Early Season Hatcher

The last few seasons have not been good to Hatcher. Other than a few recon trips, I haven’t had a real descent in the Talkeetna Mountains since December of 2015, and even then, it wasn’t all that great.

This winter, the season is playing hard to get: cold and dry.

If it weren’t for a few copious snowfalls above 3,000 FSL in the Talkeetnas in late October, there’d be no skiing at all.

As it is, the snowpack is weak, and ready for a disaster if the pattern shifts and dumps heaps of snow up there. On the plus side, a crust formed over Halloween has given the normally dry and airy snow of that range some armored base to protect bases from ever-lurking granite.

Meredith and I had planned only to go Nordic skiing at Independence mine two weekends ago, but a few pictures from Jack made me think we might go for a tour first and look for softer snow in sheltered locations where the winds hadn’t totally decimated the surface conditions. A lack of avalanche activity following the Halloween cycle indicated we could safely venture out on moderate slopes.

We tossed in skins and wide planks along with our Nordic gear, and I envisioned a little schussing about in some mellow rock gardens where the snow pack would be anchored and hopefully playful.

An hour of touring and a pit later, and we realized conditions were a lot better than we hoped, and another hour later we were cautiously but hopefully navigating our way up the ridge to Gold Cord Peak.

The wind had done a number to the snow, but had been consistent and predictable in its work: if it looked wind-effected, it was.

Everything else though, was really pleasant.

Despite a temperature of 10 in the parking lot, we enjoyed two sunny laps from the top of Gold Cord Peak.

A week later, we returned. A light snowfall and some occasional gusty breezes had complicated surface conditions a tad, but done little to the avalanche quotient.

Not seeing our tracks from the previous week on the front face of GCP, we were lured back to the top. The winds’s effect had been less predictable and bit more swirly, and the firm base created by the Halloween event showed signs of weakening in places, providing an occasionally punchy consistency beneath, but was still worth yet another two sunny runs.  

 

I've missed these views.

 

Photo: M.N.

Photo: M.N.

Checking out the "Dream Cabin."

Photo: M.N.

 

The next day, a Saturday, Cody and I returned. Expecting the crowds to be on the thick side, we move toward Friendship Pass area. Along the way we looked longingly into hidden couloir (no idea if this is really its name) on the side of Granite. A week prior, the line had been ridden by a snowboarder who appeared to have booted all the way from the parking lot up to Gold Cord Mine and up the line. Those tracks had been completely erased by the snowfall and wind, so we decided to give it a go.

We agreed to commit to backing out if we entered the chasm and found conditions to be firm or variable/punchy, and not suckered into the old: “maybe it’ll get better,” because after all, it almost never does.

Well, almost reared its head, because it did get better.

Just above the apron, conditions were briefly firm enough that we were only toeing-in to the stiff windboard. I think the only reason we didn’t stop right then and there is that neither of us wanted to step into gear on such firm conditions.

A bit higher up and conditions softened some, but still weren’t great. One side of the line was actually quite nice, right down the middle there appeared to be a buried slough path that provided great booting, while the other half of the line was deeper with a punchy crust buried too deep to impact skiing, though not ideal for climbing as our boots easily busted through.

Each step seemed to reveal improved snow quality though, and lured us upward toward the gleaming beams of sun poking over the top.

Near the top, the line widened with a pile of protruding boulders in the middle; to either side, we found some of the nicest snow of the whole line.

The top out was the only place we finally found evidence of the boarder who had skied it a week or more prior. His or her cautious side-slip entry was still evident, and had been solidified, to make the final 25 feet very firm.

Up in the sun, we had a magnificent view into the Willow Creek drainage.

We agreed to take our time and ski very conservatively to adapt for the changing – and what would be generally deteriorating – snow quality, as we descended.

The entry was firm and steep, requiring a side slip to get back down to the soft snow below.

Re-grouped, I took the first crack, and skied half the line to get behind a nice alcove.

The snow rode much better than expected, but the top 3-4 inches easily popped loose and ran in 20’ x 20’ sheets, creating significant but slow slough runs down the center.

Part two of the line skied a little rougher, but we knew what was coming, and the slough we knocked loose above provided a consistent bed to ride on top of until we hit the creamy apron.

Having fulfilled our quota of booting, we mooched a fresh skinner from a departing group into an adjacent pillow playground, and had a great evening run riding through a series of shoots and pillows to end the day.

