Backcountry Buzzards

First turns of the 2012/13 season!

Spring and Fall are unreliable times here in the Rockies. Montana has this in spades. This last Friday I was lamenting the curse of the fall shoulder season, that period of time where it is all but impossible to enjoy a mountain bike ride, and defiantly impossible to break out my skis. May and June are so much easier of a shoulder season for me. There is always snow on the ground somewhere, so while the trails dry out in the high country, I just keep skiing my brains out. So Friday after fumbling my way through another session at the climbing gym I sat down to peruse the local SNOTELS, just out of general curiosity.

VW Passat snow plow edition. Not stuck, parked!

Friday, October 5th, at 6:00 P.M., the Cole Creek SNOTEL at Red Lodge Mountain Resort was recording 12″, with http://www.weather.gov calling for 100% chance of 4″ more overnight. My fate was sealed. I dragged out the fabled rock skis of legendary dumps gone by, my faithful Karhu BC Storms, rounded up all my gear and headed to the hills to try and rack a few turns on some low-angled greens and blues. As I packed the car the words of another rider came to mind: “You don’t know if ya don’t go.” Icy roads into Red Lodge were a positive sign, as were the snow covered Beartooth Mountains, trees plastered white. I punched in the last part of the road to the gate for RLM with the VW getting over the hood, blower windshield shots the whole way up.

“Tele” setting the skin track under the half moon.

I had some company on the 1st lap up, setting the ski track up “Lazy M”, my plans on skiing low-angle greens forgotten. I set 90% of that skin-track, which was fine by me as the only way to ensure the skin goes where it should is to set it yourself. The wandering 5% of that track was when I was following “Tele” a fellow skier’s dog as he broke trail, which was done with little complaint and much panting. As the hordes (4 other skiers) marched up, I dropped in. 14″ to 17″ is no small amount of snow, and I’d like to say it was bottomless, but it was in reality quite “bottom-full”. Every other turn I hit something. Rocks, stumps, logs, animal carcasses  I dunno I just know I heard a lot of noise. A group asked me on the way down “Are you hitting anything?” My answer was a resounding “YES!” They might have thought I was lying, the smile on my face was so broad. But the bottoms of my Karhus are already so thrashed, it’s hard to see where one season of horrible skiing ends, and one early session of rock skiing begins.  17″ on top of 0″ is a bit thin in spots. At the bottom of Lazy M given my choice between two black diamonds (The Face of M, and Little Tree) and a green (chicken trail) I choose the Face, and was not disappointed. Battered by rocks: yes, but disappointed: no.

Still it was good enough for me and while the ascending hordes stripped their skins and slid back to Cole Creek (or the backside) of RLM, I stayed on Lazy M. Over Saturday and Sunday I skied Lazy M 7 times, the Face 3 times, and Little Tree 4 times. I saw tracks of one other rider on Lazy M and the Face. My season started with a bang, over 13,000 feet of self propelled vert in two days. My feet are banged up enough to prove it. I walked (skinned and skied) away from this weekend with 3 blisters. So I know the necessary callous are not in shape for big days yet. I think in hind-site the beginning of the season is always a period of re-adjustment. Lessons sometimes need to be re leaned. I could have worked my socks differently, which would have helped prevent the blisters. I usually start my season skinning with a light liner sock, and also my normal wool ski socks as well. By  the end of the season I can get away with just the wool sock. Also Saturday I planned on sticking to low angle greens mostly, so I didn’t bring a ton of food. On my 3rd lap up the 2200 ft skin track I knew this to be an error in judgement as well. In total neglect I failed to bring my base-ball cap Saturday, which resulted in my having to sweat it out with my knit cap, or roast my noggin in the sun (I choose sweat, as I actually brought as was drinking tons of water). Finally, for posterity if I would have thought I was going to be riding the terrain I was I would have brought the Go-Pro the 1st day instead of just Sunday.

Farming turns that would make Craig Gordon proud.

Beyond the lessons learned, I had a great weekend. No new blown edges or deep core shots, just lots and lots of buttery sweet turns. Looking at the snow-falls from across the state it looks like Red Lodge came out well on top, Bridger and Big Sky both getting essentially skunked. My facebook feed shows people in Missoula on Mt. Jumbo in shorts and t-shirts. I might need to take a few days off from the climbing gym this week to let the blisters work themselves out but I’m fine by that. My 2012/13 season is off to a grand start. Here’s hoping yours starts up soon too!

