Our early-season was unbelievable--I rode shin-deep powder with Bodie-the-dog on Peaked Mountain on October 7th.

After a dry November, the holidays brought fat powder back to the Tetons. Matt Lloyd goes deep near Teton Pass.

Laying our lines with nary a soul around. I spent 2 weeks in the Tetons in January with 5 NOLS instructors on snowboards, watching our tracks fill in every night as we received 1.5 meters of snowfall.

Dinnertime! Working the stoves by lamplight, turning out high backcountry cuisine.

My Winterstick Swallowtail made epic powder riding effortless.

The results of hip-checking on limestone...

Rappelling into the entrance of the Pinnochio Couloir on the Middle Teton. We had hoped to climb the North Ridge and make turns from the summit, but ended up riding this sweet line instead.

Digging the sun with Mark after a long, cold climb and descent on the north side of the Middle Teton.

Climbing out of The Handle of the Skillet Glacier on Mt. Moran. Evan Horn breaking trail.

Beautiful, firm powder riding on the Skillet Glacier with Jackson Lake below.

Summit photo with Jaime Musnicki on the Grand Teton. We took advantage of a short window of good weather and great conditions to make this 2-day trip up and down the Grand in late-March.

Approaching the anchors at the bottom of the Ford Couloir/top of the Chevy Couloir on the Grand. Thousands of feet of air beyond the edge to my right.

Rappelling past the ice bulges in the Chevy Couloir.

Zahan Billimoria leads Stephen Koch up the Chouinard Couloir on a blustery day in April. Middle Teton.

Zahan digs the chalky powder on our descent of the Chouinard Couloir.

Escaping a bit of mud-season with my wife in Belize.

There are always lines that I wish I had ridden in a given season, possibilities that never came to fruition, but overall it was a good season.  And it’s not so bad having dreams to fulfill next season.  For now, I’m moving on to mountain biking and trail running until the snow flies again.  My sincere thanks go to Wagner Custom for supporting my drive to climb and ride with the best backcountry/alpine snowboarding tools imaginable.

The Skillet pours down from the summit of Mt. Moran (12,605′) on the northeast face, providing almost 6000′ of steep, perfect fall-line.  I had tried to get up it for a snowboard descent twice before, getting turned back by a storm 5 years ago, and by an insidious weak layer of graupel last winter.  Our unseasonably warm temperatures in the last couple of weeks here have pretty well gotten rid of this season’s long-lived weak layers, so we figured that conditions were prime for a successful descent, barring any large unanticipated snowfall.  Dozing off after a hot meal, my confidence was shaken by the flakes coming down outside.  But waking to starry skies, we were ecstatic to see a couple of inches of new, well-bonded powder on the ground.

We skinned out of camp just as dawn broke over the Gros Ventres and lit up the day’s enormous climb ahead.  Last night’s gift of powder also meant deeper trailbreaking on the uphill leg of the day.  With a light wind over the summit, 2 inches down low translated to 6 or 8 inches up high.

Taking a break just before starting the bootpack, warm in the sun.

We were able to skin the first 2000′ or so, but pretty shortly traded skis for crampons and put in a bootpack for the remaining 3500′ of the climb.  Kick, breathe, step.  Kick, breathe, step.  Repeat.  Endlessly.  Rotating through the lead to keep relatively fresh legs up front, we didn’t set any speed records on this climb but it was somehow enjoyable to feel the honest work of it and breathe the fresh, thin air as we gained elevation.

Holy crap, this thing just keeps on going! AJ sucking wind as we close in on the top.

And as we got higher, the wicked brutal heat that beset us midway up dissipated and a cool breeze blew down the couloir at the top of the glacier, otherwise known as The Handle.

The pitch got steeper for the final 1500′ up The Handle, culminating in a 10′ section of 55- to 60-degree climbing to crest the summit.

Cranking through the final steep pitch, with the summit rocks in view.

Wind plumes ripped off the rocks protecting the top of The Handle but we stood in a silent eddy in the sun, looking back down at nearly 6000′ of track that we had just laid-in.  Which would now be 6000′ of chalky powder turns–sick.  We rock-hopped over to the actual summit, a broad plateau with view of the North Face of the Grand to the south, Thor Peak and the Idaho Teton Valley to the west, Bivouac Peak to the north, and Jackson Lake and the rest of the Jackson valley to the east.  Just gorgeous.

AJ on the summit, with the Grand Teton in the background.

And Evan on the summit.

To think that we fell asleep in a snowstorm but climbed this gorgeous route under bluebird skies.

I dropped in first, giving a few bounces as I side-slipped the entrance to try and clean off some of the sluff, but nothing moved.

AJ about to drop in, contemplating how to manage it.

...And here we go!

The powder proved to be beautifully firm, solid edging and the 1500′ down The Handle flew by until I found a protected zone to tuck into and wait for Evan and Ben to arrive.

Ben skis out of The Handle.

Once we were all together again, I led out for a 2000′ pitch of lovely softness down to our gear cache midway down the route.

AJ, stoked for the next powder pitch.

