Rain patters against my window, my girlfriend rolls over and my thoughts turn away from powder playing. It’s 6:00 AM and I’m obligated check the weather data so I can have some facts when I make the call to bail. “Raining all night, low of 35 at 9000’, 50% chance of thunderstorms all day…” Pete has no problems nixing our adventure. Back to bed. 10:30 AM, sun warms my face as I return to conscious land. Confusion…stumbling outside into the full-on blue bird day I can see that the mountains received a generous helping of April showers in the solid form. Frustration…Why are we not on our way to a pristine summit to harvest the goods? Clearly we had dropped the ball. I’ve been in the Rocky Mountains long enough to know better but the mid-westerner in me still shies away from adverse forecasts. I vow never again to stay inside based on a spring time forecast. Pete concurs and we immediately plan for 3 days in the mountains without checking the forecast. Two days later, almost out the door, I can’t resist. My home weather station says 40% chance of rain/snow mix. Thunderstorms possible. Highs in the 40’s at 9000’. It’s graduation weekend and it takes me 20 minutes to cross our quaint/booming/posch/redneck/sushi eating/dumpster diving mountain town (it takes all kinds…of white people. The Midwesterner in me also remembers what true diversity looks like and this aint it folks.) I arrive at Kyle’s stressed by motorists with no risk evaluation experience and no clue of what it really means to be moving 30 miles an hour. Almost to our destination, Pete tells me to pull over as we pass a “bible encampment”. “Mike, we’ve brought you out here for an intervention.” This particular conditioning center was the scene of my infamous blasphemy shouted from a speedy vehicle at hundreds of tabulae rasae. Counselors would lead discussions on what would drive a person to such heathenism and how they could be saved. A few children would leave camp that summer with the seed that our saviors live inside of us and its up to us to set them free. Pete, Kyle and I were well versed in free will and decided the best thing to do was to keep to ourselves in a backcountry playground. Avalanche debris on the road proved no match for Toyota racing technology until the biggest one yet almost bucked me into the creek. Pete and Kyle opted to get out of the truck while I tried again. In the end, a little excavation was necessary.
Driving all the way to the trailhead on mostly dirt was unexpected. Even better was the snowy trail allowing us to start skinning immediately. Best was the lack of rain. Our super conditioned pristine lung tissue allowed us to rapidly gain elevation. We made base camp in just a few hours. Our hulking legs just barely warmed up, we decided to take a lap in the waning light. From the ridge our playground for the next few days revealed itself. Clearly we could push it as much as we deemed safe enough. Pits were dug and a few weaker layers identified. We would ski a conservative line…today.
A nights rest and lots of cowboy coffee (along with our Atlas like strength) had us speeding up our skin track at 9:00 AM. More perfect weather gave the big F. U. to the weatherman. From the top we kicked off several cornices exceeding 300 pounds. The snowpack did not react and this was enough for us. Kyle dropped in, pushing the slope, then fully committing. Our choice of a northern aspect was clearly righteous as Kyle surfed effortlessly through boot top powder in full on May sunshine. In town graduates drank recklessly numbing their minds in preparation for high powered careers. Out here our calculated risks allowed our souls to sing and our minds to sharpen. Back up the skin track and along the ridge to the East a 1200’ North face beckoned. 90 minutes later we were poised for the sickest run of the season. Years of such experiences have yielded a growth of personal power that has manifested as clarity of thought and decisiveness of action. Pete cut the slope with no results and committed to the sustained 40 degree pitch. 30 seconds later Pete reappeared 1200’ below (do the math). With a silent nod from Kyle I was off. I turned left, then right, then left…40 times all the while in disbelief of how good it was. By the time Kyle joined us at tree line, the infinite lightness of being had clearly enveloped us all. After runs like that, its not hard to sign up for another 90 minutes of breaking trail uphill, so up and East we went toward yet another bigger north face. The pictures tell all but the exhaustion we felt after our third run and the will we harnessed to do a fourth. Day two in the books we skied back to our “lone pine” camp and settled in for an evening of recovery. While it’s possible to swallow enough food to account for all the lost calories of a day like this, it’s not possible to actually metabolize it all. Repeated days like this will leave a body famished. After finishing the pork sausages, I crumble ramen and stirred it into the remaining grease. We ate for five hours and passed out. In the morning it became clear that our food has not been completely digested. We brewed up and mustered for one more run which to our surprise turned out to be half powder and half corn snow. After packing up and applying teflon lube to our bases we zipped back to the car and then to the hot springs. Complete.