November 16, 2000
A Brief Respite
Photos by Aaron Lefohn, Gary Ayton, Greg Mercer, and Martin Cuma.
©Aaron Lefohn 2000
Note 1: You can click here for a text-only version.
Note 2: For Gary's account of the day, click here.
The Wasatch front has been under siege for the last two days with more than six inches of fluffy snow falling down in the valley and up to two feet in the high mountains. With the weather supposedly clearing this morning, it would've been criminal not to invoke dawn patrol ski activity. As I have said before, I am not a morning person, but I am becoming envious of those that are. I think I once read somewhere that there is a Chinese proverb stating that you will live a week longer and in greater peace for every sunrise that you witness--I am beginning to believe it. Just like one week ago, we were climbing towards a 10,000+ foot summit at sunrise, and also just like a week ago, we were in the vicinity of Twin Lakes Pass between Alta and Brighton. Unlike a week ago, however, instead of occasional breaks in the snow clouds, today was a bluebird day, with only wisps of clouds partially enshrouding the lofty summits to our west: Superior, Sugarloaf, Baldy, Hidden Peak, American Fork Twin, and Thunder Ridge. Thankfully, also different than a week ago, Martin and Gary were with us, wearing skis instead of Martin's crunched Mazda 323.We began in the dark at the upper Alta parking lot just before 7:00 am this morning. Hints of first light were already in the sky but the sun was far from coming over the Wasatch Crest and reaching our west facing valley. We were a big crowd today: Myself, Justin, Gary, Greg, Martin, and Steve--the energy was high and the excitement of getting on the trail was palatable. Justin and I had visions of pounding a track up the south face of Little Cottonwood to the summit of the West Bowl of Silver Fork, but at the split in the trail, we decided that the exposed slope was too much of a risk to take with at least 18 inches of new snow in the last two days resting, untouched on it. We made a group decision to instead summit Patsy Marley peak, south of Twin Lakes Pass and ski its north facing bowl.
The gang in the parking lot--ready to go. From left to right: Gary, Martin, Justin, Greg, and Steve. If you turn around, you can see Aaron taking the photo.
On the way up with Mt. Superior basking in the first light of the day.Justin and I seem to be graced with mysterious trail breakers who go exactly where we intend to go. We followed a skin track from yesterday, that had less than six inches of snow on it, all the way to the summit ridge of Patsy Marley and only had to break trail, in the full foot and a half of snow, for the last half an hour. The summit ridge is stunning--not because of any shear drops or jaggedness, but because it sits at the top of Little Cottonwood Canyon and is part of the Wasatch Crest. To the North and East are the inviting slopes of upper Big Cottonwood Canyon and the plains beyond Park City. To the West and South lie the arsenal of famous Wasatch summits I listed earlier. The beauty of our surroundings literally made the task of breaking through the newly drifted snow a pleasure this morning, as Justin and I eagerly took turns breaking while the rest of the crew made sure to photograph the ever-changing dance of low-lying, sparse clouds with the rising sun.
This guy looks like he needs some new duct tape on his pant legs.
Justin and I pondering the mystery trail breakers on our way up.
A Martin Cuma panoramic with the town of Alta on the bottom left, Mt. Superior standing proud above the town, Flagstaff Peak as well as Emma Ridge and Honeycomb cliffs, with Twin Lakes Pass being the saddle on the far right side. Gary is the skier.
Greg temporarily frozen in awe as he reaches the summit ridge.
Gary (left) and Greg working their way up the summit ridge with Flagstaff mountain and Silver Fork across the valley.
Mt. Superior showing us what it can create with morning light and a few clouds mixed in.
Mt. Baldy, above the Alta ski resort, also strutting its stuff after being pelted with snow for days.
We stopped on a corniced ridge, just below our high point for the day, to test the stability of the indescribably gorgeous bowl of powder that was now below us. Justin and I got as close to the edge as we thought was safe, then each took a ski off and used the tail to slice the cornice. When we'd cut as much as possible, we put our skis back on and started kicking the sliced chuck of snow until it broke off in a mighty "thump." Unfortunately it was not big enough to give the snow the shock test we'd hoped for, but a fairly large chunk of wind packed cornice did roll to the bottom of the bowl without causing any further disturbances--an encouraging sign.
Me, Justin, and Gary approaching the corniced, "test" zone mentioned above.