The sluff started getting pretty big and pushy, but with such favorable riding conditions it felt good to open it up and outrun the cascade behind me.  Laying over big carves, the rock walls became a blur as I focused on getting the most out of these sweet turns.

Carving sweet turns, AJ builds momentum to race his sluff down the Skillet.

The lower glacier started to get pretty sticky with the sun’s heat adding moisture to the upper snowpack, and we found that subtle changes in slope aspect to slightly shady gullies made all the difference in keeping the snow dry and fast.  Then right above camp it all turned to mush.  We relaxed a bit in the sun as we packed up the tents, listening to kiddy-pop on Ben’s AM-FM radio and downing quart after quart of water before the long slog back across the lake.

Ahh, the long crossing...

It took us 3 hours to get from our camp to the east side of the lake, longer than the previous afternoon but not bad considering how slushy the snow was over the lake ice.  (The lake was frozen rock-hard, it was just the snow that was slushy.)

AJ and Ben take a break midway across the lake, with the Skillet Glacier on Mt. Moran in the background. The Handle is the perfect couloir cutting through the upper face to the summit.

Arriving back at the truck in the late afternoon, cold Budweiser and leftover pizza never tasted so good.  Especially having changed from wet ski boots into luscious flip-flops.  Mmm.

Skinning under a full moon is cool.  With headlamps off, shadows are so long and the muted glow reflecting off the snow provides a surreal lighting for travel through the lowland approach to the high peaks.  Partners are merely black silhouettes and the skin track is an ill-defined line across the crusty re-frozen snow surface.  Traveling across Bradley Lake and through the forest, we spent the pre-dawn hours quietly skinning through this dreamscape into Garnet Canyon.

As morning approached, the moon set and we were forced to turn on our headlamps for the last hour before sunrise, climbing up out of the forest and into the glacial basin of the Meadows in the canyon.  We stopped for a morning snack in the Meadows as the sun barely lit the eastern horizon and then bared our teeth for the icy, slick-as-snot-on-a-marble climb from the Meadows up into the North Fork.  The slope between the Meadows and the North Fork is about 35 degrees and faces south, so it bakes all day and then freezes overnight.  Skin tracks that get put in during the heat of the day get burnished to a high gloss with the water content in the surface snow and then freeze like glass.  Having forgotten to bring the ski crampons, we alternated between skinning and bootpacking as the snow conditions demanded on the climb up.  Skis on feet, skis on packs, skis on feet, skis on packs.

Mark below the North Ridge and the NW Couloir. Looks pretty thin. Anybody need to check their email?

The sun rose as we cruised through the moraines in the North Fork and we were able to make good time getting to the Lower Saddle.  We could see the BIG red duffel bag with Exum’s high camp in it as we scrambled up the scree towards the base of the North Ridge of the Middle.  Surmounting a series of benches, we soon gained a view of the route and quickly ascertained that it wasn’t going to happen on this day.  There wasn’t a shred of snow on the ridge, and the access to the NW Couloir was dry as well.  Standing in the shadow of the Middle with a chill wind cranking over the ridge and no harnesses or rock gear in our packs, none of us felt inclined to tackle 2000′ of 5th-class rock.  So we punted and decided to seek out the Pinnochio Couloir, a 1000′ line from the base of the North Ridge down to the glacier below.

With a narrow entrance that goes at ~55 degrees, the Pinnochio is a super aesthetic line that we got a good look at while skinning through the moraines an hour earlier.

Maybe this route will work?

Finding the top proved to be harder than we expected; after scrambling up and then downclimbing a few short pitches of slabby rock on misguided routes, we finally crested the Pinnochio Pinnacle and gazed down into the couloir.  My 25-meter strand of rope barely reached down to the notch at the top of the couloir, but with a brief body-wrap rappel we each made our way down to the entrance.

Mark sits back onto the day's first rappel, with the Grand Teton in the background.

Evan raps off the Pinnochio Pinnacle.

I cleaned off the cornice at the top while Mark and Evan found a rock horn to sling the rope around for our second rappel of the day, getting beyond a rocky pinch and into the couloir proper.  Going first, I found chalky powder in the couloir with excellent edging, which felt good in what seemed a bit like an elevator shaft.  55-degrees and barely wider than the length of my board, the Pinnochio Couloir was pretty sporty!

Snowboarding on rappel--not as easy or fun as it might look. But on a side note, this was my first day in the alpine with my new Wagner Custom board. Totally amazing--it's so lively, and with a bit more sidecut it makes tight turns in this kind of terrain feel easy. Awesome. Thanks guys!

After passing a particularly narrow pinch a hundred feet down, things opened up and I found really fun riding down to the mid-couloir rockband.  I pulled off to the side and yelled up for Mark to ski down to me.

Mark skis the upper pitch of the Pinnochio Couloir.

