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He stood waiting, pondering, atop a steep snow covered slope, cliffs flanking the route they would be descending.  Hopefully it was filled in with the deep snow the weatherman said it would be.  The wind was calm and the sky was clear, clearer than most days.  The baby blue remained untainted by pollution or clouds.  The air was a brutally-dry 0° and the first few breaths were painful.  That number was hopeful, considering it was measured around 11,000′ at the trailhead, several miles back and a thousand feet below.

He was waiting for the all clear from his buddy, making sure that he was able to ride down safely.  He watched Bill ride down the chute with panache; bounding off of large rocks and landing in an explosion of cold smoke, bouncing up into his next turn.  This time he slashed his skis and floated around an outcropping of pine trees before setting his skis straight down and gliding to a flat area to watch his friends.

He was pondering where he would make his first turn on the steepening slope.  “What the fuck am I doing here”, he asked himself.  “This is fucking steep, probably as steep as anything I’ve ridden before.”  Only this time he was in the middle of the forest, far from lifts, bars, bathrooms, or people other than his friends.  He thought about the silence, any sound muffled by the freshly-fallen snow.  He stood, waiting to drop in for what felt like an eternity.

Fully aware of how he literally got to the top of that slope, his tired legs a reminder of the hours of uphill hiking required to get to that spot.  This was more abstract than that though, a curiosity as to what had led him to the deep snow and tall mountains that he now stood among.

Was it his first time on skis, a four hour learning session that ended with two brothers racing down the bunny slope?  Was it finally figuring out how to turn the two-decade old skis well enough to make it down the icy intermediate runs at Ski Roundtop?  Was it learning how to carve on hard packed snow at Blue Mountain?  Or maybe it was the time he drove  through the night with his college buddy Michael to make it to Elk Mountain before a heavy storm came in off the coast? Surviving the three hour trip by way of Sheetz hoagies, shooters of rum and Red Bull, sleeping in the jeep and waking to the fresh snowfall.  Was it the ineffable floating he felt for the first time underneath the rickety double chair at Elk?  Could it have been on the run that was tucked directly under the lift, between two rows of trees so dense that there were only one or two openings large enough for a person to ski through to access the totally natural and ungroomed snow?

Maybe it was the time he drove with Dave to upstate New York after leaving work at 11pm because there was a snowstorm coming?  Lift tickets were $15 to a mountain neither of them had ever heard of.  Again sleeping in the car, again awaking to fresh snow.  This was different though, the day at Elk was maybe 4″, today at Plattekill was more like 12″ of snow.  Having never really skied powder they were both anxious to see what happened.  The first few attempts at turning and balancing ended quickly and with facefulls of snow.  Despite several exhausting tries they both kept digging themselves out of snow up to their waists.  But 2/3 of the way down the mountain something clicked and he stood up, making huge arced curves, gathering more and more speed, his legs screaming in pain, his gut bellowing a cry of joy that his breath couldn’t keep up with. The ethereal floating brought him to tears and left him literally speechless as he fist bumped the liftie(who also happened to be the owner of the mountain), unable to put into words what just happened.

“Dropping” he exclaimed, pushing forward.  As the slope got steeper, he made one quick turn and then another.  Gingerly maneuvering through the cliffs on both sides of him at this point, gaining speed and making longer turns.  All of the anxiousness and pondering was gone, replaced by the unearthly floating found by those who seek it.  As they raced towards the trees below them he quickly turned his skis, projecting a large cloud of snow so cold and light it lingered in the air long after he emerged from the other side, coated in snow and watching the remnants of the cloud he made get taken by the wind before slowly settling back to the ground.  Maybe that was it.

Let us give Thanks

I’m thankful for Colorado, where you can pretty much do whatever you want as long as you’re not being(too much of) an idiot or a jerk.  I’m thankful for all of my friends, both old and new ones.  I’m thankful for my family, without whom I wouldn’t be who I am today.  I’m thankful to live in such a vast country that provides more entertainment than any reality TV show.  I’m also thankful that there’s been so much snow I haven’t had a chance to take my skis to the shop for a tune.

It’s only November?

