Powder Skating!

Despite the season's biggest dump over the weekend, I chose to wax up my skate skis and head out for the Alta Freestyle Nordic race with my parents on Saturday.  Put on by TVTAP, it has a well-established history (in its short lifespan) of welcoming racers with atrocious conditions.  At least this year was just powder, unlike last year's single-digit temps and 20mph ground blizzard.  Nick and the grooming crew did as much as they could, but all of that fresh powder is only going to pack down so much.

The racing was fun, a high-quality whupping for my haven't-skate-skied-in-a-month body, but more fun was watching my dad's improvement over last year's race--never had to stop to catch his breath, dropped 5 minutes off his 10km race time!  Pretty good for a dude 2 days shy of his 69th birthday, and good enough to take second-place in the 60+ age division.  Sick.

So here's a little video from the day--thanks for being our camerawoman mom!

Now back to our regularly scheduled powder skiing...

(Trying To) Get Smart

Ever heard the saying, "I'd rather be lucky than good"?  Unfortunately, as I like to tell avalanche course students, luck is a poor risk management strategy.

I'd rather be good than lucky.

And part of being good is approaching the mountains with a healthy dose of intelligence and humility.  Luck runs out eventually.

Parker and I were really fired up to explore a ski descent of the original Briggs Route on the Grand Teton yesterday, but 9-18" of new snow (depending on which site you look at) combined with strong winds out of the northwest made us suspect that avalanche conditions would be too touchy up there.  So we pulled the plug.

Better to be good than lucky.

The North Face of Buck seen from the South Teton, with the summit of Mt. Wister in the foreground.  The Newc is the right-hand couloir, starting in the notch to the right of Buck's summit.

We shifted our sights to the Newc Couloir on the North Face of Buck Mountain.  (Named after Mark Newcomb, who made the first known descent of it in 1995.)  STEEP, narrow, and long, the Newc faces just about dead north, so the prevailing winds shouldn't have loaded it up and any storm snow instability had probably sluffed out of it.

Working against us was the forecasted cloudy morning and winds; but with the right timing the clouds would burn off and we would be sheltered from the wind in the couloir, right?

Also working against us was that this was our last day off before a long string of guiding and avalanche course work.  In reality, we knew we were going to be a day early for primo weather, but them's the breaks.

Feeling pressure to get after it?  No doubt.

We had a lovely skin up 25-Short in the wee hours of the morning, topping out just after sunrise with gorgeous views into the valley below.  The final ridge showed obvious and significant effects from our recent winds--scouring on the crest with some new wind-slab development on the upper East- and Southeast-facing slopes.

Photo: Josh Parker

Standing at the top, with winds ripping through the higher peaks and a wall of clouds blocking the view into Avalanche Canyon, we knew pretty clearly that the Newc wasn't in the cards.  Crap.

What we could see of the high peaks made us feel good about our decision to forego the Grand--it looked well-loaded up, and there were fresh avalanche crowns on the East Face of the Middle Teton.

This was the view into Avalanche Canyon from the top of the Turkey Chute.  Damn.

We had a good conversation about it, and decided that it was just going to be a good day for powder skiing.  So, with gorgeous pow below us to the east we decided to make an initial run back down the slopes of 25-Short.  And it was damn fine.

After a little assessment...Photo: Josh Parker

...The powder was quite nice.Photo: Josh Parker

"This is the first time I've woken up at 3am to go powder skiing!"  Parker getting some powder turns on the sunny side.

The skin back up was sunny and warm, and when we hit the top we decided to check out the Turkey Chute for a second run on the day.  

The entrance to the Turkey Chute has been blown a bit thin.  At least there's no avalanche hazard.

There was a heavily wind-loaded pocket on the left side, but the rest was boottop, firm powder glued in place.  So how to manage it?  Stay to the center/right and rip it.

Dense, fast powder glued into the Turkey Chute.  Sick.

Yup, that was fun.

And it stayed good all the way to the bottom of the canyon.Photo: Josh Parker

It was a lovely day to skate out of the mountains, but look at the wind up high!  Brrr.

It did sting a bit to turn back from the Newc, but ultimately we made the best decisions with the information we had at the time.  If I had it to do over again I'd do the same thing, and that feels good.

"Ski Mountaineering"? I Think Not.

I have a few friends who get way into the whole rando ski racing thing, and once I look past the hype and the spandex suits I am totally impressed by their athleticism.  The speed at which they climb and descend on their tiny little race skis is amazing.  I have zero drive to join them, but I admire what they're doing.

Ski mountaineering it is not.

Perhaps it's a compulsive need for honesty in language and communication.  Maybe it's just that I love ski mountaineering and have a deep respect for the sport and those who do it well.  Either way, it strikes me as disingenuous that people refer to rando racing as "Ski Mountaineering Racing".