We poked around a bit for a route to downclimb while Evan made his descent to us, ultimately deciding to pull the rope out again for one last rappel past the 15′ band of rock that blocked our path.  Mark slung  another horn, we rapped past the rock, and then ripped dreamy turns out of the fan of the couloir and down the glacier to the moraines below.  The sun felt pretty damn good after spending a couple of hours in the shadow of the Middle, so we took the opportunity to eat a big lunch before exiting the mountains.

Evan skis across the glacier to the moraines after exiting the Pinnochio Couloir. Pretty skinny up top!

AJ and Mark soaking up the sun on the moraines.

More challenges awaited us on the way out, mostly in the variable and shallow snow conditions that we have this winter at mid- and low-elevations in the Tetons, but we eventually made it back down to the lake and cranked out the last two miles to the parking lot.  Though it was disappointing to get turned back from summiting the Middle, getting to ride the Pinnochio was pretty sweet and it was a fantastic day to be in the mountains with good friends.  Ultimately, the most disappointing part of the day was arriving back at the parking lot to find that somebody had taken the beers we stashed under the car to keep them cold!  So lame!

And so, we wrapped up the day with the standard trip to Dornan’s for a pitcher and some quesadillas while gazing back up at the Range through the gigantic bay windows behind the bar.  Another decent consolation prize.

Enjoy the photos!

My tools for the trip. I am continually impressed with the approach skis and snowboards that I've received from Wagner Custom. Durability and quality construction make them the ultimate backcountry tools. After watching the rest of the crew work with their splitboards--long transition times, endless problems with skins and hardware--I was super appreciative of the low maintenance and efficiency of my approach skis. And the Winterstick Swallowtail? Holy crap--awesome.

AJ riding with the sled behind. Not often done, but way more fun than dragging it uphill! Check out the Swallowtail float!

Camp life. Hot food, snow shelters, and warm clothing...living the dream.

Our tracks on Chicken Knob. Soft and fast.

Kyle rides wind-etched powder on Treasure Mountain.

Josie flies down "The Graveyard".

Now that I’m home, the guiding work seems to be rolling in and there’s a Level 2 Avalanche Course to teach this weekend.  And my new board just arrived from the crew at Wagner Custom–so stoked to take it up Mt. Taylor today for its first backcountry turns.

We’ve had an amazingly snowy October here in the Tetons.  While the valley has been mostly just cold and gray, the mountains are holding a remarkable amount of snow.  A storm cycle at the start of the month dumped over 20″ at Targhee and we had powder turns before the crops were all in.  And then last week saw another decent cycle move through and it’s powder again!  Granted, the base is a bit thin (watch out for the sagebrush,) but it’s pretty fun anyway.  Bodie has so much fun that it’s hard not to take advantage…

It felt a bit too warm in the valley for skiing, but the parking lot temps up at Targhee were just below freezing–perfect for warm, fast skinning.

Wray and Bodie cruising up the track

We flew up the cat-track with long strides and lots of glide (these skins from Climbing Skins Direct are unbelievable,) out towards Peaked Peak.  The majority of our local over-eager early-season skiers stay over on the main mountain so Peaked guaranteed a blank canvas, and less than an hour later we were at the top, transitioning for the trip down.

The whole trip down is pretty mellow terrain, but with 10″ of creamy powder on November 1st, who cares?  (And back on my Wagner Custom board again!  So sweet.)

November 1st powder with Bodie

We tore through the cream, laying it over until we hit the lower slopes and transitioned to rock-skipping down to the cat-track.  A second run on the upper slopes would certainly have been icing on the cake, but perhaps later in the week.  It’s awesome to start logging vert this early in the season, working out the kinks and starting the season’s base endurance.  Now, with almost a week’s worth of skinning and riding already this fall, I’m all fired up to get up high and start pursuing big descents once the alpine fills in.  It’s a good year to be a rider in the Tetons…

It occurred to me as we moved to high camp.  I was guiding a climb of Denali’s West Buttress; we were carrying huge packs, moving REALLY slowly up the ridge in sub-zero temperatures.  “Wouldn’t it be nice to move fast with a light pack?  I’ll bet the Tetons are gorgeous right now.  The trail into Garnet might even be clear.”

A dry initial approach

So, 2 days after I got home Jake and I left my dog with a friend and headed up into the Park. We figured the Grand Teton would still have plenty of snow on it for a late-season descent, but weren’t totally sure about the approach—should we bring skins?  Should I bring my approach skis?  Lupine Meadows was dry and hot when we pulled in, the smell of sage strong in the air, and snow line looked way up there.  Jake convinced me that I should bring my approach skis anyway, just in case.

Walking in sneakers with light packs we flew up the trail into Garnet Canyon, finally changing to boots and skis for the last half-mile to the Meadows. It made for a quick half-mile, though. While I shoveled a platform and pitched the tent, Jake dug down a few feet to find the creek.

Going to bed.

We ate hoagie sandwiches as the stars started to appear and slid into our sleeping bags on a lovely, warm night.

The climb up to the Grand from the Meadows was smooth, with the exception of a brief route-finding snafu.

Jake on the Teepe Glacier at sunrise.

AJ climbs to the base of the Stettner Couloir. (Just around the corner...)