Just this week there has been awesome skiing in Colorado.  Tuesday saw 18″ of fresh snow at Berthoud Pass which Braden and I chowed down on before going to work.  Wednesday was Opening Day at Winter Park, and despite not a lot of terrain being open there was a ton of good times to be had.  Between shredding in the snowstorm with Lindsay, Sarah and definitely not Ellyn who was definitely at work and $1 Coors at the bar, there was tons of stoke!

Saturday I went on my first big-girl tour of Berthoud Pass with my friends.  It was cold.  It was windy.  It was frustrating trying keep up with guys who rip way harder than myself.  It was deep.  It was exhausting.  It came complete with tired legs and windburned cheeks.  There were more cold smoke-faceshots than you can shake a  ski pole at.  It was everything I hoped for.

Berthoud has such easy access which is a gift and a curse.  There used to be a functioning ski area located there, complete with lifts and shuttles.  Now it is one the top locations for ski touring on the Front Range.  There are a lot of people there to enjoy the best snow on offer, but too many of those people are not prepared to be in the backcountry, away from the maintained runs at resorts.  Avalanches are a very real and dangerous part of snowsports.  Once away from the runs that can be accessed from the parking lot at the summit, there is a completely different feel.  You feel totally isolated in the forested mountains, alone with your buddies.  Our day ended with a tour that lasted a few hours.  I know it seems that everything I write about is awesome and glamorous, but that’s not always the case.  The first descent was mostly shitty skiing over rock fields that weren’t fully buried, tempting gullies that left us cliffed out with no choice but to retreat uphill again, a creek that wasn’t totally frozen, and really narrow trees.

As the final skin track broke through treeline we were greeted by sustained winds blowing snow into our faces and temperatures nearing 0°.  We reached the high point, put on some warm clothes, drank some tea and got ready to ski.  I was not prepared for what happened next.  I’ve spoken about shitty touring and shitty skiing.  This was none of those.  We dropped onto mellow slopes covered in unbelievably dry snow that exploded in every direction wherever your skis or body came in contact with it.  Carving beautiful turns in snow that light is something that cannot be described, only felt.  I watched Will carve huge high speed turns that left contrails of snow in his wake.  So that’s what ski touring is all about.

skinning up Berthoud

Will doing the pow day shuffle in the parking lot

waiting to get picked up at the end of the day

 

Berthoud Pass 11/17

 

Squeezed in a quick couple of laps with Braden on Berthoud Pass before work on Tuesday.

This guy gets it

The Desert I Imagined

Like I mentioned in the previous post, Lindsay and I had another day on our Utah trip.  We made plans to do some four-wheeling and get away from the crowds again.  Luckily it was a Sunday so most tourists were already on their way back to their homes, and despite the weather being perfect it was not Moab’s peak season anyway.  With a tip from a different Lindsey(Outsidener) of rumored backcountry camping outside of Canyonlands National Park and Dead Horse Point State Park, my Lindsay had our destination in mind(hopefully).  We packed up our camp, filled up on water, gas and snacks and ventured off into the desert.

We drove west out of Moab, following the Colorado River as it twisted through the canyons carved over millions of years.  Several miles of pavement eventually ran out, leaving us with dozens of miles of rutted mining roads, winding their way up the canyon floor onto the plateaus above.  We passed through a massive operation that processed minerals by evaporating groundwater in huge open ponds, letting the powerful sun do the majority of the work.  We drove around one bend, and then another, crossing many streambeds, climbing and descending hills so steep they forced me to use the low-gears that my truck thankfully is equipped with.  After a few hours of bouncing around on the trails surrounding the Colorado RIver and the mines that have scarred it, we entered Canyonlands National Park.  The sign announcing our entrance to federal land also informed us that all entrants are required to pay the entrance fee using the provided envelopes.  I had a good laugh and kept driving(It’s ok, I have a yearly pass so I did my duty in supporting the NPS).

We drove several miles along the White Rim Trail to an overlook of the Colorado, where several guys in jeeps posing them among the sheer cliffs and expansive views.  This photo was taken at that overlook.

