The easy access from the newly opened road and the holiday off work meant that on July 3rd over 20 people attempted the Great Northern Couloir, most made it down safely.

This guy scared the shit out of all of us but, made a nice recovery.

This guy didn't make a recovery...

loco lines!

Look North from I-90 somewhere in Montucky and, if you're like me, you'll resolve to ski this line. Returning from Torre del Diablo a few days after me, Ty came to the same conclusion independently. Being what we are, we put together an itinerary that far exceeded simply skiing said couloir. The recommended approach was out due to a dangerous creek crossing so plan B went into effect. Nearly 4000 feet of steep slippery bushwacking followed by scrambling over loose talus and scree brought us to our summit. Words like "nightmarish" and "punishing" echoed in our heads. Because it's almost July, we had to scramble down to snow, no easy task given the the quantity and arrow-head like quality of loose rock. From I-90 the bottom of the couloir is not visible so dropping in was a bit of a gamble. 1500 feet later Ty disappeared as the bottom of the couloir rolled over to 45 degrees. I joined him to find a delightful rock lined snow chute for 500 more feet. Our initial objective complete, we skinned up the canyon to a grassy oasis bivy spot with running water. Good recreational skiing was had on our personal snowfield next to our oasis. Just before bedtime we were treated to an awesome electric/hail storm that pinned us in our bivy sacs for 30 minutes. The following morning we attempted the range's namesake couloir. Although much shorter than the line we had skied the day prior, it is steeper and cooler looking. Our "city-start" ensured our failure leaving us to face a monumental reproach half-empty-handed. 1500 feet up, 4000 feet down and two miles out. By traversing on steep scree we were able to connect discontinuous snow couloirs that ended in steep slabs and waterfalls. A few weeks sooner and this massive north face would have gone entirely on snow. Throughout the trip we marveled at the size and character of these mountains which are plainly visible from our ski hill. Not far from home, these mountains are seldom visited surely because of their exclusion from "the book". Also, access is limited due to the checker board pattern of private and public land. The summit of the highest peak in the range is actually private property! Multi-million dollar ranches bar access to major canyons. Big tobacco executives have their own personal "camp-david" were they get to play Montanan for a few weeks every year. If freeze-thaw would not destroy a paved road or if the snow would not bury structures or if wind would not blow down advertisements or if lightening would not strike...the mountains of the world would surely be developed for profit. Rich with experiences, I return to the world of greed and waste.

shralp and snarf

Summer's here! Go to DQ, but get the frozen yogurt. Show off your new wardrobe on main street and be sure to support those bussinesses! Maybe you can try one of the new upscale bars or get a puppy! You don't need to train it because bozeman is dog friendly! Or, plainly visible just South of town, these two ski runs offer great no-falling-allowed skiing into July. If you arive at the summit before the snow softens why not drive some rocks with your ice axe? Feel free to feed the wild life, they love it!. The mountain behind the chipmunk was named after a famous alpinist.

The snow never really softened. After losing an edge Geoff somehow made a half butt slide throught the narrows look gracefull. We made it back to town by five for mohitos and tapas.

June in the Brooks Range

In June at 45 degrees North latitude civil twilight starts before 5:00 AM. We woke up at 2:00 AM for this one. Ty picked me up at 3 and it was raining. As we drove south through the valley a ghostly light illuminated low clouds on the western flanks of the hills.l Ariving at our destination  behind schedule we were miffed by the lack of plowed roads and by our measly wild life count: 3 elk, 1 black bear and cub. Locating the pulloff under 6 inches of snow cost us more time and we left the car knowing that we were racing the sun for what could be the last powder 'till next year. We bushwacked up to the East Ridge where we harvested the last of the powder. By the time we skinned across the East flank and traversed the saddle to the South the snow in the burnt forest had been thickened by sun and rising temps. We continued to the East Col of Doane knowing that wet slides were inevitable. Our accent was stopped by a steep craggy section on the E. ridge that could only be bypassed non-technically via the 45 degree S. face wich was a sure wet slide death trap given the new snow and baking sun. Fortunately, we were able to ski an asthetic steep line which faced North and had ample safe spots to dodge the sliding snow. My first few turns were in the 50 degree range with thick sticky snow that behaved as expected. After admiring our tracks we headed North up the South ridge of Topnotch. From the summit it was clear that we could not access the North face, our initial objective, so we skied West, then North back to our auto.