Firm snow made for fast boot-packing and we were at the bottom of the Stettner Couloir just after sunrise.  Unlike earlier this year, the Stettner was one big, icy runnel peppered with rocks—great climbing but unlikely skiing.

Climbing super firm snow and ice in the lower Stettner Couloir.

We climbed the Stettner unroped, and pitched-out the ice in the Chevy traverse to the base of the Ford Couloir.

Jake leads the first pitch of the Chevy Couloir.

Another hour of firm step-kicking brought us to the summit and endless views into Idaho, Wyoming and Montana.

The last step to the summit!

The view from the top of the Grand is unbelievable; everything else is SO FAR below!  Under bluebird skies, we sat in the sun for a bit, soaking it all in and recharging for the descent while the snow finished corning up. I dropped in first, making a few test turns before opening it up down the southeast ridge to the top of the Ford.

Warm-up turns above the Ford Couloir. The Glacier Route/East Face of the Middle Teton in the background.

The entrance to the Ford is pretty steep—close to 50 degrees—but with it full of sweet corn we made big, fast turns, outrunning our sluff, leapfrogging our way down to the top of the Chevy.

AJ drops in to the top of the Ford Couloir.

Jake enjoys sweet corn in the Ford Couloir.

And that was the end of the riding up high on the mountain—the Chevy is unrideable and the Stettner would be awful turning, so after 4 pitches of rappelling we arrived at the bottom of our line and traversed around to the Teepe Glacier for another 2500’ of fun turns in the sun back to camp.

The first of four pitches of rappelling off the Grand.

What a sweet outing!  The descent was almost more rappelling than riding but the climbing was fun, the weather was perfect, and it felt so good to move fast.  We strolled the rest of the way down the trail into the forest and early-blooming wildflowers, chatting about what to ski next weekend and the massive amounts of food we would consume when we got back to Victor.

Crossing the lake with the Grand and Nez Perce in the background.

These long approaches into the Tetons have made me super impressed by and thankful for my new approach skis from Wagner, and skins from Climbing Skins Direct.  For this year, the guys at Wagner Custom made my skis a bit wider and shorter, with a flat tail and more camber.  They’re also lighter due to an all-aspen core.  Snappy, with kick for the flats, and really light underfoot.  The skins from CSD are light and supple, and I’ve been shocked at how well they glide–it’s really unbelievable being able to kick-and-glide with skins on.

With these thoughts running through my head, the trip across Bradley Lake and up Garnet Canyon flew by.

Skinning up Garnet Canyon.

Before I knew it the sun had risen and we were staring up the Ellingwood Couloir–1500′ of 50-degree snow that tops out at the Dike Col.

AJ climbs the Ellingwood Couloir.

The climbing was fantastic–really firm frontpointing, with some short stretches of ice mixed in.  We hit the Col by mid-morning, stopping briefly to re-fuel as we looked over at our tracks on the Grand, just receiving the morning sun.

The upper East Face of the Middle Teton loomed above us in the sun as well, the last 600′ before the summit.  I had turned back from the East Face a few times in the past, so I was definitely chomping to finish it up on this day.  We traversed across a 50-degree powder slope to get to the gut of the climb and found soft, boot-top powder conditions.

Jake climbs through the steeps.

With the sun full on the Face it felt like climbing in a solar broiler–fortunately we cruised up it quickly and surmounted the 60+-degree pitch at the crest.  The East Face route culminates in a notch ~50′ below the summit; the final pitch to the top might be skiable in some years, but we found dry, slabby rock so we decided to call the notch our high point.

Sitting in the notch on a sunny, windless morning, looking down into Wyoming on the east and Idaho on the west, I felt supremely satisfied with our adventure.  Sure, it’s a ton of effort to get here and there are risks involved, but the reward is so sweet.

Soaking it all in at the summit notch.

And without calculating and managing risk would it be a worthwhile pursuit?  We let our sweat dry in the sun and chuckled about the enormous group that was rumored to be over on the Grand while we were the only party on the Middle.  Sometimes it all just works out.

When it felt like time to go, I put my boots back on and we rigged up for the descent.  The initial entrance onto the East Face was actually pretty sporty–no wider than the length of my board, really steep, with thousands of feet of relief below.  Whew.  I side-slipped and hopped my way down onto the crest of the Face and then made controlled turns down to the gut, where things eased off a bit.

Tiptoeing through the entrance to the East Face.

Jake side-stepped through the entrance–his skis were definitely longer than the space allowed–and joined me.  The trip down to the Dike Col was fun and brief–really just a few turns and a traverse, but in pretty great, moist powder.

And then we leapfrogged down sweet springtime corn in the Ellingwood, taking pictures, whooping it up.

Going heelside in the Ellingwood.

We had a variety of theories about how to handle the sluff that we brought down, but it seemed to work best for me to just ride faster than the sluff was traveling, making high-speed GS turns, laying it over hard.  Jake’s skis weren’t quite as fast, so he chose to vary his fall-line to stay out of his sluff.

Jake skis sweet corn in the Ellingwood Couloir.

