Winter

I've been terrible at keeping up on the blog recently.  Sorry 'bout that.  In the absence of any new fish porn, you'll just have to settle for this picture from a couple weeks ago of Karta getting her ski on.  Enjoy.

Sheep!

When I tell people I live in Anchorage, they often make the mistake of thinking I live in Alaska.  Sadly, I do not.  I live 20 minutes from Alaska.  However, now that the days are getting longer 20 minutes isn't so bad.  Here's what went on after work yesterday:

Karta, showing Evan and I the way up:

Go go gadget zoom (there actually were three):

Self-shot by The Wife looking out over Turnagain Arm:

Doug getting after it:

Evan, not afraid of refreezing sun-baked mush:

Karta and I pushed on past the rest of the crew to the saddle, eventually getting an up-close-and-personal view of the sheep from above and milking about 2,200 vertical feet out of the day:

It's been snowing off-and-on for the past week, and temperatures have been warming.  We were skiing on 6-8 inches of fresh that had warmed up during the day and was started to refreeze as the evening wore on.  Not bad, all and all.  Of course, the sheep were a great bonus.

Skication

Since I spend most Mondays through Fridays behind a desk, it's important that I make the most of any mid-week day off work.  They are all too rare, and not to be taken lightly.  Here's how I spent my last two. . .

With reports of recent high winds and no new snow in the past several days, Evan and I set out Thursday looking more to explore a new area than get powder turns. 

Here's Evan near the start of our (fortunately windless) tour:

Looking North after a few-hundred-foot climb:

The snow was old and firm anywhere exposed, but was soft and smooth where protected.  This picture, taken on a ridge about 1,900 feet up, shows the old skin track and pole plants left behind after wind blew the surrounding uncompacted snow away--pretty cool to look at, not the best for skiing: 

We stopped just shy of the peak, deciding not to make the final push to the summit since it was wind loaded and crusty.  With hardly a cloud in the sky and almost imperceptible wind, we took our time on the transition.  

Evan, looking East (it's about 2,000 vertical down to the valley):

It was one of those rare times at elevation where everything was calm and comfortable.  I found myself wishing we had lugged up lawn chairs, beers, a grill and some brats.

Me, looking North:

Evan starting the down:

The top was firm, but the mid-mountain snow was awesome and far exceeded expectations:

Looking back at our route, we skied from the ridge on the right of the far center peak, through the shaded trees to looker's left, then toured back through the forest where this picture was taken:

As nice and clear as Thursday was, things took a turn for the worse on Friday.  Not that you can see it, but here's pointing toward the day's line. . .

. . . of course, I could have spent the day sitting behind a desk.

40 degrees warmer

By no means do I consider myself experienced in the backcountry.  I've been skiing almost exclusively outside the resort for the past four years, but nobody becomes an expert in four years.  I'm quick to concede the fact that I have lots to learn.

All of this was further reinforced yesterday when, because of a few smart decisions and lucky breaks, I enjoyed amazing powder turns while another more experienced group only a short distance away, because of a few bad decisions and/or shitty luck, spent the day digging out of an avalanche (picture one, two).

This winter's been strange.  One week we'll have -22* and hoar frost; the next week we'll get a Chinook wind and 33* freezing rain.  All of this has wrecked havoc on our local snow pack.  A week and a half ago I noticed numerous natural avalanches at lower elevations.  Yesterday's avy report warned of isolated instabilities at mid elevations.

Nonetheless, with temperatures hovering in the 25* range and a layer of new snow--the type of whether we've been waiting for--a crew of us set out for a few turns yesterday.  Fortunately, we recognized it was time to be cautious.

The Wife getting started:

With a group half-full of greenhorns, we headed back to the same place I wrote about a couple weeks ago.  This place is well known for its predictable conditions and safe slope--the sort of place you should go to when things are sketchy.

Here's Megan (killing it on her first real backcountry tour) and Doug charging up the skin track:

Our skin up was pretty ideal.  Doug heard some significant whumphing at one point--which was consistent with our various warnings--but I saw no first-hand signs of instability.  Once we got above the trees, things seemed to firm up.  