There's even a non-profit organizing body for it in the US.  According to their website, "The United States Ski Mountaineering Association (USSMA) sanctions and governs competitive ski mountaineering racing in the US and promotes and fosters recreational ski mountaineering through access, resources, education and community."

What am I getting at?  There is no actual ski mountaineering in these "ski mountaineering" races!  Doesn't anybody else see it?  It's uphill-downhill ski racing--running up hills to ski back down.  Which is impressive in its own right, but please let us stop calling it what it's not.

Years ago in a fit of questionable judgment I entered the Jackson Hole event on my snowboard, thinking that it might be interesting to test my abilities on some of the more extreme ski terrain in the US.  And then we skinned up groomers and moguls, and skied down a bunch of the same.  The climb up Corbet's Couloir had the potential to offer a good technical challenge, until they put a ladder up it and turned it into just another bootpack.

Hell, in the US most of these races aren't even held in the backcountry, let alone in mountaineering terrain.  The track is set (no route-finding or trail-breaking involved,) the hazards are controlled, and you would have to really fuck up to get yourself lost.  At least in Europe they race on glaciers, but their "safety systems" are little more than g-strings with dental floss used to attach to one's teammates.  Which is probably appropriate on a controlled course with virtually zero objective hazards.

"But you wouldn't be able to travel at racing speeds while safely making technical moves."  You're probably right.

"It wouldn't be fair to the race leaders if they had to break trail for everybody else."  Debatable, but missing the point; I'm not arguing that the sport be changed, just that we stop calling it what it's not.

By no means am I trying to take away from the remarkable athleticism of the racers out there competing in these events.  They're amazing.  Their accomplishments are amazing.  What they have dangling between their legs is doubtless far chubbier than mine.  (The guys, anyway.)

And there is no doubt that rando racing has propelled innovation in ski touring gear leaps and bounds in the last decade.  The development in equipment and techniques inspired by racing is awesome; every one of us in the backcountry benefit from it.

But it's still not ski mountaineering.

Andrew McLean on the second known descent of the Hossack-McGowan Couloir on the Grand Teton.

Mountaineering is exploration and adventure, challenging oneself to see if that summit is achievable or that range can be traversed, assessing and managing hazards, succeeding or not based on one's skills, endurance, and judgment.  Add skis to the mix and it's all about taking on a difficult descent involving some degree of objective hazard with poise and grace.  "I wonder if that line is skiable?"  "What would it take to link that up?"  Ski mountaineering is an ephemeral thing, with success more often than not hinging on the ability to predict weather patterns and route conditions.

Rando racing does indeed challenge an athlete's skill and endurance, to a point, but it removes any hint of exploration or hazard management.  The terrain is determined, and racers can win by putting on blinders and charging through the course, oblivious to the world around them.  Do that while mountaineering and you'll be lucky to come home.

So what do we call it?  I thought Randonée Rally Racing was pretty good.  Backcountry Ski Racing would work, if it took place in the backcountry.  Dynafit has a complete line of skis, bindings, boots, and poles devoted to what they're calling "Ski Running"; that could make a decent name.  In the end it makes little difference to me what it's called.

I just want to us to stop denegrating the name of ski mountaineering by claiming that this racing sport is anything more than a dim shadow of what it's purported to be.

The 20-Hour Date

Every once in a while our schedules line up so that Erica and I can enjoy more than a couple of continuous hours together; so when it turned out that we both had Monday free, we did our best to maximize it.  She met me in Jackson on Sunday evening after I wrapped up an avalanche course, and after grabbing a bite for dinner we went to see the latest release from that master of romantic comedy, Quentin Tarantino.

Actually neither romantic nor overly comedic, Django Unchained was heart-wrenching, gut-wrenching, and excellent.  It was also really long.  By the time it let out at 11pm, I was just about full-pumpkin.

I've somehow lost the ability to sleep in, but waking up alarm-free around 7 on Monday felt pretty good.  Coffee and tea, big oatmeal-and-walnuts gluten-free dairy-free pancake breakfast for the two of us, big kibble breakfast for Rue, and we were out the door for a family backcountry ski outing.

Like just about any dog, Rue loves winter and powder snow.  As do we.

Whoa, here comes the Ruester!

She's learning to do her own skiing off the skintrack.

Our vet has declared that Rue is too young to porpoise along with us while we make powder turns (gotta let those joints finish developing,) so we've come up with an alternative...

Ears flapping and tail wagging.

Look Mom!  We're skiing powder!

This was also Erica's inaugural day on alpine touring ski gear.  As expected, she loved it and is scheming ways for us to get her a new setup for BC touring.  So much easier on her back!

And our new coating of powder was pretty freaking unbelievable.

Looking pretty good!  Damn, this is fun.

As with all good things, it had to come to an end.  But 20 straight hours together was pretty nice.