Once we exited the bottom of the couloir a hard left brought us to the top of the Cave Couloir for another 1000′ of mellow turns down to the Meadows in Garnet Canyon.

The trip out was quick and uneventful and we cruised the trip across the lake and over the moraines, back to the truck.  Compared to the day on the Grand, I felt remarkably energetic after more than 7000′ of climbing and riding.  I wish I could have another month of Teton adventures like this, but I’m headed to Alaska next week for a month of guiding.  I’m stoked to have ridden these lines at the end of this season–maybe I can squeak in one or two more before I leave…

Looking at the Grand from the Middle Teton. The Ford Couloir drops straight from the summit, the Stettner is to the right.

We would approach via Garnet Canyon to the Teepe Col, climbing the full Stettner Couloir to the East Face and then to the summit.  Which sounds much more straightforward than it turned out to be.

Skinning away from the parking lot at 1:30, the five hours that remained before dawn felt like a pretty long stretch of headlamp skinning.  Fortunately there were three of us in it together, and the iPod made it feel easier.  Refrozen skin tracks proved to be super slippery on the steeper stretches getting into Garnet.  Ski crampons were vital for the trip up the rock-hard surface snow on the Teepe Glacier.  But just when the endless darkness was becoming oppressive, the upper glacier glowed orange as we finished climbing to the Teepe Col in the warmth of sunrise.

Approaching the Teepe Col at sunrise.

We left any unnecessary gear at the Teepe Col (skins, ski crampons, my approach skis and poles), pulling out crampons and ice tools for the remaining climb.  With a thousand of feet of relief to the canyon below the traverse around to the Glencoe Col felt exposed, but it was easy travel and we quickly reached the shadows of the Stettner.  The lower Stettner was pretty good climbing–boot-top chalky powder, and the ice bulge in the pinch was completely filled-in so that we could just fly past it.  The upper Stettner was another story.

Looking up as we climbed past the mouth of the Chevy (which we would descend hours later), the narrows above looked pretty easy–shallow snow over low-angle slabby rock with some scree thrown in.  The chockstone that used to present the greatest difficulty of this route blew out two summers ago, in theory making the Stettner a much more achievable line for winter ascents/descents.  As I started to climb past the first rock bulge, though, it proved to be significantly harder than it looked.

Climbing past the first rock section in the Stettner Couloir.

The rock was actually steep, with little usable ice, and the snow was all sugar.  I backed off halfway up it and we pulled out the rope and gear.

Andy found a patch of ice that took one screw just above our belay platform, and I somehow took the lead.  (Andy is by far the better climber–what was I thinking?)  We acknowledged that there would be no protection on the climb up this stretch; it was solo climbing while dragging a rope so that I could belay my partners up to me.  But that was the situation that we had, so up I went.  Climbing slowly and deliberately, placing my picks and frontpoints in small clefts in the rock, I squirreled my way up to the easy snow above and belayed Andy up to me.  (After hauling my pack and snowboard up–there was no way I was going to lead through that with my pack and snowboard on my back.)  Andy continued up to check out the next bulge while I belayed Jake.  Unfortunately, this just wasn’t Jake’s day–he was worn out from no sleep the night before and the climbing we had already done, so he decided to turn back and meet us at the Teepe Col.

It was cold as hell in the Stettner–by the time I was done belaying and climbed to Andy I was wearing everything I had with me and still didn’t want to stop moving.  As a result, we decided that I should lead the second bulge as well so that I could warm up.  And of course, the climbing proved to be significantly steeper and harder than it looked from below.  Andy had found good ice for a belay anchor (which we hadn’t found at the first bulge), but there was no way to protect the climbing up here either.  Once again placing my picks and frontpoints gingerly on the rock I slowly climbed past this bulge and finally reached the sun at the top.

I must say, the sun felt really good.  After belaying Andy up to me, we stood in the sun and ate a quick snack while stowing away the ropes.  The last thousand feet to the top were technically easy, but physically crushing.

Climbing the upper East Face to the summit.

We could see the summit the whole time and the boot-top trailbreaking occasionally turned to stretches of thigh-deep powder.  It should have been pretty quick and manageable, but at 13,000′ with the sun baking us it took over an hour.

But summit we did, right around noon.  Amazing views in all directions, with a stiff wind out of the west.  I had forgotten how far the top of the Grand is above everything else–even the Middle looks small from up there.  We took a brief respite on the top, snacking a bit and recharging on Red Bull and Monster.  And then we made turns right off the top.

The snow in the upper Stettner had been pretty bad, so we decided to ride the Ford-Stettner variation instead.  The first hundred feet or so off the top were just picking our way through a few rocks to the top of the Ford, but then it all turned sweet.  50-degree turns on firm windbuff led down into the gut and 1000′+ of 45-degree moist, ankle-deep powder with a slight soft crust on the surface.  Awesome carving turns on my snowboard, maybe not quite as much fun for Andy on his skis.  We cruised down the Ford pretty quickly and found the anchors at the top of the Chevy after a super exposed sneak between some rocks and the top of the Petzoldt Couloir (a thousand feet of air to a rocky landing.)  Two full 60-meter rappels took us down the Chevy and back into the Stettner for more soft, fun turns to the bottom of our line.

