Thursday, March 26, 2015

Jackson 2015

Sometime back in September or October, the wheels began to turn, the emails started to go back and forth: winter is coming, and thick or thin, we’ll want to make an exit in late-January.
Colin has been plying us ceaselessly to visit Jackson.

The crew booked their tickets, mobilized, and the AK semi-reunion was on: Cody, Colin, Dan, and Joe descended upon the Cowboy State. Nathan had intended to join as well, and we missed his presence and humor through the trip. 

Small cabin, bunch dudes, bunch of scotch.
Day 1, everyone was eager to get down to business and start skiing the resort. While fresh snow was a bit scarce, JHMR is big, and full of nooks and crannies. Colin and crew guided us into the goods, and between runs in the trees, we charged groomers like a GoreTex-clad motorcycle gang.

Skiing with your friends. It's awesome!

I had no idea people were still mono-boarding. Better yet, they are serious.

Certainly not deep, but soft chalk in the shade.

A warm up trend was in the works, and with as strong inversion in place. Temps failed to go below freezing from 8,000-10,000 feet Sunday night.
Colin pointed us into Grand Teton National Park, and we trekked through the cold, thick inversion fog and forests to the foot of Prospectors Mountain to take a stab at the Banana Couloir.
South-southwest facing, the 3,000 foot line was taking a lot of heat. We ID’d a potential issue in the lower 500-700 feet of the line, where about 8-10” of transforming mank sat atop a smooth bed surface. It was soft, but non-reactive as we began the climb in earnest, and as we climbed, the layer was better bonded to the base, eventually becoming nearly undiscernible, likely due to winds that had blown while the snow was still cold.
The climb was a killer: no one was ready for the April-like heat, and the elevation took its toll on the sea-level dwellers. We pushed through, and eventually grouped up about 700 feet-ish below the top, in the shaded shelter of a narrow band of trees, dubbed the nest. Colin lead the final push, and Dan and I followed.
The bulk of the line skied ideally for spring, excellent corn perfect for opening up. We leap frogged our way down.
Near the base, anarchy descended as we exited the couloir and onto the adjacent shoulder we’d skinned.
This was a bad move. We lost sight of each other, and I Forest Gumped and got well ahead and alone. I stopped at the top of the final roll-over. Through a band of trees, I could see a sizable pile of debris where our skin track had been.
As I came to a stop, I pushed two blocks of the manky snow, each about half the length of my board. They rolled, and rolled, and rolled, gaining size and picking up more snow. About mid-slope, they triggered a classic wet slab, and propagation began, running out triangularly, grabbing ever more snow and picking up speed. By the base of the slope, the slide was fluid and fast. If someone got tangled in there, it’d be a bad day.
Not good.
I looked again through the trees at the other debris pile. My first concern was that someone might have passed me and been intermixed.
Dan stopped a little ways above me.
He wasn’t sure where everyone else had gone, but I told him what I’d just kicked off.
I wanted to go investigate the adjacent slide, but I was also fearful that I could inadvertently ski below someone else. Suddenly, Dan said he saw Colin and Cody, directly above me, but out of my line-of-sight.
“I’m out of here.”
I shot into the trees toward the other slide, and then skied down the bed surface to the base of the slope and shot into the protection of the woods. I could no longer see the slope above, but didn’t feel safe being below it to keep eyes on.
I sat there, for what felt like a while.
It began to feel like something wasn’t right.
Eventually, the group began to come down.
Apparently, seconds after I’d got out from below Colin and Cody, one of them had inadvertently triggered a slide just as I had. Dan said their slide went exactly where I was standing, and had built up a good deal of speed and mass too.
While we had executed the more aggressive portion of the line by leap frogging from safe spot to safe spot, when we entered what in most conditions would be party ski-terrain, we failed to account for the fact that this area also featured the worst stability we’d seen all day.
Lesson learned.

An inversion trapped thick fog and cooler temps down low. The dreary-ish start was a bit reflective of the early-morning start for a group of AK'rs used to sunrise at 10am.

The base of the line had a lot of pepper.

Gaining ground. Photo: C.G.

Top of the Banana with the Grand in the background

Colin opens it up in the upper section.

A nice perspective.

The next day proved to be warm as well, and we headed back to JHMR. The bump runs came in soft and supple like the best days of March, and we skied them all day.

Coffee break up top.

Photo: C.G.

Sometime that night, my body revolted. The red-eye flights, staying up past my old-man bedtime, an ample supply of adult beverages, yadda-yadda, plus the fact that pretty much everyone I know or worked with had been sick in the weeks leading up to the trip: fate. Larangytis.
I literally could not order breakfast the next morning, although, the barrista thought it was really cute that Cody ordered for me (great).
A rest day helped, but as the rest of the crew split for points north, south, and east, I was happy to spend the next few days sleeping in, and getting some rest, and going to Teton Pass with Colin in the afternoons to successfully hunt for shaded powder in the trees.
I really got a kick out of skiing Teton Pass. A ridiculously short drive from town, and even shorter from the Village, followed by a ridiculously efficient booter north of the road, lead to incredible front country skiing. The options for going further or deeper on weekends stretched seemingly as far as the eye could see.
I think as much as we were all grateful for Colin showing us around his backyard, we were also a bit envious of the ability to go deep or stay close, and have high-quality skiing, regardless. I sure was.