One man’s damage.

From day to day just letting it ride.

“The greater danger for most of us is not that our aim is too high and we miss it, but that it is too low and we hit it.”
- Michelangelo Buonarroti, Renaissance artist

A view from the top

Goals, objectives, measurements, insanity. This season I seemed to be driven by all of them. Sunday, the 10th of June, just over 9 months after my season began, about 2/3rds of the way up my 3rd lap, I reached my season long quest. Two-Hundred-and-Fifty-Thousand feet. 1/4 of a million feet of vertical self-propelled.

In and of itself, not a huge undertaking. Really, I mean that. It is not a crazy high number. I’ve only been touring for 4-5 years, and I’m not the most physically gifted guy in the world. That and I love lift service, to the tune of 840k worth of it skied this season. Really all it takes is a bit of drive, a Suunto Core watch, a few pairs of skis, and the tenacity God gave the common sheep dog. Conditions, blah, you can ski garbage snow, and pick your way through low angle trees during those high Ava-danger days that junk seasons bring with them.

I’d like to say Sunday was a glorious day to be out, and that it was the beautifle culmination of a season’s, and life’s journey. But as neither is over (ski season or life) it is fitting that this day fade into the recess of one’s mind as being un-memorable. Really, I thought my season, and possibly life, might be over about 2 turns into my first run of the day. Bullet-porrof hard pack and slide-for-life conditions do not do much in encourage multiple laps. Still, I stuck around, and goal slid to within my grasp (see, dog like tenacity).

Alone, it seemed for good reason, a few brave soles did make it up often hiking 1/3 to 1/2 of the way up before tucking tail and slinking away. Still, the winds blowing the dust on crust were my best company. The snow-hoodoos whirled around my head. The sharp 50 mph gusts blasted my backside, shepherding me uphill while simultaneously trying to knock me on my face. Winds seem to hold a special power over me. I love to hear the pines soughing as they sway, to feel the winds ripping of a ridge as you clamor onto it. The winds seem to add a sense of emergency to the otherwise peaceful and placid conditions outdoors, while other times, they amplify the stillness of the world.

The high water mark…that place where the wave finally broke and rolled back

I felt those winds on my face when I stopped when I crested the 3,500 ft mark for the day. Knowing it was done, that a seasons goal had been accomplished. So many 4-5am (dawn patrol) wakeups, far more dusk patrols where I didn’t beat the sun down to the car, and skied down enveloped by the cloak of the Wasatch night. Almost every Friday of the second semester of school I left class at 2:30pm, walked home, threw my gear in the car, and left to go touring. Often my roommate would be returning from his day at Solitude as I did so. Many, many laps in the cold, dark, windy, occasionally snowy confines of the Wasatch dusk I rode solo.

Still there were the companions, with-out whom I would have lacked much motivation many of these days. Fellow Buzzards Arthur and Tris. Co-worker at http://www.backcountry.com Wally as well. Perhaps the deepest powder day of the season came under Big Sky’s sky, with Craig (Craig II as he is affectionately known) in December outside Red Lodge. Then there is the support that came simply from family, friends, classmates, and coworkers who kept asking the totals, and offering their encouragement. Really as cliché as it sounds, this season is a great microcosmic of life. Expectations were often too high, goals for the day, often unmet. Still we pushed on. Things didn’t work out how we would like, stuff (gear, people, attitudes) broke down on us. Pain, anguish, heartache, all swaddled in joy, commitment, and love. Still the snowy mountains called to us, me especially. It’s not what you get in life that matters, it’s what you make of it. Or, as Victor Frankl once said: He who has a strong enough why, can live through any how.

Yesterday’s Snow, Today’s Ice, Tomorrows Drinking Water

Time and time again I returned, searching, seeking, and often finding. Goals like this one helped push me for sure. They become a physical manifestation of an abstract idea. A season, a journey, a goal, and a life all start to blend together. In the mountains I find the stillness I often lack when outside them. On the high peaks, breathing the rarified, thin air, my attention is focused. Backcountry skiing to me is the ultimate true-ism of this statement. When I push myself, when I truly challenge myself up there everything else slips away. I focus on the next right move, the next step, the next hand-hold, the next kick-turn, and the next pole plant. The line up, and the line down disappear, and the next right move becomes my world.