I continued driving the White Rim Trail several miles while playing U2’s The Joshua Tree, the lyrics and soaring guitars on several tracks capture the untamable spirit that only exists in the desert.  We headed in the direction of the exit from the the lower rim of the canyon that we had been driving on, and towards the upper rim and the Island in the Sky.  I had been hearing about the Island in the Sky for several days at this point and was excited to get there, and only a dozen more miles were left to drive there.  In the 1950s this canyon had been mined for Uranium and a road was built for the equipment to get into the canyon and take the Uranium down to the river level for transport on barges.

The vastness of the canyon combined with the emptiness left nothing to help determine distance, and it wasn’t until I got closer that I realized that the road actually switchbacked up the sheer cliff!  In the photo above you can see the white line that is the road, and follow it up the cliffs you can make out where it goes, higher and higher to the desert floor above.  There were a few jeeps and other trucks that would be expected, considering there were many signs and warnings that a 4×4 with high clearance was needed to safely travel the road.  Given the warnings, I did not expect to see huge dually pickups and the Toyota Prius I saw attempting to navigate the steep roads and tighter switchbacks.

Making our way to the Island in the Sky vista we encountered the first groups of people we had really seen all day.  The Island lived up the description of being the most scenic place many people had ever seen, the view being so expansive over so many canyons and towers that it’s impossible to really capture it in a photograph.

We took in the view for a moment and then decided we should race the setting sun and embark on our final adventure for the day, praying that the rumored campsites did in fact exist.  They did!  After a little more 4wheeling on a much narrower and rutted out road than those in the mines and the Park we found a campsite on the upper rim of the canyon, giving us the best views we had all day.  As the sun set I snapped some photos while making a well needed dinner for Lindsay and myself.  We hung out on the rim and set up our tent, relaxing and enjoying a cold beer.

The desert critters kept us company, their songs harmonizing with the breeze rushing over the canyon walls, the only noise to be heard.  As far as I knew, there was no one else within a hundred miles.  We had the sky to ourselves.  There is a different type of solitude to be had in the desert, one filled with nothingness.  You’re able to see for miles in every direction and not seeing any signs of humanity, no people, no buildings, and no highways.  The calmness of it all can be overwhelming.

Moab Part Two

Our second day in Moab we ate a delicious breakfast among the hills and mountains, separated from the rest of the world.  We took a large group up to Negro Bill Canyon for a mellow hike up a canyon that drains into the Colorado river.  There was some hiking that was crammed against canyons walls only a few feet wide in places, some hiking that went into the creek, and some hiking that opened onto rims with expansive views of the inside walls of Negro Bill Canyon.  The formations of Navajo sandstone reminded me a bit of a scene from Star Wars.  Day two also found us paddleboarding in a small stream-fed pond that wasn’t quite the cleanest water, but wasn’t the worst I had ever been in(I’ve gone swimming in New Jersey!!)

View of the La Sal mountains from inside the tent

Small canyon behind our campsite, with a view of the La Sal Mountains in the distance

Small canyon behind our campsite, with a view of the La Sal Mountains in the distance

Brian paddleboarding

Champion!

Learning to paddleboard was fun, and not nearly as difficult as I always thought it would be.  Lindsay and I even managed to paddle around on the board together and not end up in the stinky water.  Paddleboarding led to beer, which led to more beer, which led to a campfire(don’t worry, there was beer).  As the sun set the warm day gave way to a cool night, stars appearing by the bucketful until almost the entire sky was filled with the brightest stars I’ve ever seen.  The Milky Way was easily visible and grew and grew.  With the interference from so many new stars I found it difficult to recognize all of the constellations that were taught in school!  The stars were so bright that despite being almost a new moon, it never felt truly dark.

For most of our crew this was their last night in the desert, having to return to Denver for work on Monday.  Lindsay and I had the opportunity to stay an additional day, neither of us needing to return to Colorado for work until Tuesday.  We stayed up and enjoyed the smell of the campfire, the cracking of fresh beers and the enjoyment of hearing about everyone’s adventures.