Hidden couloir is hardly hidden from Gold Cord Peak. The chutes and pillows on the lookers right slope were a treat.

From below.

Up top. Photo: C.G.

Dropping in. Photo: C.G.

Still soft halfway down.

High grade.

Fresh snow and zero viz meant staying out of the mountains on Sunday. Fortunately there's enough snow in Kincaid for skinny ski adventures!

 

Here’s to hoping for more adventures in the Talkeetnas this winter, and being grateful for finally getting back into them after such a long hiatus.

Bird Ridge to Glen Alps Redux

Nathan and I did this traverse again after a few years time since Phil and I jogged it in 2014. I had pretty good memories of that run with Phil, but surprisingly, I think I forgot as many details as I remembered. Nathan and I were lucky to score one of the nicest days of the fall: crystal clear skies, a stiff frost, and dead calm to start anyway. A cool breeze and high clouds worked their way in by the time we finished, but we were long off the ridgelines at that point. I suppose one of the biggest perks was that for much of the traverse we had frozen ground and frost withered vegetation, allowing us max traction on the grippy slopes and keeping out feet dry when crossing the normally soft and wet low sections.

The easy travel conditions sped up the traverse by a solid hour from 2014: we made it to Glen Alps in 6:45. Even still, that allowed us ample time to watch an incredible battle between a coyote family and a massive golden eagle; enjoy time on the summit of Bird Ridge Overlook, and lose about 20 minutes as we both comically sat separately in sheltering from a cool breeze at Ship Lake Pass, waiting for the other, not realizing the other was doing the exact same thing just out of sight.

 

Stepping onto the high point of the day.

We launched from the icy trailhead at 8:40, and held a steady pace up Bird Ridge, opening our pace into a jog higher up where the terrain allowed. We passed one couple quite high up the ridge who must have started well before dark. Around 11 we were aproaching the little pyramid of Overlook when we came across two sheep. As we jogged closer and closer, we spooked a large golden eagle we hadn’t noticed hiding behind a blocky piece of rock. The eagle swooped around the eastern side of Overlook out of sight and we joked how cool it would be to see the bird strike one of the sheep.

Ten minutes later we popped over the eastern rib of Overlook, and were suddenly greeted by a cacophony of yips and howls coming from the alpine basin below us.

At first I hoped wolves, but the pitch was two high.

Despite the ruckus, and the apparent closeness, we couldn’t spot the critters, and I began to wonder if maybe the animals were lower down in the brush, and the terrain was just amplifying their yowling. It seemed like there were two animals yowling, and then a yipping that sounded closer to a domestic dog. I began to fear we might witness that sad fate lost dogs in Chugach State Park often suffer.

From a deep ravine in the side of the basin, a dark coyote dashed across tundra. Seconds later, the massive, dark, golden eagle came swooping from the same ravine, and to our disbelief, turned into a dive bomb of the coyote!

The eagle aborted at the last second, but what ensued was a surreal came of predator vs predator, as the two changed roles over and over. The eagle would land on the far side of the basin, and the coyote would charge across, getting with only feet before the eagle would swoop off and the coyote would leap in the air snapping at it. A second coyote guarded the base of the deep ravine, and the eagle seemed intent on getting back into, sometimes dive bombing the coyotes.

We think the coyote den was in the ravine, and the eagle had snuck in and hit a pup, and was trying to get back in.

Eventually, they settled into a stalemate, and we headed up the last little pitch to the top of Overlook.

Our route went left from the ridgeline this pic was taken on, then into the basin full of lakes, up the saddle of the sub ridge below, and across Indian Pass just visible center left.

We were working our way down the ridgeline to the saddle by 11:30, and just before we tipped over into South Fork Ship Creek, the basin behind us again erupted.

We scared up droves of ptarmigan in the nameless basin northwest of Overlook, but I was shocked when we came across two hikers standing on a peninsula jutting into the tarns.

I figured that after the two hikers we’d seen on our way up Bird, we’d probably not seen another person until somewhere in the Ship Lake Pass Valley.

I’m not sure how our route across the Indian Pass compared to a couple years ago. I remember Phil working quite hard to keep us from having to do any really bushwhacking.

It was probably moot for us, the vegetation was largely collapsed, and the marshy bogs were mostly frozen over.

We were on the muddy the Arctic-Indian trail, complete with now frozen postholes made from some idiot horsepackers (nice work tool bags) around 1. Ironic that the sketchiest footing we’d encountered in hours was on a trail.