A man on the move, and just sick enough to be totally confident…

For 250,000 feet this season I was able to leave much of what burdens me behind. In doing so I was able to see what really matters to me again. I was able to put much of my life, and my journey into perspective. Often, I have heard it noted that I have a really great attitude, that I don’t let things weigh me down, that I am always smiling. Well, I think that’s because I have at least 250,000 reasons to do so…

And that’s not counting the lift service!

Philty

Nothing left to do but smile, smile, smile…

I just love it when a plan comes together, or in this case, comes together, falls apart, then comes back together again. Late last week I hatched a plan, ingenious in it’s simplicity: To ski 10k worth of vertical the following Monday. Then the weather decided to take a turn, for the better. Weekend snow storm totals were slated to be in the 1-2 feet range. Not to be deterred from my primary goal, I decided to break out the Armada JJ’s and the ride s%@t outta the resort. Tough when these are your problems and dilemmas in life.

So easy climbing to the top...

So then Sunday afternoon/night, while the rest of the Wasatch watched in utter horror while the storm split (again, groan), I perked right up. From plan A to plan B (not that plan B mom!) back to plan A. It was game on, the 10k day! I arose at the blisteringly early hour of 6:15 a.m., having watched one to many Simpsons episodes before bed. The plan was to be out the door in 15 minuets, which happened 30 minuets after that. At 7:45 I pulled off at the base of Kessler and paused long enough to let the trail of tears creep by me. Poor bastards heading up to the resorts to ski the angry inch…god how I pity the fools.

I made short work of the first lap, remembering mostly to keep my pace low, that today would be a long day not marked by blisteringly fast splits, but instead marked by dogged determination. The trail was mostly sort of broken, with about 3-4” on top of the skin track.  At the top when I broke form and hooked left I broke trail through 12” plus inches to take me directly below the cliffs off Kessler’s summit.

Better know your way back down...

The skiing off the top of the aprons below Kessler proper was sublime. Boot-top deep powder with the occasional spray in one’s face. The skiing below the aprons, well that was choppy, it’s easy to see how far 2 feet would have gone in fixing the place up. Still, in true bcbuzzards style I was able to find some completely untracked boot to knee deep powder up in the trees. The President’s Spray Day hordes? They never descended. One group with two others was spotted lurking, but one lap proved to be enough to satiate their desires.

Somewhere on the second lap up I decided to break form, and actually drink some water, tasty stuff that water is. About half an hour later I went back for seconds only to find the bite valve frozen solid. I’d blown out the tube, held it up and closed it shut, all the tricks of the trade. Well, this is gonna suck I decided, especially since all my food reserves were dry except for the dry-peanut-butter-based ones. Still I pressed on, and somewhere on the up-track it struck me. With the new Camelbak reservoirs there is a release clip on the bottom of the tube, where it hooks into the pack. My ski partner back home has declared this to be placed there for all those uptight prudes who want to (gasp) clean their camelbaks!?! I’m not sure why it is there, but I can tell you this: I popped the piece off, stuffed it into my coat, and by the next lap I was saddling up to the hydration station once again. From now on I’ll just disassemble the entire unit each time. It might take me a few seconds more to drink, but at least I’ll be able to do so!

I had some time to think today, well a LOT of time to think. I also pulled a classic Phil move, I poked around, a lot. I found stashes up there I never knew existed, and skied the tight, tight, TIGHT trees. Pillow lines, yup; rock gardens, you betcha; steep drainages with tons of debris, O YEAH! The kind of skiing that challenges you, rewards you, and sometimes leaves you questioning your sanity.

The real highlight of the day came in the waxing hours of sunlight. At about 3 p.m. the clouds descended on the Wasangles range. Helicopter rotors could be heard in the distance beating their frantic race home. Even the powder-turds were calling it quits and punching out. With one lap left to hit the goal, my objective was easily with-in reach. As I pushed upward and onward my skins began to lose their tack. While scraping them off on the ski (crumpled dollar bill in a coke machine style) I made a deal with them. “Skins” I said, “we got a job to do here, and I promise you stay stuck for this last lap them its home to dry out for both of us.” The lie seemed to work, for this promise was not one I could keep.

Between a rock...

I peaked out at 5pm on the last full lap. The skies were opening up, flakes were falling, visibility was dropping, the light was flatter than a day old half drank PBR tall boy. The evil grey was in full effect. I checked the watch to verify my total: 9,857. Uggggh. With 30 minuets between me and my last possible turn around time I was coming up short. I did what any sane person in such an insane situation would do. Hastily, with my dreams and goal slipping away from me I jammed everything into the pack and dropped the line down to the bench. Slapping the gear back on I rolled up slope till 5:30 before glancing tentatively again at my faithful Sunnito Core: 10,207. Success! Now all that lay between me and my goal was to limp back down, under the cover of falling darkness, the 2,700 feet back to the car. Face shots, tree branches, and a big blow up later and I was back to the Blind Miner of the Wasatch.

This day marks my biggest day of climbing ever, with or without skis. I may have rallied some big tours in the Tetons (Table Mtn) but for sheer verticle, nothing I’ve posted comes close to this. It feels good to push the envelop, and with an earlier start I now know that 12k is easily obtainable. I also dropped to under 100,000 feet left on my season goal of 250,000 feet of self-propelled. Say what you want about snowfall and the conditions in the Rockies this winter, I know the truth. We can pine away this season, and our lives for that matter, thinking about our dreams or we can get out and live them. We can worry and fret, toss and turn, or we can wake up in our dreams, and know we can do anything there.

Philth.

Face shots and evil grey...nah not here, not now.

Just for a bit of fun I thought I’d break down my self-propelled helicopter day of skiing, cost wise. These stats go out to everyone who thinks skiing is too expensive…

Item:                                                                                                                   COST:

1/5^th of a tank of my VW Passat’s Jet A (aka 91 octane)                              10

1 Cup of my personal Santala’s Jet A (aka Coffee)                                        .50

¼ lbs chocolate covered Almonds                                                                   1.99

1 pack poptart from Costco 48 pack                                                                 .25

Approx. 12 pretzel/peanut butter bites                                                           .33

2 gels                                                                                                                       1.50

1 ltr. H2O (municipal supply aka tap)                                                             0.00

3 Carmel Cookie Waffles                                                                                     1.13

2 packs instant oatmeal                                                                                       .20

Nuts/Nutella/pb in oatmeal                                                                               .40

All you can eat sushi post ski                                                                            25.95 (includes tip/tax)

Total out of pocket expenses:                                                                            42.25

Editors note: A 5 buck Little Caesars Hot N Ready would have lowered my costs by ½, if you’re on the budget-budget self-propelled helicopter skiing plan.

Just to be fair, let’s include an additional item line for all the gear you might need to justify having*:

1/250^th Dynafit ZZues boots (retail 670, psssh who pays that)                     2.68

1/40 Dynafit Stoke skis (799.95 msrp)                                                               19.99

1/40  Dynafit Stoke Skins (209.95)                                                                      5.24

1/300 Black Diamond Expedition Ski Poles (90 msrp)                                    0.3

1/70^th Mammut Eidger (675.00 msrp)                                                                 9.64

1/150^th Arcteryx Fury AR Pants (395 msrp)                                                        2.64

1/300^th Giro Seam Helmet (160)                                                                            .53

1/50^th Mammut RAS 30 Airbag Pack** (950)                                                      19

Total Gear Costs:                                                                                                        60.02

OK, so in hindsight, all in 60.02 for the gear plus 42.25 for food pulls the grand total for the time of your life, dirtbag style to 102.27. OUCH, this is actually still an expensive sport. Well until you take a look at http://powderbird.com/adventures/utah/rates where the powder turds offer you a day of 10k backcountry vert for 1,260 bucks. 10 times the cost, and I’m pretty sure those rates don’t include all you can eat sushi, or a time share (1/50^th) of a Mammut airbag!

*All these items were priced at full retail in case, unlike me, you simply cannot wait until June to by it for ½ price.

** The Mammut RAS 30 is open for debate here. I’ll be the first to say that if you look for one piece of gear to save your live, you are doomed to failure. Just like a beacon, if you have to use this bag for it’s specific feature, well, you screwed the pooch somewheres along the line. (Knock on wood!) Still it provies me with a touch more comfort than the Black Diamond Avalung, albeit with a bit of a weight-load. Skiing alone is a risky endeavor. Seeing only two other people this day highlights this fact. Sure the Avalung allows me to breath longer buried. But if no one sees me go under all that really does is extend the period of time during which I can contemplate my own undoing and personal foibles. The airbag might at least keep me on top, possibly allowing me to dust myself off and limp down/call for help…at they very least easier to spot for SAR.

Another night begins on the Wastach