AJ rides the Stettner.

A traverse around to the Teepe Col brought us back to Jake and all of us had a sunny descent down into Garnet Canyon and back to the parking lot.

Andy skis out the Teepe Glacier.

This time on the Grand felt easier than the last, but it still took 15 hours and I can’t say that at the end of it I was ready to go throw a frisbee or do much of anything besides eat and sleep.  It was a super fun, challenging day on a truly spectacular mountain with great friends.  As we drove home we were already planning our next trip.  It’s amazing how easy it is to be inspired by this range, how each objective reveals a myriad of others.

Riding the East Face

As it was, we got some amazing 55-degree turns on chalky powder for ~1200′ down to the glacier below.  And fat powder down the glacier and out Garnet Canyon.

So that was the setup when we decided to tackle the Apocalypse Couloir on Prospector’s Mountain a few days later.  Having just been denied the summit of the Middle, we probably had some extra “human factor” preying on us when we set out across Phelps Lake with the Apocalypse in view.  I like to think that I’m pretty good at staying objective in my decision-making in the mountains.  Perhaps not super conservative, but thoughtful.

In any case, the trip into the base of the couloir took longer than expected–goofy route-finding and unclear directions from a different parking lot than where I’ve started in the past.

Crossing the lake.

We ran into a couple of moose right where we wanted to cross the creek in Death Canyon–cool wildlife encounter, but it definitely took us a bit of time to skirt around them.  After leaving my approach skis tucked under a rock below the couloir, we began the long bootpack that would ultimately place us in the cave at the apex of the couloir.  Nice powder varied from ankles to knee-deep climbing into the couloir proper, and then firmed up as we approached the ice in the narrows.

Moose in Death Canyon

The Apocalypse is an hourglass-shaped couloir with a ~40′ section of mixed snow and ice in the narrows, requiring mild climbing technique to continue moving up, and a rappel or downclimb for the return trip.  Above the narrows, as the upper funnel opens up, the couloir takes a hard left and continues for another 1000′ to the cave at the top and steep rock continuing to the summit of Prospector’s.  My understanding is that Stephen Koch and Mark Newcomb named it the Apocalypse when they made the first descent because of the unreal amount of ice hanging over the lower half of the route, presenting the very real possibility of being crushed under icefall if things warm up.  Little bits and chunks of ice rain down as you climb; it’s quite a relief to climb past the narrows and into the more standard couloir-skiing hazards of moving snow and rockfall.

Jake climbs through the narrows.

We chose a cold day with light snowfall in the hopes that low temps would keep the ice in place.  In that assessment we were correct; nothing much was moving up there, just wispy little spindrifts pouring off the rocks above and blowing apart in the light breeze.  The trailbreaking in the upper couloir was great–firm and fast–with the exception of three pockets of ridiculously deep powder.

Deep trailbreaking.

As in belly-button-deep.  Brutal, and it should have been a clear sign that conditions weren’t as safe as we’d thought.  My instinct was telling me that something wasn’t right, but we were working so hard to get to the top and we had just turned back from the Middle and all we wanted was to finish this thing, so we kept going.

We took some time in the cave at the top to eat and drink, replenishing ourselves after the 6-hour push to get there.  Then Jake took a couple of pictures and set up to shoot me making the first few turns down our line.

AJ exiting the cave.

On my tenth turn, I pulled out the first slab.  It pushed me around a bit, but I rode off of it and yelled up for Jake to ski the bed surface down to me.  It turned out those deep pockets were slabs waiting for the right shear force to cause them to fail.  On my sixth turn of the next pitch I pulled out another, deeper slab.  Probably about 40cm deep, it was moving with some serious force and it took me a while to get off the side of it.  I don’t often experience real fear when I’m out, but as the slab carried me downhill and piled up on my shoulders I was scared.  All I could do was try to carry momentum to the side and toss myself into the rock wall bordering the couloir.  Ultimately, I got out of it and watched the debris speed by as it slid down and around the corner.  At that moment, I wanted more than anything to be safe at home with my wife and our dog.

AJ rides the Apocalypse Couloir. (Note the crown in the lower right corner.)

After Jake skied down to me again, we discussed what to do from there, how to manage the last pocket, and then made cautious turns down to the main fork of the couloir.  The last pocket was totally wiped clean by the slab I had just knocked loose, so we actually had pleasant, firm 50-degree turns down to the narrows and then more powder below the downclimb.

It was a pensive, sobering trip out of the mountains.  I hate the feeling that I had so lost perspective of the stability up there, and lost control of my own safety.  We were driven to make it go, had the blinders on, and easily brushed aside obvious changes in the snow conditions.  As Jake put it, it was a cheap lesson: pay attention when things change, keep the drive and ambition and commitment out of my decision-making.  It would have been catastrophic to be carried the full length of the couloir.  Today I got by with a healthy serving of humble pie.

AJ Linnell breaking trail on Treasure Mountain using Wagner Custom approach skis

AJ Incoming

AJ scopes the entrance

The Boy Scout Couloir is so named because it is the only clean line through the 400′ limestone cliff above the Treasure Mountain boy scout camp. Steep, narrow, and perfectly plumb, the couloir is a deep and beautiful cleft through towering rock walls. Ultimately, the reason that I hadn’t ridden it before was because of the long access and the difficulty of finding it from above. But with us camped on the summit of Treasure Mountain, we were perfectly set up for a descent and didn’t even know it. It would mean a long skin back to camp, but what better way to wrap up this trip?

AJ exits Boy Scout Couloir

What a ride

Skinning home

AJ Linnell adjusts his Wagner Custom snowboard and approach skis on Denali's upper west ridge

I woke up on the morning of June 14th to temperatures well below zero, with frost caked around the hood of my sleeping bag and a layer of the stuff coating the inside of the tent walls. Every move brought a shower down from the ceiling. I could hear Jaime firing up the stoves in the cook Megamid while we blearily put on layer after layer of clothing and rammed our feet into frozen boot shells. The snow squeaked underfoot as we walked around camp, strapping snowboard and skis to our packs and donning harnesses that we wouldn’t remove until well past dinnertime. Looking up, I saw with apprehension a curl of spindrift blowing off the summit plateau, but the lower half of our climbing route was clear, and though the sun was hours away from us on the other side of the mountain I had a good feeling about what we would find once we got up on the Rib.

Mount Foraker in the background - AJ works towards Denali's summit

Juiced up on coffee and oatmeal, we walked out of 14-Camp and deeper into the shadow of the upper mountain, breaking trail through 20cm of fresh snow from the last few days’ flurries. We roped up to cross some bigger crevasses and work our way across the head of the glacier, arriving at the West Rib cutoff (16,200’) just as the sun hit the Russian team that was camped there. Looking down the lower Rib, it seemed like there could be some potential for a 7000’ snowboard/ski descent down to the Northeast Fork of the Kahiltna Glacier, but on another day, on a different trip. (First descent, possibly?) Our objective was to climb the Upper West Rib for 4000’ to the summit and then ride/ski the Messner Couloir back down to 14-Camp, 6000’ below.

We had been in the Alaska Range for two weeks by the time summit day rolled around, alternating days of hauling sleds like donkeys on skis with days of making turns around camp, allowing our bodies to acclimatize to the altitude. “Rest” days typically involved a few thousand feet of climbing and riding–it felt rejuvenating to travel with light loads, purely for play. We took a week getting to 14-Camp, where we installed a basecamp that would be our home for the remainder of the expedition. Chest-high snow walls protected our tents from winds, and an excavated Megamid provided a place to escape from the snow/sun for cooking, playing cards, listening to NPR in comfort. We took advantage of good weather to climb and ride routes up to 17,200’, giving our bodies as much opportunity for acclimatization as possible. (And scouting the lower reaches of our routes for summit day.) But clouds kept us pinned closed to camp for most of our time there. We got plenty of practice riding through the whiteout, trying to find good routes back down to camp. (“Is that a crevasse? Should we rope up?”) Every day, usually multiple times a day, we wandered over to the rangers’ compound to check the weather forecast, looking for a window for our summit push.

AJ's basecamp: 14-Camp with Mt. Foraker in the background

Nobody had been up the Rib for days, so we had unblemished snow and rock stretching up to the summit plateau. The climbing started with 800’ of 60-degree snow and ice to a bench, and then layed back to ~45-degrees for the remainder of the climb. Punching steps into the snow, winding our way through pink and brown granite, finding the route for ourselves and watching the Russians follow our steps a thousand feet below, all on a windless sunny day. Wow. Jaime and Alex decided to stop at the top of the Messner Couloir (19,500’) to retain some energy for the descent while Twinkie and I continued to the top. It seems ridiculous now that 800’ of climbing would take almost two hours, but at that altitude it did.

AJ Linnell on the summit of Denali

The sun was low in the sky when we reached the summit, giving a brilliant glow to everything around us as we removed crampons and buckled down our boots for the descent. Riding off the top was the realization of a dream I had entertained for almost 10 years, and looking down at the descent that awaited us was every bit as awesome as I’d hoped. That squeaky snow turned out to be remarkably sticky—I had never ridden in conditions this cold, and hadn’t anticipated it. And riding at 20,000’ is hard, much harder than I had expected. But the knife-hard nevé held an edge, and we eventually re-joined the rest of our team back at the top of the Messner.