Photo: C.O.
It was great catching up with Colin and spending time with the AK boys, but a huge bonus to this trip is the fact that Tom winters in Jackson.
Tom has actually spent the last 6 winters in Jackson, working in neighboring Yellowstone and Teton national parks, doing an incredible assortment of jobs. I got to hang out with Tom and Sarah mid-week, and then on Saturday, Tom treated me to once-in-a-lifetime trip into America’s crown jewel national park.
This winter, Tom is driving tracked snow coaches into Yellowstone (the roads aren’t plowed in winter, but are instead groomed for travel by the coaches and a limited number of snowmachines). Compared to the bustling summer months, the park is a quiet place this time of year.
Tom had a group heading to the hotel at Old Faithful that would be staying for a couple nights, so he was taking them in, and then had the rest of the afternoon off. I got to ride shot gun as his helper for the day!
On the way in, Tom stopped at some of his favorite spots to let the group out and go for short walks to check out hot springs, waterfalls, and to look for wildlife, while he regaled them in stories about the park’s history and his own experiences hiking and camping there.
We made it to Old Faithful mid-day, and after helping the guests unload from the coach, we picked up a pair of wide touring skis and went for a ski around the geyser basin.
I guess I’ll shut up and let the pics do the talking?

Still matching.

Mt Moran and the Skillet

Tom inspects his rig.

The rigs are a little noisy, but not too bad.

A Bomber.

Steam from the hot springs collects in the form of rime on nearby trees. Despite the clear skies, temps ranged from the negative teens to single digits.

Hoar star

This famous vent is where fishermen would cast out into Yellowstone lake, catch a trout, and swing their fish into the hot water for instant lunch.

Tom takes guesses on temperature of a hot spring before using a laser thermometer to take a reading. Much better than sticking your finger in

Just an afternoon here in America.

The thermal activity underground melts out sections of snow in thin years. Here I demonstrate good kick technique on asphalt

The attire is pretty great.

Crust skating on fish scales isn't easy.

Ultimate pillow line

Ultimate job

Unforgettable day. Thanks Tom!

Tuesday, March 17, 2015

Key Slot Couloir and Other Adventures

Like the fragmented memories of childhood, there are lines and mountain faces that live in the recesses of a skier’s mind, surfacing from time to time – as we drift off to sleep, in moments of silence before the storm lifts and the mountains are yet again unveiled.
They hold an incredible presence, and yet, they are disconnected and incomplete, as they remain a dream rather than reality.
Then, one day, everything comes together, the line is skied, the missing pieces are assembled, and you turn around, look up at your tracks, and realize you can’t remember one complete second. A blur of heavy breathing; waves of air-infused snow; metal edges, sintered bases, and crystalline water colliding; walls of rock and sharp-edged fins flying by.
You know right then, staring up, that you will never live that moment again. It will never get better.
These are lifetime lines.

The last storm cycle to roll through poured the snow on heavy and hard in Hatcher, awakening a very active avalanche cycle that effected every aspect and triggered nearly every size of slide.
With a dearth of beta or data, Cody, Nathan and I went on an all-day pit-digging mission on Friday.
We targeted a central ridge line we’re familiar with located in a tributary of the Little Su that sported east, north, and west aspects in the 3,250-3,750 elevation band. We hit each aspect, with each person then spreading an additional 100 yards across the slope itself, to further cover the spatial differences one expects to find in Hatcher.
Our results proved to be surprisingly consistent and promising, again, for Hatcher. North and east slopes supported the deepest snowpack, ranging from 140-190cm, while west-facing were the thinnest, sporting 110-150cm. All slopes supported a storm layer that varied in depth, but averaged around 30cm, fairly well-bonded to a crust of varying thickness (from nearly imperceptible, to snow saw worthy). The storm layer had an average trigger result of ECPT20, and was at worst, a Q2 sheer. In many cases, the collapse was very subtle. Basically, if the storm slab went, it would in all likelihood go soft and struggle to propagate. The lower “ground layer” that extended from the surface of the crust to the tundra was quite cohesive despite its’ heavy component of faceted snow, and though we didn’t isolate every pit to the ground (we dropped 9 pits on a day where the high was minus 7 after all), the ones we did, took a rather immense amount of energy to trigger (body checking after getting to ECPT50. When this last layer did go, it slipped fast and clean to the ground. Undoubtedly, the deep cold was helping to provide a lock down.
We did not bother to target any due south-facing slopes given the progression of the season, though our west face pits all had south-westerly orientation.
We didn’t get much skiing in, and didn’t return to the trailhead until something like 7:30, but we were confident with our results and ready for some action on Saturday.

Almost needed more measuring stick.

Cody had the nicest pits...go figure it'd be the engineer.

I was confused and referred to this peak repeatedly as Delia, when in fact, it's an extension of Arkose Peak. The massive sugar loaf gendarme that sits west of the pointed peak only adds to its beauty.

ECPT bodycheck.

Nathan somehow had the deepest pits in every aspect. In this  case, we had to kick in our downhill legs to get a string behind the block for isolation.

The target ended up as a toss-up between either Arkose Peak Couloir or the Key Slot Couloir – a deep crack, lined by jagged walls, with around 1,000 feet of run, located on the northern ridge of Arkose Peak. I first got an in-person look at this line about a year ago camping in the area with Liz. At the time, Hatchers was in the midst of a prolonged multi-week dry spell, and the line promised to be variable at best, total crap at worst. We made the right call that trip and targeted a more open, and southerly, line, right next to KSC. A few weeks later, Nathan and Liz were able to ski most of it, but found a lot of debris that had come off the walls.
We returned this year to find very different conditions: deep, cold powder on what will likely be the coldest day of the 14-15’ season.
We opted to target KSC over APC for two reasons, one, the former didn’t have any slough or bomb debris, and second, the latter looked fat and loaded in its critical upper section.
The boot was hell for my comrades, but I packed a secret weapon: Verts.
I resisted buying these presumably over-priced plastic snowshoes for a two seasons, but with the wallow-fest that has consumed nearly every weekend this winter, I figured I’d pony up and try them.
It took maybe all of 10 steps before I turned around and looked at Nathan and Cody, both up to their hips, and we all realized, we all needed these things.
I did what I could to make a trough for them so at least they were only plowing knee-deep as opposed to waist, but it was still a bear for them.
I’ll stick to the objective rather than the equipment, but lets say that while going from booting to Verts isn’t quite like snowshoeing to skinning , they definitely let me really enjoy the upward passage through those high, cold, granite walls.
-There’s something about being enclosed in the blue granite hallways of the Talkeetnas that is all at once thrilling and calming.-
There’s not a lot of places that provide protection in KSC until within maybe the last 150-200 feet where a super skinny and thin side shot heads climbers right and provides an abutment to post-up beneath. Re-grouped we made the next push through the line’s choke and into its final pitch. Topping out looked promising. Nathan lead the charge and got us up under the safety of a nice outcrop maybe 20-feet below the ridge line. He went for the next push, crossing a nervously talkative slab. With maybe 10 feet to go, he sunk off the top of the slab into deep, unconsolidated sugar and the black holes of interspatial gaps. I moved up to join him.
The sugar was bad. A hasty pit resulted in an ECPT of 0! It was so frustrating. I wanted to see that ridge so bad. We could practically touch it. We assessed trying to use the protruding rocks to pull ourselves up, but just moving toward them triggered further sloughing.
Even if we pulled ourselves up, we were practically guaranteed to release a lot of loose snow on entry, a potential problem with the slab below and narrow choke just below that – as it was, each of us had to manage a fair amount of broken soft slab that pursued us through the choke. Worse, would have been the high likelihood of striking a rock in that bottomless sugar on entry, and the possibility of then tumbling into said slab and choke.
The CBA just didn’t work out for those last 10 feet. We were done; time to drop.
We were lucky to enjoy some sun without the fear of its heat at least, and were all happy to have a brief chance to pretend we were warm.
One by one, we dropped in. There was never a question on the way up about how the line would ski, but if there was, it was erased when Cody and I watched as even though Nathan had disappeared from sight, his contrails were visible drifting upward above the high walls.
I don’t really have any cohesive memory of the run: I know my slough was chasing me through the choke – I could literally feel it on tail – but once through, we all took the same line and banked hard skiers right onto a large side-wall. A shot back, and I saw what was left of the slough arresting in the cold pow behind me. The next thing I actually remember was seeing Nathan peering from behind the walls at the base of the line and waving me through. I was appreciative to have enjoyed the entire run totally uninterrupted.
Exiting back out Lone Tree Gulch was a breeze compared to last year, where firm conditions sucked us into the deep ravine.

KSC to the left. The right was skied last year.
Edit: Real-life photo taken at a later date. KSC is the farthest line left.
Headed up Lone Tree under cold blue sky. Photo C.G.

Target in sight. The KSC doesn't appear to go until you get pretty close. Photo C.G.
Into the chasm, maybe halfway up.

Nathan heads up through the choke.

So close, but no cigar. Photo C.G.
Time to drop

Ya. It was good.

Really good.

So good. So stoked. Photo C.G.
Sunday, a long-forecasted pattern shift began, and blew in clouds, snow, and slightly warmer temps. Kyle and I went out and picked on a short, steep, skinny couloir I skied with Nathan and Cody a few weeks ago in similar conditions. It skied exceptionally well, and we ended up tagging it twice. My legs were toast from the long weekend, but Kyle just picked up a brand new pair of wax-based classic skis and has been jonesing for opportunities to use them. I was hesitant to go for a classic ski at 5 pm on day three, but quickly found myself glad we tacked on a few blissful kilometers of blue/blue extra kick-and-glide on Archangel.

Wading upward.

Capturing the light even in the gray bird.

Keep tips up when dropping.