Touring Season

While we have been getting absolutely POUNDED by snow for most of January, this week it finally tapered off just enough to let the snow-pack settle a little and bond together. From the last post until the beginning of this week, I had been skiing close to 5 days per week inbounds at The Canyons. We have had too many powder days to even count. I was lame, however, and didn't take the camera with me to the slopes.

Starting Monday the snowfall began to slow, stabilizing snow layers and opening up the backcountry for safe (well, safer) travel. The avalanche report finally fell below the "considerable-to-high" mark on Sunday. Seeing as how I work at a sweet outdoor company of like-minded people, my boss decided to tell me to bail from work and go skiing at 1 on Monday. Excited by the good news, yet pressed for time as the resorts close at 4:30, I decided that my free afternoon would best be spent in the backcountry. Not only had I been closely watching the avy warning waiting for it to drop, but this would also let me ski long after the resort lifts closed.

I quickly threw my gear together and headed up Guardsman's Pass, a summer road impassible (and closed) in winter that winds over the Wasatch Range and down into the Cottonwood Canyons. I parked at the gate where the road is closed, slapped the skins on my skis, and started up the pass. As I got to the gate, I noticed a scruffy looking man waiting for me in his white beat-up Suburban. "Wanna lift?", said the bearded mountain man. "Really?" I said, taken back by his generosity. I jumped at the opportunity, and a couple of minutes later we were chit chatting as he took me up the ridge. We swapped stories while his dog Lucky panted on my leg. It was late in the day, and his charitable ride saved me an hours worth of skinning up. Through our conversation, I learned that he lived in a cabin just on the other side of the ridge. Scott, as it turns out his name was, had lived there since '93. this was the reason he had a key to the gate that blocks the road in the winter. He dropped me off at the top of the ridge (about 8750ft) and we waved as he started down the other side.

This is where I began my man-powered ascent across the ridge. It was super foggy out, but I was lucky enough to be above most of the clouds. As I started up the ridge, I got a eerie feeling being alone in what looked like a snow covered misty graveyard. This soon subsided as I turnied on the Ipod and zoned out to Umphrey's McGee while I skinned. Soon I passed a couple of jib-monkeys building a kicker just off of the ridge. I stopped for a moment to say hi before continuing along my path. Once they were lost in the distance and I had reached about 9500 feet, I decided it was time to peel off the skins and rip down the chute I spotted to my right. Since I was by myself, I dug a quick snow pit to double check the snow-pack. This, coupled with the slope meter I got for Christmas, ensured that the line I had chosen should be stable enough to ski without it coming out from under me. As soon as I clicked in and locked down my bindings, the sun began to peak out before it started to set over the ridge. Words, nor pictures, can describe the beauty or feeling experienced in that unforgettable moment.

After taking in the beauty of Utah's backcountry, I began my descent. The snow was light, fluffy, and thigh deep. I turned at the bottom to take in my lone track down the mountainside and then skinned back to the car. I had made it safe and sound.

The next morning I met up with my boss Rob and another co-worker Jay for a dawn patrol backcountry lap of Parleys Summit. We met at 6:30, strapped on our gear, and skinned up the peak. We reached the summit just as the sun was coming up over the valley. we then joked around for a bit, turned on our beacons, and ripped down the mountain we had worked so hard to ascend. I can't think of a better way to start the day.

In those two days I saw Utah's untouched backcountry in oppositely perfect situations. While watching the sunset by myself remote in the mountains while living my dreams of skiing lines where almost no one else goes was one of the most amazing feelings I have ever experienced, it was almost equally as nice to see the sun come up the following morning in a similar place with friends to share it with.