Dog Days 19, 20, 21 -- 4/23-25/2011

YOU CAN’T TAKE your dog into a restaurant, grocery store, or barber shop.  But the good news is that, in many areas, you can take your dog skiing!

[mason, solar engineer]

With vast amounts of snow heaped all over the western mountains, skiing is stellar, and the exceptional conditions should continue into the summer months.  (Note: Mammoth is talking about a twelve-month season.)  Though Brad and I haven’t skied together since his move to Alameda in late January, we hooked up for a three-day Easter exploratory trip to the western Sierras.  (My Sierra experience, though considerable, is limited to the “east side”.)

Carson Pass, southeast of Tahoe, is a hugely popular backcountry destination, with a vast selection of world class peaks and descents.  We had the good luck to hook up with a veteran of the region, Mason Terry, a solar engineer from Palo Alto, who provided great route finding and beta.  An additional benefit was his dog Kali, a robust Chow-Lab mix who jaunted ahead of us on the uptrack,

[kali, hardy mountain guide]

and dashed downslope with the glee of any true-blue shredder.  For a twelve-year-old (82 in human years), Kali proved to be a hearty and inexhaustible alpinist, usually jaunting ahead and turning back, wondering why we were such slowpokes.

Brad’s dog, Luke, was along for the weekend.  But on a past trip a few years ago out of Utah’s Amerian Fork, Luke struggled in the breakable crust and Brad was concerned if he was suitably conditioned for the rigors of a long day at
high altitude.  So Luke stayed behind for our second day in the cabin at Sorenson’s Resort. (A plug here for the wonderful hospitality and great food at this little cabin enclave 15 miles east of the Kirkwood.)

[kali leads to summit]

So Sunday, with Kali leading the way with the keen route finding acumen of a seasoned alpine guide, we climbed Steven’s Peak -- no relation, though I did feel a sense of kinship after two creamy powder runs from the 10,000 foot summit.

[first turns off mt. stevens]

Monday was our getway day and Brad decided to give Luke a tryout in the relatively mellow terrain east of Red Lake  -- mellow in the sense that this would only rate a single black diamond at a regular ski resort.  Luke proved a natural mountaineer, bounding ahead, around, off into the trees, back down to reconnect.  If we traveled three miles, Luke probably covered three times that, investigating every scent, probing every stump and varmint hole.  He was in sensory nirvana, overwhelmed by an infinite palette of natural stimuli.

[dude, let's ski!]

At a rock-pile peak overlooking the east rim of Red Lake, he bounded up the wind-scoured rocks for his first alpine summit.  Then came the real fun – the plunge back down to the car.  Luke dove down the fall line, a true shredder, porpoising through the deep snow, hooked on the thrill of a steep and deep line through the trees.

Mountains seem a natural habitat for dogs, which reminds me a my climb of Pico Orizaba in Mexico.  On a training dash up Malinche (14,500), we were joined by a companion group of feral local dogs who happily guided the rugged talus route to the summit block.  They scrambled to the top for the meager reward of a piece of Power Bar or some sandwich scraps. But, equally I think, they simply appreciated
the amicable company of fellow high-altitude travelers.

It was a great intro day for Luke, and now that he has proven his chops, no doubt the first of many in coming seasons.  In sum, this was a great ski weekend in new terrain, gaining three new ski buds – Mason and Kali from Palo Alto, and Luke, the shredder dog.

Weekend's Vertical: 6,500                           Season to Date: 66,500

Shop Talk -- 4/21/2011

TODAY’S SKI TECHNOLOGY is driven by carbon fiber, graphite bases, and titanium technologies.  But will a ski weekend be saved by a fifty/sixty year old hardware store staple?

[the Markers/Salomon of their day]

A trip was set for the Western Sierra over the Easter weekend of April 23 to 25.  With my primary ski kit stored in Utah, I was going to have to make do with older ski gear that I keep in SoCal for quick trips to the Sierras and local mountains.

[bear traps circa 1950]

I have a nearly 10-year-old pair of BD Crossbows, a proven lightweight that I remember for dozens of great days – from Utah, to the Eastern Sierras, Mammoth, and one trip up and down Shasta.  However, these skis have already been drilled more times than a company of Marine Corps “boots”, twice with Fritschis, once with Dynafits.  Ski mechanic doctrine holds that skis should never be mounted more than twice.  But I have evolved into a complete disciple of the feather-weight Dynafit line and ordered a pair of TLT Speeds to replace the mounted Fritischis, providing me a low-weight SoCal setup.

[Dynafit heel piece]

I don’t have access to a Dynafit mounting template but the drill holes from the last Dynafits were still present, sealed with silicone.  After cleaning the holes, I realized that the mounting screws were a less-than-bomber fit.  The idea of a binding tearing loose, miles into the backcounty, was sobering.  So how to insure a snug screw fit?  Superglue?  Epoxy?  Chewing gum?