Torre del Diablo!

JoAnn was all smiles after climbing "Soler".

Sparks light up the pre-dawn highway as ski gear is broadcasted from our roof box onto I-90 eastbound at 75 mph. The car about to pass us dodges diligently, we pull over in haste. Sprinting west I snatch my skis from the path of an oncoming semi with seconds to spare. “I’ve been wanting to detune my edges…” No damage, 10 bonus points for dynafit bindings and atomic skis, back on track. Turning south we enter the valley of the longest undammed stretch of river in North America. The scene of the famous mother’s day caddis hatch just days prior, the river is now blown out with runoff. Scores of anglers had anchored behind every rock and in every eddy, bugs hovered in the millions and trout porpoised out of the water in the thousands. For a few hours each evening fishermen wallowed in the best of what their sport has to offer knowing all the while that it would soon pass. Better get that fly on the water fast! For big mountain backcountry skiers, our hatch happens in the spring and goes off for about 3 months. Warm days and cold nights stabilize the snowpack and transform the surface from bullet proof ice into velvety corn snow for a magical one hour a day after which the surface turns to slush . Northern aspects devoid of direct solar radiation hold mid-winter quality powder. Long days allow for big objectives and often skiing the 8 miles back to the trailhead can be done in less than one hour. Our objective today would be a Y shaped couloir beginning at 10,200 and ending at a lake 2000’ below. The entrance would tilt at a 55 degree pitch, easing up just before a rocky pinch then, joining the east branch, plumet to the lake with an uncompromising fall line. Right out of the gate I screwed up, choosing to walk in my ski boots under the assumption that snow was not far off. 3 miles later I clicked into my skis dreading the hike out. The approach gained over 5000’ of elevation and balmy trailhead conditions soon gave way to 10 degree wind chills and blowing snow. Frozen waterfalls ubiquitously draped the canyon walls. Pillows of blue ice loomed to our right as we boot packed up a steep gully depositing us above treeline. The wind quickened as we skinned higher into more exposed terrain. Nearing our destination, one last steep pitch complete with 30’ overhanging cornice on top barred our way. It would take about 15 minutes to cross this slope during which time the constant threat of avalance or cornice collapse (probable death) in addition to the 40 mph wind could really break one down. After evaluating the stability and deeming it safe enough we traversed one by one staving off fear by trusting our logic and admiring our spectacular surroundings. Ariving on a ridge of tallus the east fork of said couloir came into view. This line is truly awesome and superseriously steep. Deemed too dangerous by some of skiing’s greatest and not tamed until 1995 and only then by another of skiing’s greatest, we would only look at it today. At 10000’ in driving wind, in awe of our remote location two skiers decended on us exchanging minimal words then silently slipped out of sight. Weird. We continued to the ridge top and to our couloir’s west entrance. The recent wind had been transporting new snow all morning leaving a dangerous wind slab in the entrance, I thought. A dark bank of clouds 15 miles to the west stretching north to south as far as we could see was surely a storm to be reckoned with, Pat thought. The couloir contained soft wind packed stable snow and we could all ski it safely and the storm wasn’t really a concern because it’s 2009 and we all have sweet gear and we’re only at 10200’, Geoff thought. While a democracy of hunches devoid of facts isn’t the way to make a “push on” decision, its great for making a “lets play it safe” call. Ice ax plunged to the hilt, wind stinging my nose, I lean out over the entrance observing without reacting to the steep angles and various shades of grey and white and blue that are the line. We retreat without disappointment knowing we still have 4000’ of “consolation skiing” beneath us. What had been a steep, corniced, scary slope on the way up transforms into an elegant 30 second joy ride on the way down. Diverging west of our accent we arrive at a hidden north aspect holding perfect powder for 700’. Two sets of silent tracks are perfectly “figure 8ed” right down the middle. To unexpectly see someone else’s tracks in the backcountry is a bit like catching a glimps of one’s self while passing a mirror. We look at eachother with that peculiar feeling that some weird mental thing just happened. Moments later Geoff pushes his snowboard into a large highspead arc. In his hand is a small tin from which the ashes of his dog, Ghost, are released. Decending through powder, then hard pack, we arrive at an elevation that is experiencing the magic hour of perfect corn. Silky smooth on my 184 cm soul. Soon corn gives way to slush and finally dirt. In less than one hour, we’re back to the car. Just days prior a fat Montana trout rose to an angler’s fly, a silver flash, a set hook. The trout is fat because it is old and because it is old it is wise. Sensing the artificial fly the trout instantaneously rejects its meal, leaving the angler with only a pile of line. Maybe next hatch.

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.

montana is a big state...

...i Bet you don't know were this is. 100 yards up the trail an avalanche had ripped through a seemingly impenetrable forest leaving 6 feet of debris. It is the first day of spring and we didn't trust the snowpack enough to ski everything we wanted but, we'll be back. We did ski some other "sick" lines though as well as achieved an elevation of about 10,400 ft just below a prominent summit. From this point we scoped a steep narrow line with northern exposure but decided not to ski it. Instead, we took great turns to the south east, me 20 and Pete 15, to the top of some friendlier north facing shots. 1,000 ft of dense 5 inch powder had us skinning back up for another lap. The second line, skiers left of the first was a little firmer and I just wasn't quite on it. Once in the flats I leaned back only to find no support in my left boot! Walk mode strikes again! A high speed shoulder plant bailout event ensued. Check out all the pics at my shutterfly site. (click the link to the right) A spirited 2 hour slog took us through 20 inch slush and collapsing snow bridges with "falling in the drink" potential back to our auto. Pale ale from the "corner store" completed the adventure.

Here's another gem from spring '08. Our first voyage into the high peaks of the Tetons for a strictly skiing objective was aimed at the classic Ellingwood couloir. We were initially discouraged by a 6 foot runnel in the lower couloir, but found good smooth firm snow higher up. The snow climbing was broken up by well placed rock ledges allowing opportunity for photos and time to take in the steepness. This route was first ascended in fall 1923 and is generally considered to be an easy 5th class rock climb at that time of year. Rapid warming in the sun scared us into starting our decent about 30 meters below the Dike Pinnacle col. Good, good steep skiing took us back to our tent where we brewed up and turned our attention to the shady south side of the canyon. We summited the South Teton and skied from the highest snow in the Northwest couloir all the way back to camp, a nice long run. After packing up we linked turns down to the meadows where we were greeted by green grass and running water.

This one is from last June. We finally nailed this one on our 3rd try. On the first try, after pouring over the topo we decided on a better way than that suggested by the book. Obviously this didn't work. We tried again but missed the recommended drainage. Each try was a brutal 15 hour day complete with bushwacking out the same wrong drainage both times after dark. Doh! This wrong drainage contained a very climbable looking 500 ft spire and the remnants of a good looking steep ice climb of similar height. On the second atempt I rounded a corner at 6:00 AM and was sure to let the critters know I was coming. Sure enough, around the bend A grizzly bear was fleeing the scene. Try number 3 ensured that we stuck to the book. In no time we were beneath the East col, wondering if the snow was too soft to climb safely. As we watched, two goats traversed the col and sent down a number of wet slides providing us with safe passage up the slope! Stashing our ski just above the col, we 4th classed up snowy rock to a small alcove where we roped up. 30 meters of 7.9mm rope folded in half connecting us, we simul climbed to the summit. Incoming weather made our decision not to make the knife edge rock traverse to the slightly higher North summit. Because our rope was so short, rappeling wasn't really an option so we quickly down-simul climbed to our stashed skis and made haste. From just above the East col we set off wet slides with every turn.

Today Pete and I summited Yet another peak. We tried to do this one yesterday but, following someone else's skin tracks we ended up on A different one. Today under snowy skies the NE ridge was classic! At one point I straddled the knife edge snow ridge with the East face on my left and the North couloirs on my right! The photo shows Pete negotiating the final rock section with the North East ridge in the background. Our ski decents of both Peaks were both fairly modest lines.