We pretty easily found the much thinner trail to Ship Lake, and enjoyed some of the nicest jogging stretches of the day was we gradually climbed back into the alpine valley.

Ship Lake Valley

I had a pretty solid memory of the climb up Ship Lake Pass being a bit of a doozey. From below, it doesn’t look very steep or long, and it’s crimson red fall coat of low bush blueberries makes it seem almost soft, warm, and somehow benign.

It sucks.

The positive, was that both Nathan and I would later agree, that the 30 minute vertical grind may be hard, but it’s hard in way that, if it doesn’t stop you, feels really good.

We agreed on this later, only because as we climbed, we bagan to separate. Nathan was heading a little more toward the Ramp, while I slipped into a gully and then hooked on a cross-cut sheep trail that took me pretty well right into the bottom of the saddle.

Nathan was expecting me to pop out of the gully, while I tipped over the saddle instead, simultaneously expecting to see Nathan pop out somewhere higher on the ridge. Getting a bit chilly, I figured I’d just walk along in the big open expanse, and Nathan could jog down and catch up. After walking for a bit and still not seeing Nathan crest, I began to scratch my head. There were some people scrambling up the Ramp, and as I started shivering, I began to fear Nathan had thought I had somehow ended up on his right, and that he was chasing phantom Dante up the Ramp!

In reality, he was just behind the ridge, wondering why the hell it was taking me so long to get out of the gully he’d last seem me drop into. I was starting to hike back up when I saw him pop up over the saddle, much to my relief.

We synced back up and enjoyed the downhill cruise back to Powerline Pass.

One last look back

Pinnacle Merit Badge

To get the Pinnacle scouts badge one must ski all four corners of Hatcher’s Pinnacle Peak. There’s a separate badge for skiing from the center point of Pinnacle, also known as the summit.
Not being one for ropes and rock climbing, I’ll just have to settle on the four-corners badge…

The Talkeetnas are having a rough season on the stability front, and have been well worth avoiding so far due to some of the worst avalanche conditions in years, despite a nice cover.
Cody, Mike, Kellen and I went on a pit-digging mission on Saturday. Jed’s report was promising, but as they say in the industry: “Trust, but verify.”
We put in four pits on a knob above Renshaw’s cabin. Although we had a good spread on the compass, the pits were all within a few 100 vertical feet of each other and no more than 200-300 feet laterally separated. Pit depths were starkly different: the south and west-facing pits were shallow, a meter or less; the north and east facing were deep, in our case, close to two meters.
Results were surprisingly consistent between all pits and promising though. Numbers are averaged, but we found a thin rain crust we called the mid-storm layer about 1-foot down that collapsed at ECPT 25 with a Q3 sheer. The deep October rain crust that has been responsible for the bulk of the big slides that have raked Hatcher went around ECPT 35-40 with a Q2 sheer. The deep facet layer perched over the October rain crust showed signs of increasing stability and improving friendliness between layers. It’s still scary as hell, and when the facets were swept clean, the former Q1 sheer potential was easy to imagine. The good news was that, in the deeper pits, stability seemed much better, so, in theory, more time and loading will help future bonding, and the potential for a skier to trigger this layer, especially when buried deep, is pretty damn low.
This is certainly good news, and bodes well for the range and hopefully the season. My take away is that, similar to last year, I would stay away from Hatchers during or immediately after any large scale snow events (duh). While a skier is unlikely to set much off during low-hazard periods, the additional impact of a heavy slough (natural- or skier-triggered) while slopes are reactive could result in a step down and potential release of a fatal deep slab. There’s also a good chance that no matter how well this layer “heals,” it will rear its head on sunny slopes come spring, or during a mid-winter meltdown.
One other thought, how will the re-exposed October crust react to future loading? A lot of slopes ripped down to the crust layer in the previous weeks, leaving it essentially exposed or thinly covered with light snow, spindrift, and growing hoar crystals.
These legacy slides have left a patchwork of surfaces for new snow to fall on. The common logic would be: with a few more feet of snow, the potential to trigger a slide over a legacy pocket will exist, and the size and location of said pocket will be nearly impossible to identify. If buried deep enough – 2-3 feet – it will be nearly impossible to even recognize this hazard while traversing a slope.
That’s pure conjecture, as we don’t know how this re-exposed layer will react, and it’s loading will be extremely variable, but it should be a running background process to consider.