[steel wool sprouts]

Then a thought occurred from my early days of skiing (50s/60s) when the “bear trap” was the Marker Jesters of their day, a steel box that clamped the toe of the boot to the ski.  It was common then to frequently adjust the span of the clamshell to accommodate growing feet and loan-outs to ski buddies.  Mounting screws were constantly loosened and re-tightened, resulting in sloshy screw holes.  The low-tech fix was steel wool, shredded into short clumps and wadded into the holes.  A few shreds from a twenty-cent boll of steel wool created a bomber fit.

[the old tech standby]

So, considering my sloppy ski holes, that 50-year-old solution came to mind.  At my local Osh store, steel wool was no longer two bits but four bucks for a package, Medium Coarse.

Back at the work bench, I twirled off a few strands of the steel wool and twisted them into the holes.  Then a few drops of epoxy as a concession to modern materials.  Placing the Dynafit components over the pre-drilled holes, I tightened the screws.  A snug fit, torqued down hand-tight.  With the old Fritschi screw holes sealed with silicone, we were ready to hit the road. 

[mounted and ready to ski -- 400 miles away]

Sintered graphite bases, Densolite cores, carbide steel dura edges.  And wadded steel wool.  We’ll be in the Sierras, southwest of Tahoe for three days.  A great test to see how a fifty-year-old low tech solution holds up.

All this is testimony to the fact that western mountains are still piling up record amounts of snow and late-season skiing is still epic.  In fact, Mammoth Mountain has recorded so much snow this season that they are talking about a 12-month season.  So, expect more posts here.

Day 18 -- 2/27/2011

THE SAN GABRIEL Mountains form a massive barrier between the Los

Angeles basin and the Mojave Desert.  With peaks rising to 10,000 feet, the San Gabriels are geologically recognized as one of the steepest and fastest growing ranges in the world.  Anywhere in the world but L.A., where “big” is accepted as a kind of norm, this range would be regarded as a significant alpine feature.  (Mt. Mansfield in my native Vermont Green Mountains would hardly even create a bulge in the list of top peaks in the San Gabes.)

[the crystaline l.a. skies]

As of early February, my reliable Wasatch crash-pad is no longer available and I have had to relocate my base of operations to my home in Pasadena, better known as the home of Tournament of Roses.  However Pasadena, with its not-so-untypical January 70 degree temperatures, is also at the foot of the San Gabriels, which comb high altitude weather currents and can pile up significant heaps of snow during the California rainy season.

[spiny yucca darts]

This year has been a record breaker for moisture and cool temperatures and snow has been stacking in the San Gabriels, most notably on the flanks of Mount Baldy (10,068), which is about 30 miles as the crow flies from the parking lot of my neighborhood Starbucks, where I fueled up early on February 27th. Up to three feet of new powder had stacked up on the higher elevations, with temperatures on the peaks in the teens.

The first challenge, arriving at Manker Flats 6,000 feet above Claremont, was just finding a place to park.  Hundreds of families had already arrived, jammed and double-parked on either side of the road, turning the shoulders into a slick and sticky white rave.

[Dave Braun's smooth sweeps]

I have summited Baldy at least ten times, in every season, but this was the first time I have been able to skin directly from the Manker trailhead.  A track was already in place by 9 a.m.   A good thing because I wouldn’t be breaking 4,000 feet of trail.  But it also meant I wasn’t here with an original idea.

The air was crystalline and the snow deep, making prickly puff balls of the succulent yucca plants.  Note to self: do not fall on one of these dagger balls on the way down.  It’s a long way to the nearest ER.

At 8,200 feet, the flat spaces around the Sierra Club hut were crowded with arrivals from a couple of hiking groups, working on their snow travel skills.  Baldy Bowl rises in a huge sweep above the hut to the summit and I only counted a half dozen sets of tracks.  Close to a mile in diameter, Baldy Bowl is so huge that it would even stagger Little Cloud Bowl and the Ballroom chutes.  Though the air temperature was in the high 20s, the radiant heat off the snow made it T-shirt weather and I knew the snow would turn to sticky mush by afternoon.

[resting, summit ridge]

On the way to the summit ridge I ran into a guy from La Canada who had already turned a few laps and was moving fast on a light set-up of free-heels and Goode carbons – not the kind of advanced gear you would expect to find in the So Cal mountains.  Dave was scrolling beautiful turns, systematically ticking off the series of chutes that channel down into the bowl from the summit ridge.

[the oscar for best...]

I picked one of the chutes that Dave had already tracked, a 50 degree couloir pinched at two choke points, less than a couple ski-lengths wide at the narrows.  The snow was creamy and stable.  The pay-off for three hours of climbing was a 90 second drop back into the bowl.  A worthwhile return on investment?  Damn straight!

I looked back up the well-grooved track to the ridgeline for another lap.  But it was nearly 2 and I had been invited to an Oscar party.  I also knew the terrain below the hut would be melting, rocky, and cautious going.  And, hey, it’s still Hollywood.

Day's Vertical: 3,600.                          Season to Date: 60,000

Day 17 -- 2/18/2011

[comfort class at 24k]

[the captain, pre flight]

WITHOUT MY FRIENDS and their generous hospitality, there is no way I would be able to amass the number of ski days I enjoy over the course of the season.  This past weekend – Feb. 17 - 21 – I was able to catch a ride up to Park City on John Rigney’s super cushy Cheyenne turbo prop.  Having already driven two round-trippers this season from Pasadena to Salt Lake,

[altitude gain the hard way]

 it was a joy to stretch out in the comfy pressurized cabin, seat tilted back with feet up on the facing seat, while I dozed comfortably on the two-and-a-half hour trip at 24,000 feet above the storms and turbulence.

We skied twice over the weekend, with the second day in two feet of freshies at Career (Deer) Valley.  The snow was creamy and knee-deep.  But even the most secretive DV powder stashes were shredded up by mid morning.  Plus, at 90 Samoleans for a lift ticket, it reinforces why so many skiers are chosing manual ascent.

Two days earlier, John and I did just that.  We started out from the upper Alta Parking lot, headed for East Silverfork.  However two hundred yards into the ascent, John’s Dynafit heel tower snapped.  But thanks to a quick repair at Black Diamond, Retail Manager Dennis Maw saved the day and we were back on our way into the mountains via Big Cottonwood to enjoy a steep, untracked descent off the backside of Short Swing, north of the Spruces area.  Another day enjoyed, thanks to the kindness of good friends.

For those skiing the Dynafit line, here is a great instructional video from Lou Dawson with tips for smooth operation of the sometimes tricky binding.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_DysqbyjyRc&feature=related

Day's Vertical: 1,900.  Season to Date: 56,400

Days 15, 16 - 2/2 - 2/4/2011

WE KNOW THAT VIGOROUS activity, in the form of sports, creates an array of benefits: good heart health, weight control, and a balanced emotional life.  But, personally speaking, I am intrigued by the way that sports reveals the true measure of an individual.  I once played racquetball with a casual acquaintance who I tended to think of as generally self-absorbed, petty, and not particularly.  Suitable company for an hour of bashing the ball around, but nobody I was going trust with any investments.

[gone for California]

Our skills matched up well and the level of our games improved on roughly the same arc.  Simon (not his real name) was a focused player who ferociously challenged every point.  He fought to the
last drop of sweat or gram of energy to beat you, and was childishly jubilant when he won, though never gloating at the expense of his adversary.  And when the points didn’t go his way, Simon was a gracious loser, never putting the blame on his racquet, the lights, the court.  When a call was close, he usually conceded the point.  So over the course of our playing relationship, I noticed a turnabout on my opinion of the man.  Through the crucible of intensely wrought competition, I observed a guy who I had came to admire and even regard with a kind of affection.

This story is to preface a turn of events that has completely changed this ski season for me.  My friend Brad, a durable and skilled backcountry companion, and a figure in many of these blog entries, has been forced by this devastating job market to give up his Wasatch home and relocated for work in The Bay area.  From our first meeting, I recognized Brad as a cheerful, generous, and reliable fellow.   But it was through the process of skiing, climbing, and biking together that I came to recognize his more enduring qualities:  an uncommon civility and gregariousness, calm under fire, and a keen mind for the nuances of personality and character
.

[the payoff]

Safely climbing and skiing these mountains is a formidable undertaking.  Grinding uphill, sometimes for hours on end with a 15 or 20 pound back, on heavy skis and boots, often in brutal weather – this is no pursuit for the casual recreationalist.  But the pay-off comes in the opportunity to ski snow and terrain that would normally be prohibited within the bounds of most ski areas.  The backcountry also presents many hazards, not the least of which are avalanches, frostbite, treed terrain, and unarrested plunges down glassy chutes.  People who will hold your life at the end of a 9 millimeter rope must be proven for skill, reliability, and good judgment.  In my friend Brad Carroll, these characteristics were only completely revealed through many hard days crossing the Wasatch, Sierras, Rainier, and the Alps.  It’s the pursuit of sports, at its extreme boundaries, that brings out these traits.

[new cohort - David, Tom, Sue]

Brad has this genius for picking up conversations with completely strangers, and since meeting on an airport parking shuttle in 2003, we have skied and climbed hundreds of days together.  Though he may have moved to the more civil flats of the Bay tideline, I am sure we will ski and climb again.  Still, an era has passed and my days in the mountains will never be quite the same
.

I have taken up with a new cohort in the backcountry.  Returning to Utah from a circular tour of New York and Vermont, I hooked up with David Kliger, a convert from the miserable ski rinks of Northern New England, and two of his Connecticut friends, Sue and Tom.  Highly agreeable folks and skilled skiers with a helpful and informed wariness of backcountry travel.

[Sue and Dave at minus 8]

With minus eight and ten degree temps on February 2^nd, we layered up and found good snow in the Rocky Point and Dry Creek drainage off the back of Alta’s Supreme Lift.  February 4^th was milder (slightly) with a stellar plunge down Holy Toledo, then shits-and-giggles-good laps off the north side of Benson Ridge.  Though I have seen enough to trust their skills and mountain judgement, I haven’t skied enough days with them to fill out a true picture of their temper and nature. But that will come.  You know, sports has a way of doing that.

Days' Vertical: 3,100 and 3,000     Season to Date: 54,500

Eastside Ski Notes -- 1/25/11

[Mohonk and the skinny ski set]

Let’s face it: if you ski enough, you’ll eventually reach the point where the resort just won’t satisfy your powder jones anymore. Even on the deepest days, runs get tracked out too fast, and you find yourself venturing into the slackcountry. You duck the rope, traverse for 15 minutes, drop in on the 400 feet of untracked snow that you find, and then traverse back at the bottom. So, what do you do when those few hundred feet of fresh are no longer enough? You leave the lifts and crowds behind and get into the backcountry.
So begins an excellent article in Backcountry.com describing the process of going from the in-bounds to the out-of-bounds ski lifestyle.
Read more at:
http://www.backcountry.com/store/newsletter/a1141/Slackcountry-to-Backcountry.html?cmp_id=EM_SAL1290a4&mv_pc=r105&rmid=BC_01_11_Newsletter&rrid=74960826
Or just go to Backcountry.com and click on the article "Slackcountry to Backcountry."  And be sure to take note of the other great articles, gear reports, and links.
Relocated for the short term to New York and Vermont, my "backcountry skiing" has been limited to track skiing in Vermont and the Mohonk Preserve.  I've been a long time away from the skinny ski culture, but once you get your stride back, "skating" is a great conditioner and a skill-set all its own. 

Day 14 -- 1/11/11

MATISSE AND RED BLOOD CELLS may seem like an odd mash up, but I will try to make my point.  After a month at sea level in Pasadena and Las Vegas, I found myself growing somewhat ambivalent in my usual passion for being in the mountains.  But then finally back in Utah, we started from our familiar staging point at Alta Lodge and began our well-traveled Powerline route to the ridgeline.

High altitude medical studies seem pretty uniform in the idea that red blood cells – the couriers of oxygen – tend to decrease to normal levels after a couple weeks away from high altitude environment.  Which means that returning to the mountains after a few weeks means that you have to reboot your red cell build-up from scratch and suffer the effects of acclimatization like regular sea-level folks.  However, in my own experience, I have found that after year’s-long exertion at altitude, my ability to function well in thin air seems to rebound pretty quickly.  So after an hour or so in the skin track, I realized I was moving well and sustaining a credible cadence.  (Brad said we were climbing at about 1,000 feet per hour; not at peak pace, but respectable, given my month-long glut of sea-level oxygen.)

[reaping the rewards]

The air was exceptionally clear.  The view from near 11,000 feet was spectral, with infinity only impaired by the natural bend of the earth.  The climb to Heart of Darkness pass was burly, especially the last 300 feet of boot-packing to the ridge through 60 degree junk-pile lee deposit.  But then, standing at the divide between two vast basins, barely a ski track in sight, that ambivalence vanished.  The arctic wind was gusting, turning our exposed skin to crystal; the footing was fractured and unstable and a false step could mean a 500-foot ass luge to the emergency room.  What most reasonably minded people would call misery.

But standing atop a summit, every step earned equity, is something I call humble superiority.  The ambivalence was supplanted by the kind of exalted tinyness I feel in the mountains.  This was a brief layover in Utah and two days later I am in Manhattan, back at sea level, restoring my red blood cell count to consumer level metabolism.  But I travel back to the summit for a moment and think of the Matisse caption that accompanies one of his late-in-life construction paper pieces.  It goes something like: "Elle vit apparaître le matin. Elle se tut discrètement" .  Which I believe crudely translates to: she saw the beauty of the morning; she shut the fuck up.

Day’s Vertical: 4,400.  Season to Date: 48,400.