Core shot

We've received a fair amount of snow this year.  Even so, things are pretty wind hammered and the snow can get thin in spots.  It's generally easy to avoid the rocks and stay afloat.  However, I found a couple thin spots part way down a tight chute on Saturday--long after committing to the line.  It was too tight to avoid the rocks and too steep not to turn.  Things got pretty interesting for a turn or two.

I didn't have my camera with me at the time, but this is the aftermath: 

These skis didn't have a single notable scratch on them before Saturday.  I'm not sure when skis become rock skis, but these must be pretty close:

Of course, one of the great things about skis is that enough p-tex and epoxy can fix almost anything.  Since the edges remained intact, with only one real core shot and a bunch of scrapes and dings, a couple evenings working in the garage and some down time waiting for the epoxy to cure put things back in order.  A little wax and we'll be back in business.  Here's everything (and a dog treat) post-repair:

Some people baby their skis and are afraid to take them out in the early season.  I certainly take care of my sticks, but recognize that skis are meant for skiing.  Even so, I might wait for things to fill in a bit before skiing that line again...

AbsoMoosely

From the other day:

A three hour tour.

Sam and I met up this afternoon for a quick ski tour.  I had been on my cross-country skis a few times this season, but this was my first time out on the big sticks.  It was good to drive the legs and burn the lungs after spending all fall drinking beers in the raft.  As was confirmed, pulling oars all day and doing 12oz. curls all night aren't worth a damn come ski season.

Sam, stoked on the skin track:

A self-shot looking west across Cook Inlet:

This was one of those rare days where everything was calm and quiet at the top.  The complete lack of any perceptible breeze combined with a slight inversion (and the climb) to make it feel pretty warm out.  I usually carry an extra insulated layer and hardshell when I ski, but neither were necessary until we got back to the rig.

Sam, ready for the down (looking southeast into the Chugach):

As nice as it was hanging out at the top, the ski down was tough.  There was enough snow to make your turns, but things were a bit thin and windblown.  Most places had a crust layer hiding beneath a couple inches of sugar/surface hoar that was just strong enough to occasionally support your weight.  You'd get one or two solid turns, then break through and hang up on the crust.  They were the best turns I've had all season.

Sam and Karta getting after it with the sunset reflecting off the snow:

Seconds later, Sam found the crust layer:

By the time we made it back to the rig we'd been away from the truck a little over three hours.  Thirty minutes later we were ordering sushi.  Anchorage sure has its perks.

Chum!

It must be going off in Oregon.  Last week Josh sent me pictures of a fat hen steelhead; this week it's chum.  If you're in the Pacific northwest and you aren't on a river, you're missing out.

A blitzkrieg attack on the [redacted]

After spending all fall making my brother jealous with stories of toad rainbow, Josh seems to have found a bit of redemption.  While I'm freezing my cojones off, he's getting chrome missiles:

Perhaps I need to take a trip home for Thanksgiving after all. . .