Buildings at Gold Cord disappearing.

Guess who got the deepest pit award. Photo C.G.

Photo C.G.

Block love. Photo C.G.

So anyway, skiing. The weather looked good for Sunday, and Cody, Nathan and I went for a Pinnacle mission. The plan was to climb Pinnacle’s northwest couloir, descend into the northeast couloir, climb back up, and drop the northwest.
With an early start, we made pretty short work of the approach thanks to in-place skinners leading into the Mushroom garden. Booting the line was pretty easy, partly thanks to all of us now using Verts, but unfortunately, also thanks to thin cover and patchy wind board in the lower 2/3. The best and the deepest snow was all concentrated in the top 1/3 of the line.
The bigger surprise came as we cautiously peered over into the northeast couloir.
It needs a lot more snow. The only entry involved either a.) A 20-foot mandatory drop with a landing directly on top of a cross-slope fracture; or b.) Down climbing a granite fin on the skier’s right and into the line. Coming back up would have been basically impossible. When Nathan moved over toward said fin, he fell to his thighs into an anti-shrund.
Message received.
It appears when Kyle, Nathaniel, and I were skiing the northeast couloir last spring LINK, there was about 10-feet more snow banked over the now protruding fin. The entry at that time was pretty intense, but this was just ridiculous.
Not helping motivation was that fact that despite a formerly promising weather forecast, high clouds were rolling in fast, and lighting was varying between poor and flat. The chasms would ski well, but we knew the exits would suck.
We skied back down the northwest couloir. While the top was delightful, the rest was survival skiing: lots of jump turns, loud powder, and punchy wind board.
I think it’s safe to say, we’ll all be looking for redemption at some future time here.

The Northwest Pinnacle Couloir hiding in the shade as seen in November 2013 with much better cover.

Transitioning to booter mode. Photo C.G.

Tea at sunrise...at 10:30.

Photo C.G.

Looking down the NW couloir from the top. Photo C.G.

AK Fall: Best if Enjoyed in Moderation

Psst. I have a secret. I kind of like fall in Southcentral Ak.
It’s an acquired taste for sure. Perhaps not the sweetest of autumn vintages – can anything compete with Indian summer during peak foliage in New England?
Alaska fall is not something that can, or should be consumed in any great quantity, but it is sweet, even if not long to be savored.
Sometime during the endless daylight of the summer the solstice, I awake from sleep – already a scarce commodity – and lay awake in the burning light of 4 am, having just dreamt that the short summer had already ended, and darkness was returning. It’s part a horror, part a wish.
This summer was hot, dry, and awesome. I got a lot of time in the saddle. Too much? As the day’s waned, and nights grew, I had to admit, I was looking forward to a break, and a change in pace.

Res-Devils

I caught two great rides on the Kenai with Nathan A. First on the list was the Res-Devils Loop on the last weekend and the last Sunday of August. Both of us had just wrapped up from the Trifecta races, so the legs were tired, and some very light overnight showers Saturday put a dusting of snow on the ridgelines and provided plenty of inspiration.
Despite this, the trail was still dry, and while there wasn’t much foliage to speak of down low, colors in the passes were approaching peak.

 

Overlooking Kenai Lake.

Juneau Lake.

Love this section.

Swan Lake

Bone dry, blue skies, bright color.

Snow on the ridges.

Looking back to the Pass from Hope overlook.

Russian Loop

I expected to spend a bit more time on Russian this fall than I ended up realizing, so in retrospect, I’m really glad we snagged this ride over Labor Day. The weather wasn’t particularly stunning, and admittedly colors weren’t quite peaking yet, but with this trail fully brushed out, it was hard to complain.

Kenai Lake break.

Cloudy reflections.

Burning fireweed below Cooper Peak.

 

Running
The fact that I run is a well-kept secret. I actually run quite a bit for someone who identifies as a cyclist. That doesn’t mean I’m strong, or fast, but there are some great over-land runs to be had in AK, and this is my time of year to branch out. I hadn’t been on Summit Creek Trail since 2013, and hadn’t been over the Summit Creek/East Creek Pass since 2009. Adam was an awesome sport and joined me for a run to the col between East Creek and Resurrection Pass. From there, we turned southward and followed the ridgeline upward and eventually back around to a high col the leads to a hidden tarn just a bit below and east of the East Creek/Summit Creek Pass.