The land of Mormons, deserts, and surprisingly good beer

Last month Lindsay and I took a well-organized trip to Moab thanks to our friends who put the whole shebang together.  We went to Utah last summer and neither of us really enjoyed it.  I guess that’s what you get for going to the desert in July.  In October, however the temperatures were MUCH more palatable, with daytime highs in the sunny 70s and nights in the 40s.  We couldn’t have asked for better weather.  We got into the group campsite after 11pm, much to our own dismay, having hoped to make the journey in closer to five hours than the seven it took us.  Thanks construction on I70!  We found out that another crew of people had left Denver over two hours earlier than us and arrived only fifteen minutes earlier than we did, I guess we kind of lucked out with traffic…
We spent the first day in Moab driving and hiking around Arches National Park visiting some of the more-difficult to access arches and vantage points.  Many of the parking lots were crowded as was the visitor center, but not nearly as bad as in July.  Another perk of visiting in the autumn, I guess.  Heeding the warning signs and understanding that there was no water available within the park, we filled up our water cube and headed into the park.  Despite the warnings posted frequently throughout the park I still saw far too many people without any water while hiking around the different areas.  Natural selection, I guess.  After driving down several miles of windy dirt roads with several creekbed crossings we came to the location below.  The juxtaposition of dry desert floor, upwards to snowcapped peaks really struck me.

It was a really cool experience getting out into the Arches backcountry, being only 30 miles from Moab, and even fewer from the throngs of people gathering at Delicate Arch or the Courthouse, and feeling such complete solitude.

After hiking and driving around in the desert sun all day we decided a cold beer was needed before making it back to the campsite.  We looked and looked for somewhere that resembled a dive bar, but patience was growing thin and thirst was growing stronger by the minute so we settled on the saloon we visited last time.  This time was much more enjoyable, spent reminiscing the day’s travels and enjoying some of Utah’s finest libations.  Sitting at the bar at the Rio Club I uttered words I never thought anyone would say in Utah after a single beer, “I’m kinda buzzed!”  Maybe it was the spirit of adventure, maybe the sun, maybe the 8%abv beer…

Brief Glimpses of the American West

Climbing some rocks…finally!!

Now that it has stopped snowing for the most part in the mountains, I seem to have a lot of time on my hands!  In February my middle brother came for a visit and he got to experience almost every season in one week.  He arrived to a snow filled backyard, went rock climbing in a t-shirt(in February!), got to ski some fresh powder(2/3 of the days we went skiing! ugh I wish my luck was that good…), and some rainy and cold days in the city as well.  We saw Dr. Dog play in Denver, a Philly band, so that was cool.  

We drove to the crag closest to my house, which also has super easy access to the top to build an anchor and set up the rope, and began basking in the warm February sun.  We set up a toprope and began fooling around on the rocks, just enjoying the scenery and goofy conversations.  Don’t worry mom, we had helmets on the whole time, wore a bunch of sunscreen, and were paying attention to the weather.

So that counted as the first climbing of the summer, and I waited until this past Friday before I was able to go climbing again.  Patrick and I picked a cool looking spot called(just kidding, I’m not posting the name of this hidden gem) and there was a carabiner left on the wall still.  I won at rock-paper-scissors, so I got to lead the route.  Awesome.  I was climbing 5.9s last fall, after an entire season of climbing, and here I go leading a 5.7 right off the bat.  I got the carabiner, set up the anchor and got lowered down.  What a relief to have a nice climb to start the season.

Two-mile high donuts

I recently drove back from the east coast with my little brother, James, and really good friend, Brian.  We made the best of  the monotonous trip by sharing stories and laughs, telling jokes, and making fun of each other.  We made it safely through tornado alley with only a few passing storms across the midwest.  Manchester United was a frequent talking point, seeing as how they are inferior to the one and only Liverpool Football Club!!

Anyway, it was nice to be able to spend some time in Colorado with my brother and friend, to show them the real Colorado, not the perpetually-stoned Colorado that the news loves to talk about so much.  We drove really high up on the Pikes Peak highway, unfortunately not all the way to the summit due to excessive snow on the road. (see Spring Showers.)  We did make it to an excellent vantage point where we hung out for a minute and enjoyed our own donuts(There is a donut bakery on the summit, claiming to be the world’s highest donuts).

There was still a ton of snow on Pikes Peak, and we got to see a pair of skiers enjoying some awesome turns on the sunny slopes.  I was definitely a bit jealous.

Unfortunately I was unable to take as much time off of work as I wished that I could have to spend time with them, but we still managed to make it into downtown Denver and do some hiking and exploring.  Guess they’ll have to come back!