Skiing 'Round Our World

The concept was born in a hot tub while our wives listened with a mixture of yawning and "you're nuts."  Fellow Fitzgerald's teammates Dave and Katie Berglemann were unexpectedly also at Spring Creek Ranch for a romantic evening last fall, and the four of us ended up simmering in the tub during the pre-dinner hour.  As one might expect, the talk turned to cycling, skiing, and ridiculous epic adventures.

I mentioned that Trevor and Andy had linked up Oliver Peak, Mt. Taylor, and Mt. Glory years ago and Dave (always game for a Good Adventure or a Bad Idea) promptly upped the ante to skiing a monster loop that included those three PLUS a bunch of up-and-down on the south side of the highway.  Kind of a "what the fuck" idea that would probably never come together but could be a brilliant epic:

Start at Coal Creek.  Up the West Fork of Mail Cabin and then up Lone Pine.  Down into Burbank, over the divider ridge and down into the West Fork of Burbank.  Up to the top of Oliver Peak, down the Banana Chute and out Stateline Canyon.  Cross the highway, up through the scrappy brush to the top of Talbot's Ridge, up Wall Street and the West Face of Mt. Taylor.  Down the Southeast Ridge to Coal Creek, up to the top of Mt. Glory.  Down Twin Slides to Teton Pass.  Cross the highway again and ski down to the bottom of the Nose on Edelweiss.  Up the Nose, down the back of Edelweiss, up Columbia Bowls, down the back into Mail Cabin.  Out Mail Cabin to finish at Coal Creek and the car.  Lots of human-powered miles circumnavigating the west side of Teton Pass.

Christ.

And then yesterday it all came together.  It's been weeks since our last significant storm, so we thought the trailbreaking would be relatively easy and with us both able to get the day off of work...

Of course, our gorgeously sunny weather totally crapped out and the skiing was more or less awful.  So it goes.

Dave chose his rando-racing Supersuit for this day.  The porn-star mustache is a nice touch.

The day got off to a ripping start when we skinned up Lone Pine in the foggy dark and skied down into what we thought was Burbank. The skin up seemed long but we just knew we were heading the right direction, and then we were standing at the top of the Do-It's.  I still can't figure out how we managed that.  An hour lost, maybe more.

But we recovered.  Down into the Burbank Bermuda Triangle and eventually up Oliver.  Remarkably, we mostly found existing skintracks for the first part of the day.

Ahh, Burbank.Photo: Dave Bergart

Where the hell are we?

Gentle skinning through the fog up Oliver.
Photo: Dave Bergart

Dave drops into the Banana Chute.  This qualified as good visibility.

Even after crossing the highway to the scrappy south-facing slopes across from Stateline there was a skintrack down low.

Could have used a bit more snow down low, but the skintrack carried on.

Eventually it ran out and we were breaking our own trail.  It turns out it's a long way from Stateline to the top of Taylor.  A really long way.  Miles and miles.

Photo: Dave Bergart

Any guesses about the prevailing wind direction up here?  Eventually even the Supersuit couldn't stand up to it.  

The wind finally kicked up as we got higher, and though it wasn't a total nuke-fest at the top we didn't waste time in our transition either.

The upper Southeast Ridge skied pretty well--at least it was reliably unbreakable crust, with a skim of fresh on top.  Once we got low enough for the temps to be a bit warmer, unbreakable became breakable and the skiing went all to hell.

Dave made it ski well.

Photo: Dave Bergart

Skinning up Glory it became clear that we were a couple of hours behind schedule, and would be finishing in the dark.  Probably skiing our last couple of runs in the dark, actually.  Such is adventuring.

The skiing down Twin Slides was relatively good, given everything else we'd seen.  Windblown new snowfall had pretty well filled in the frozen chunder underneath, so while we got bucked around a fair bit there was also some smoother turning.

I called Erica from the Pass to let her know we were okay, and intended to complete the loop in the dark.  She called us crazy.  Apparently Katie agreed.

The best turns of the day were the pitch from the access road down to the bottom of the Nose, and then it was a too-long skin up to the top of Edelweiss with upper-body cramping and night falling.  We both felt better on the skin up Columbia, aided by some food and a break in the clouds that let the near-full moon shine through.

**You might notice a lack of photos at this point in the story.  It was dark.  We were tired.**

While the skiing below the Pass was some of the day's best, the skiing down the back of Columbia Bowls to Mail Cabin was undoubtedly the day's worst.  And we were doing it by headlamp.  Regardless, we both got down it with all limbs attached and double-poled like demons to the car, food and chocolate milk calling our names.

And so we came full-circle, starting in the dark and finishing in the dark 12:45 later.  Due to GPS mishandling neither of us got a precise story of the route, but I'm figuring about 25 miles with 13,000' of climbing/descending.  What an adventure.

Then there was a day of rest.