 

Looking down to East Creek/Summit Creek Pass.

Looking for goats. None sighted.

An after work run on McHugh Peak with Lee. Photo L.M.

Crow Pass Skiing

A typical wet fall storm parked over the region early in September delivering rain for 13 days straight. Somehwere toward the end of that deluge, temps dropped and snow started stacking up above Hatcher Pass and Crow Pass. I knew the window might open, and on Friday the 18^th, I slid my bedroom shades back, planning to go to work, only to be greeted by blue skies and an incredibly low snow line.
I was grateful I’d put my ski gear away ready to go, and quickly packed my bag and went down to the garage to scrape the off-season storage wax from my bases while scarfing down eggs and bacon.
There were a few inches of sopping-wet snow clinging to the leafy alders at the Crow Pass Trail Head, and I needed my storm shell to keep dry as the warm morning sun turned the trail into a cold, wet, collapsed alder obstacle course. I was stupid enough to beat anyone else up to the pass, and from the waterfalls upward, ended up breaking the skinner in about 2 feet or more heavy fresh, underlain by a solid but saturated base. Clouds moved in as I climbed, but moved in and out at rapid intervals, providing easy windows to ski through. A few others showed up later, and I ended up doing two runs. A third would have been nice, but I didn’t have confidence the clouds would keep up their intervals. I skied all the way back to the top of the falls without tagging a single rock: Easily the deepest skiing I’ve done in September or October.

 

Looks more like winter than mid-September.

The Summit Glacier has suffered in the heat. The cracks are big.

Burma Road Loop

I really enjoy road riding in the Valley during the shoulder seasons, but I’ve stuck to Palmer and Butte on these rides. I’d wanted to check out a loop in the Knik/Point Mackenzie/Big Lake area that included a long chunk of dirt on Burma Road. I’d Burma was a good road, and Phil was up for an adventure. As with most other Valley riding, it was really pleasant. We parked at the Wal-Mart, and traffic was pretty light, and generally very respectful. A lot of the main roads in the valley have parallel bike paths, but unlike Anchorage, where these paths cross hundreds of driveways and side streets where the right-of-way is ambiguous, in the Valley these intersections are far less frequent. That being said, theese paths also tend to be covered in loose rocks kicked up by ATVs and quads, so they can be a mixed blessing. Burma Road itself though was excellent: good flow, narrow, rolling, winding, and well packed. There were two very large puddles at the south end. Phil, on his cross bike, rode through both. I was on the road bike with its 25C slick tires, I made it through the first but portaged the second. Other than that, both bikes were equally adept at this ride, though it was pavement heavy, and I think slicks and taller gears were optimal.

Knik Arm.

Burma Road.

For real?

 

Cyclocross

I’ve been helping out with the Arctic Cross cyclocross race series the past few falls. I don’t have a burning desire to race cross for a number of reasons excuses, starting with the fact that I’m a wuss; but I do like watching cross racing since you can often see a good chunk of the course from a single point, and more importantly, I like hanging out with my friends. We added an event this year so we now have three adult races, plus a short kids race, and cross has gone from being a half-day event with maybe 50 people to basically a full-day activity with 125-200 entrants!
One day, for giggles, I stuck my Garmin in my pocket and let it run while I, umm, ran around, setting up the course, timing, and taking the course back down: I logged about 6 miles over 6-7 hours. It was neat to see. Fortunately, a lot of people pitch in, otherwise that number would be a lot higher!
Photos from the season: LINK

 

CX T-REX.

Do nothing

As winter turns into spring, the days get longer, and so with it, the activity list. Some of the biggest ski missions of the year come by a defacto in March-May thanks to better weather, deeper snow, and the need to chase that cold and deep snow into the higher elevations. At the same time, road riding, and soon enough, mountain biking ramp up and there’s a pressing need to start putting in more time on the saddle. Suffice to say, the spring shoulder season isn’t really a shoulder season at all. I’m OK with that, but I’m a firm believer in doing a big-block recovery, and I’m not talking about a recovery ride or mellow day, I’m talking about a real block. Some folks fret about how boring fall is here and how there’s nothing to do. I say: embrace it, take a rest.

Get out

The leaves have dropped, the sun is noticeably lower, but the snow line seems stagnant. Get out of town, get out of state, get out of country…more on that later:

6:30am in LAX Ted Bradley...