Justin and I tempting fate with the cornice--trying to get it to break loose as a snow-stability test.
Unable to break it just by kicking it, Justin and I used the tails of our skis to cut the cornice.
Deciding it was safe to go on and ski from the summit, we continued on up. Here me, Justin, and Martin are approaching the summit.
But instead of just finding the pristine bowl of powder we expected, we discovered Gary's mountain biking, alter ego--frozen on the summit of Patsy Marley while wearing an avalanche beacon and fleece jacket. Nice teeth, eh? We stole the jacket and beacon and buried the remains under the cornice. Perhaps he'll thaw by spring.
Still in shock from the face-to-face with his mountain bike side, Gary wriggled around in the snow on his back to convince himself that he is truly a skier for the next four months. The arm in the air is his salute of acceptance to the snow Gods. Notice the vulnerable position in relation to Greg's upraised ski.
Martin, while new to the sport of telemarking, seems to be taking to the season transition fairly easily. Steve sits behind him studying the adhesive properties of his skins and testing how long he can leave his bare hand on metal ski edges in 5 degree Fahrenheit temperatures.
This is when the Canon ELF, digital camera began to freeze/fog. Note that Gary is now standing and Greg has withdrawn the threatening ski gesture. He still looks a bit menacing, however. Justin is eating breakfast in the foreground.
I greedily volunteered to be slide bait and perfom the ski cut that would be our last test to determine if the snow were safe to ski. The idea is that you once you are fairly certain that the snow is safe, you have your friends keep a close eye on you, and you begin jumping on the snow to test for compression versus fracturing. Then, if all looks good, you make a cut across the desired slope and repeat the jump tests as you go across. The snow was very stable this morning. Despite a little bit of wind loading, I could not get any fracturing to occur regardless of how hard I jumped. Everyone in the party was, of course, wearing an avalanche beacon and a shovel. Being first is the riskiest but it also means you get first tracks if the snow is good.The snow was heavier than we had thought it was going to be but don't let me convince you that it was anything less than fantastic--creamy, smooth telemark turns to the bottom of the bowl for all with their heels free and some very nice parallel turns for Steve on his new fat-boy, powder alpine touring skis.
The ELF was slowly freezing to death, but it did manage to capture a few fuzzy photos before it died. This is Justin just starting down with the goal of figure 8'ing my tracks. The rest of the gang waits there turn on top.
Justin through the dying digital camera fog, but with something resembling figure 8's behind him.
It looks like Gary's submission to the snow God was well rewarded. Note that in the last photo, he is nearing submersion.
As Greg can attest, it really was a bluebird, deep powder day, but the digital camera is trying to make you think otherwise. Greg--in it deep.
Luckily for Martin, Greg's camera did not freeze and so his run was captured much more clearly. Not bad for his second day on telemark gear!
Steve had a fantastic run (his first day on his new fat powder skis), but he was brutally attacked by a snow snake just before he reached the safety of the the rest of us.After the round of pole touches, hoots, and hollers, we continued on down through the trees back towards the skin track. We found a few steep, little rollers on which to make some deep powder turns, but much of this part of the run was too flat to turn in, given today's very deep, not-quite-Utah-perfect snow (again, I am not complaining). Unfortunately the digital camera in my pocket had frozen into a dead state before the end of the run, and so Gary's first complete immersion in powder was not captured on film, but perhaps the smile on his face back at the car tells the story. I think this can be thought of as Gary's Utah winter baptism.The run back to the car from there was skiing down the skin track. While it wasn't powder skiing, it was a blast in its own way. On either side of the skin track was a foot to a foot and half of powder, just waiting to grab errant skis, and an uphill track generally forces the skier into a much narrower stance than would normally be preferred. Uphill tracks also have no considerations for tight corners. We all had at least one "blowout" when one ski would stick in the powder and the other would continue at its previous velocity. The other challenge is avoiding uphill skiers (it is considered bad form to skewer them even if they are benefiting from using your skin track).
We failed to make it back to town by our optimistically set, 10:00 am deadline, but Justin and Greg did make it back for their 10:45 am classes. I was just about to conclude this story with a description of how stunningly gorgeous the snow covered Salt Lake valley was on this first day of clearing after the storm, but when I looked up from my computer screen and looked out the window, the Wasatch front is once again under siege by the big white flakes.
Go find it!