Roughly 1500 feet up, the pitch steepened:

Megan and Doug getting ready for the turn:

The down was ridiculous.  I've racked my brain trying to rank it compared to past days.  It wasn't the best, but definitely was in the top five.  Of course, you'll have to take my word for it because I didn't get a single picture of the main face.  To busy skiing to get a decent picture, I guess.

Evan, after skiing down the top pitch:

Me, coming in for a landing:

Megan and Doug:

Looking south:

The token group shot:

By the time we reached the lower elevations and got back to tree line, we could hear multiple helicopters that we later learned were part of a rescue operation just a couple peaks south (near the left portions of the past two pictures).

At this point in my typical blog post, I'd close with a picture of a beer and write something about how awesome the day was.  But, in this case it seems odd to have enjoyed such wonderful lines so close to where another group had such a terrible, possibly life-ending experience--all in the same day.  My group obviously made good decisions (starting with the decision to go somewhere familiar that had a reputation for being safe) but still. . .



. . . here's to making good decisions . . . and having however much luck is required.

Let there be light!

My vision has gotten progressively worse over the past ten or so years.  I've learned to deal with it while fishing, but the situation is nearly impossible while skiing.  I can wear my glasses under goggles, but the whole shebang fogs up the second I start sweating or stop moving.  Things are doable at the resort--at least until my first fall or about the fifth lap, which ever comes first--but are almost totally unworkable in the backcountry where everything fogs up instantly.

After not being able to see beyond my ski tips for the past couple seasons, I finally overcame my fear of stuff stuck in my eyes and got contacts.  This past Sunday was my first time since in the mountains--and it was amazing.  

Of course, I should mention that it also was wicked cold:

The thermometer hit -22*F on the drive up and read -16*F at the trailhead when we strapped on our skis.  You had to be dedicated.

Neither The Wife nor I had skied this particular spot before, but it was pretty easy to reach and you could easily get 2500ft of vertical on a wide open face: 

Summit Lake is in the background, with Evan, a regular ski partner of ours, and Ryan, another of our friends, making the skin up:

The Wife and I made the turn about 200 vertical feet from the top, just short of a steep wind loaded pocket we wanted to avoid.  We saw no indication of snow instability on the skin up, but several older small-to-medium sized avalanches on nearby wind loaded areas made us think twice about going any farther.

In case I forgot to mention, or you somehow glossed over the first picture in this post, it was hella cold.  There wasn't much if any wind, which kept things bearable, but keeping our hands and feet warm was a challenge.  I stayed reasonably comfortable during the skin up--even shedding a layer at one point--but I had no intention of stopping for any length of time on the way down.

Considering it hadn't snowed in about a week, the snow was amazing.  Except for the first few wind packed turns at the top, nearly the entire descent was on 6-10 inches of fluff.  Of course, my unwillingness to remove my mittens means I didn't capture anything on camera.  At least I could see!

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...

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.

'cause there's no weak sauce in Alaska

So Josh came up for what's becoming an annual visit.  The snow was looking good and we decided to harvest some fresh corn.  We'll keep this light on the verbiage, and heavy on the pictures.  Enjoy!

Josh got in on Thursday; by Friday we were skinning up the local peaks under cloud cover . . .

. . . but the clouds didn't hang around for long.  Everything cleared up just as we made the final push.

From the top:

Too busy skiing to take pictures, you'll have to take our word that the down was every bit as fun as you might imagine.

Turning the page to Saturday, we worked our way up North to practice some flexible rod sampling.

Of course, they call it "fishing" and not "catching" for a reason.

With clear skies and a distinct lack of fish willing to take a (our) fly, it was back to the mountains.

Once again, the views were terrible . . .  looking West into Cook Inlet at low tide:

Putting away the skins for the down:

Austin taking a turn:

That wasn't so bad.

And Josh, pooped at the end of the day: