Vuelta de los abismos
Shuksan. North Cascades Gem. Its steep and glorious north/northwest face is a classic ski descent, via any route. And new routes and variations appear every year, it seems. One week ago, Dan skied a line that had been obvious to all who desire steep. The line doesn't even have a proper name yet. I learned this right before convincing Robert to join in the project. Makes it easier, knowing that it is possible.
But now, I'm in my bivy looking up at the wild stars. They're better when Bellingham's lights go to sleep. I should sleep too... alas, I don't seem to be able to sleep before going up Shuksan. And the last time I skied was 3 months ago, on Shuksan. Then shoulder surgery. Then recovering. Then some climbing. Then no climbing. Stupid shoulder. Stupid cars hitting bicyclists. Its 1am. I'll be skiing tomorrow instead. Something steep. I'll have to practice skiing again. In my mind. I imagine jump turning, the steepness, the route. Its 2. Maybe? I'm sleeping with wild dreams.
Two others parked at the trailhead start moving. It's 4. The light is already out. Our alarms go off. 4:20 time. 420 am. Coffee, cereal, pack. We move. Light and 'fast'. We scream down the melt refrozen hill of hell to White Salmon Creek. I've never had fun going down it. Even worse times going up it. Why do I do this again? Oh yeah, that mountain up ahead.
We pass two Splitters going up the White Salmon glacier. They broke trail for a while. Our turn. Drifts of amazing snow to make the breaking fun. Man... our aspect is similar to this. It. Will. Kick. Ass. I hope.
Then the boot pack up the hourglass, and cruise along Upper Curtis Glacier.
The entrance is easy to find. Maybe we see ski 'tracks'? Or scrapes. Look down at ski's over the edge. 2200ft to the base, and we can see it. Thats gotta be steep.
Do a pole check for the snow conditions. Amazing butter pow right here. Whack over there. F. That is too hard. Maybe I don't want to get on top of that? (she said)
Robert and I discussed it, and now I'm belaying down to check out the entrance conditions.
Boots punch through quite easily. Don't even have to kick. Damn, at the end of 30m. Should have brought my 37m. Well, at least that snow 3m away over there looks identical to the butter pow at the top. Maybe its the same. I hope.
I come back up and report while Robert coils the rope, "Its a little bit crusty. Maybe we can punch through."
Sun Dog comes out to play. Almost a double Sun Dog. Across the sky. "I double dog dare you to ski down this," says Robert. I accept.
The worst part about doing anything, is starting it.
I make it to the snow resembling butter pow while scraping along melt crust. It is 2 inches of butter powder, chilling on top of the melt crust. Great. Not going the way I wanted to: too sketch. Reaally glad Dan did this recently. I'll go his way. Slide down. Slow. Icy scrapy crap. Maybe I can turn here? Think. Imagine. Turn! Slide. Arrest. Stand. Control my slide down. Its definitely kicking ass. My ass. Slide a bit. Fuck, control it. Finally... ooooh. I can turn on this stuff! Amazing steep butter pow. The best part of doing anything, is doing it. Five turns of bliss. Then ice. Then a few blessed turns to Winnie's slide. Roberts are a better.
Robert begin his descent. He slides. Slips. Gets a few more turns in, now knowing where he can turn, carefully noting the previous descent. Shiny snow underneath the random inches of cream!
We could have found worse conditions... More Cascade Smoke.
At the bottom of Winnie's slide.
We debate:
"Go under the Ice Cliff and risk it calving on our heads? I don't think my helmet will do much good."
or
"Go on this couloir of nice looking steep corn. But we just heard that Dan did this not too long ago, and spent 20min side slipping and stepping down it. Hm..."
I pansy out and reason that if Dan had that much trouble... So now I'm 'skiing' under the ice cliff.
I'm turning and I'm sliding, F turns they're called. And then I'm only slip-sliding. They're exhilerating when there's rock cliffs underneath you. I'm not going to bypass these rocks by going left, like I thought might be possible from the ground. I'll go right to get down, directly in line with the glacier's firing range. Great. Better go fast. Slide down an icy chute.
I'm at the base. The sluffed snow at the bottom is slightly soft. A few turns of funness. Hell, my legs are tired. Mental skiing didn't prevent my legs from getting tired. Imagine that... I get out of the range of small sluffs and wait for Robert. He gets down, and plows through the somewhat melted avy debris. We're safe.
The worst part about doing anything, is finishing it. We're descending the remaining distance to the creekbed and the snow is grabby. Sticky, in fact. Manky mashed garbage. I can't wait for consolidated sweet corn. Now we're looking up a nice looking skin track up to the logging road. It looks fresh, and we don't have to make it.
"Isn't this the way we went last time, and it wasn't good?"
I respond, "Maybe its better this time?" I hope.
Isothermal post holing mush and tree pulling goodness. Given the conditions and location, we should get out of here, fast.
No more up! We're at the road. Fist pump.
We're at the car, eating a water melon. The best part about doing anything, is getting it done.
But now, I'm in my bivy looking up at the wild stars. They're better when Bellingham's lights go to sleep. I should sleep too... alas, I don't seem to be able to sleep before going up Shuksan. And the last time I skied was 3 months ago, on Shuksan. Then shoulder surgery. Then recovering. Then some climbing. Then no climbing. Stupid shoulder. Stupid cars hitting bicyclists. Its 1am. I'll be skiing tomorrow instead. Something steep. I'll have to practice skiing again. In my mind. I imagine jump turning, the steepness, the route. Its 2. Maybe? I'm sleeping with wild dreams.
Two others parked at the trailhead start moving. It's 4. The light is already out. Our alarms go off. 4:20 time. 420 am. Coffee, cereal, pack. We move. Light and 'fast'. We scream down the melt refrozen hill of hell to White Salmon Creek. I've never had fun going down it. Even worse times going up it. Why do I do this again? Oh yeah, that mountain up ahead.
We pass two Splitters going up the White Salmon glacier. They broke trail for a while. Our turn. Drifts of amazing snow to make the breaking fun. Man... our aspect is similar to this. It. Will. Kick. Ass. I hope.
The entrance is easy to find. Maybe we see ski 'tracks'? Or scrapes. Look down at ski's over the edge. 2200ft to the base, and we can see it. Thats gotta be steep.
Do a pole check for the snow conditions. Amazing butter pow right here. Whack over there. F. That is too hard. Maybe I don't want to get on top of that? (she said)
Robert and I discussed it, and now I'm belaying down to check out the entrance conditions.
Boots punch through quite easily. Don't even have to kick. Damn, at the end of 30m. Should have brought my 37m. Well, at least that snow 3m away over there looks identical to the butter pow at the top. Maybe its the same. I hope.
I come back up and report while Robert coils the rope, "Its a little bit crusty. Maybe we can punch through."
Sun Dog comes out to play. Almost a double Sun Dog. Across the sky. "I double dog dare you to ski down this," says Robert. I accept.
The worst part about doing anything, is starting it.
I make it to the snow resembling butter pow while scraping along melt crust. It is 2 inches of butter powder, chilling on top of the melt crust. Great. Not going the way I wanted to: too sketch. Reaally glad Dan did this recently. I'll go his way. Slide down. Slow. Icy scrapy crap. Maybe I can turn here? Think. Imagine. Turn! Slide. Arrest. Stand. Control my slide down. Its definitely kicking ass. My ass. Slide a bit. Fuck, control it. Finally... ooooh. I can turn on this stuff! Amazing steep butter pow. The best part of doing anything, is doing it. Five turns of bliss. Then ice. Then a few blessed turns to Winnie's slide. Roberts are a better.
Robert begin his descent. He slides. Slips. Gets a few more turns in, now knowing where he can turn, carefully noting the previous descent. Shiny snow underneath the random inches of cream!
We could have found worse conditions... More Cascade Smoke.
At the bottom of Winnie's slide.
We debate:
"Go under the Ice Cliff and risk it calving on our heads? I don't think my helmet will do much good."
or
"Go on this couloir of nice looking steep corn. But we just heard that Dan did this not too long ago, and spent 20min side slipping and stepping down it. Hm..."
I pansy out and reason that if Dan had that much trouble... So now I'm 'skiing' under the ice cliff.
I'm turning and I'm sliding, F turns they're called. And then I'm only slip-sliding. They're exhilerating when there's rock cliffs underneath you. I'm not going to bypass these rocks by going left, like I thought might be possible from the ground. I'll go right to get down, directly in line with the glacier's firing range. Great. Better go fast. Slide down an icy chute.
I'm at the base. The sluffed snow at the bottom is slightly soft. A few turns of funness. Hell, my legs are tired. Mental skiing didn't prevent my legs from getting tired. Imagine that... I get out of the range of small sluffs and wait for Robert. He gets down, and plows through the somewhat melted avy debris. We're safe.
The worst part about doing anything, is finishing it. We're descending the remaining distance to the creekbed and the snow is grabby. Sticky, in fact. Manky mashed garbage. I can't wait for consolidated sweet corn. Now we're looking up a nice looking skin track up to the logging road. It looks fresh, and we don't have to make it.
"Isn't this the way we went last time, and it wasn't good?"
I respond, "Maybe its better this time?" I hope.
Isothermal post holing mush and tree pulling goodness. Given the conditions and location, we should get out of here, fast.
No more up! We're at the road. Fist pump.
We're at the car, eating a water melon. The best part about doing anything, is getting it done.
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