited knowledge and experience on them, but I will continue to get miles under my skins in hopes of one day skiing glaciers on my own.
Now here I am at the end of it all. 2015 being one of the worst winters for the Pacific Northwest, but still I was able to have the best skiing season I have ever had. I also had the least runs out of any other year, hell, I did't even get to ski in the Rogers Pass despite being there for three days! There is something about just being out there that does it for me. Getting to each campsite and to the top of each peak by your own strength, building a kitchen, living in a tent, never having dry feet, constantly on the edge of cold, nearly warm, but never completely. That's what skiing is about.
"Because it's There" - George Mallory
Wander, Wander, Repeat
- CG