AJ Linnell snowboarding the summit ridge of Denali

Looking down 5000’ of continuous 45-degree snow on a perfect fall-line was as unnerving as it was sublime. The sense of exposure was terrifying, and wonderful. The consequences of an uncontrolled fall were clear as we looked down at the tiny dots of 14-Camp in the basin below. We all recognized the risk though we never spoke of it, just stayed focused on riding well. We had great turns on 20cm of windslab over firm nevé for the first 1000’, with the sun shining full on the couloir as we rode from safe zone to safe zone. Dropping further towards the narrows halfway down, the windslab turned to breakable windcrust and the riding got spicier. There is a remarkable clarity that comes in a time when every turn counts and the consequences of blowing a turn could be big, a focus that I don’t often get to experience in the rest of my life. Riding through the narrows, breaking the crust with powerful turns while looking at the continuing descent below, I felt the clarity in all its glory and had one of those rare moments when this was all I wanted to be doing, in the only place I wanted to be.

AJ Linnell snowboarding Denali's Messner Couloir

And then, just after exiting the narrows Alex made a turn through the crust and hit blue ice underneath and fear joined the clarity, threatening to replace it entirely. Every turn resulted in a short slide until our edges found full purchase and we stopped. Then another turn to a slide to a stop. Turn, slide, stop. Repeat. Alex and I had scouted the lower slopes a couple of days before and could see the point when we would reach softer snow once more, but there was a lot of wind-scoured crust over ice above that point and we were tired. Good judgment found Jaime side-stepping down while Twinkie put his crampons back on and down-climbed it. Alex and I continued making relatively controlled turns next to each other until we rode over the small crevasse at the transition to better snow, and a chance to breathe.

The rest of the descent was pretty straightforward, with fast turns on 20cm of light powder to finish it. Riding back into camp 16 hours after our departure, the sense of what we had done was subdued, dulled by fatigue and hunger and thirst. We sat in the cook ‘mid laughing about the day while I cooked ramen and quesadillas and melted pot after pot of water until the wee hours of the morning. It wasn’t until I woke up late and made coffee on a lovely, warm, sunny morning and looked back up at the route that I was able to appreciate our accomplishment, and feel the glow of a long-lived dream realized. As we made our exit down the Kahiltna toward the case of ale cached at basecamp, I felt content, tired, and a few pounds light. Ready to call it a successful expedition and go home.

So I’m just back from guiding a successful Denali climb with a great friend of mine, recuperating and trying to regain some of the weight that I lost while we were stuck in a storm at high camp for a week. (17,200′) Hanging around in Palmer at the National Outdoor Leadership School (NOLS) base has been wonderful, eating five or six meals a day and catching up with old friends, but it took only about 15 minutes of being here for me to start getting excited about my next “project”. I’m prepping another Denali climb right now, with the intention of heading into the Range with a few friends and trying to ride some lines off of both summits. (Denali has two summits, the Southern being the actual summit and the Northern being a bit lower.) The riding potential in there is mind-blowing, with HUGE couloirs and hanging faces all around, including some first- and second-descents. I get blown away just thinking that I have the opportunity to make this trip happen, and that I have three close friends who can do it with me.

Having made our unavoidable trip to Anchorage yesterday, we spent today packing, repairing worn gear, re-sizing crampons to our ski boots, insulating our ice axes, consuming lots of calories, and generally doing all of the stuff one has to do before a 3-week trip at altitude. In some ways it feels like any other trip that we’ve worked together. Except that this time I get to bring my board, and they get to bring skis, and we get to do it our way. No clients, no students. Mmmm… I’m looking forward so much to traveling on my Wagner Custom approach skis after using snowshoes with my clients last month. And getting to ride lines that I’ve only dreamed about on past trips?! Holy crap!!! I will admit to being a bit disheartened after watching much of the snow on the upper mountain blow away during our high-camp storm, but it’s gotta snow before we arrive up there again, right? And if not, the Messner Couloir and the lines off the North Summit still had snow in them when we left. Just not powder. Any way you slice it, we’re going to have an amazing time, and I’m going to get the opportunity to put my board and approach skis from Wagner Custom through the wringer in the ultimate testing ground. Wahoo.

Cheers,
AJ

Yesterday brought a break in the storm of the past week, but Alex and I knew that the cold temps up high had maintained the snow quality while the sun had started the stabilization process. The sun rose as we passed the Platforms in Garnet Canyon, and a biting cold wind blew in our faces for the last three hours of our climb. We walked the summit ridge under bluebird skies 7 hours after leaving the parking lot, with a stiff breeze blowing us along and unobstructed views in every direction. Amazing.

The view down the Southeast Face was surprisingly frightening, at least initially. An initial 300′ of 60-degree turns led down to a more moderate, wide open 45-degree face that ran 1200′ before ending abruptly in an 800′ cliff. Traversing left would bring us into the cirque below the South and Matternaught Peak, and down through the narrows into Avalanche Canyon. Hand shears showed 15cm of warming powder over a firm base–we couldn’t have asked for better conditions! I led down the first pitch, making controlled, confident turns on my new Wagner board. (I’ve been astonished at how fun this board is, and was further impressed at its stability and power in steep terrain.) The surface sluffed behind me with every turn, causing a bit of vertigo as I rode down a face that seemed to be moving with me. I stopped near our intended traverse and called for Alex to join me. He whooped as he carved through the firm pow, and after meeting up we swapped leads down through the narrows and to a sunny picnic spot on the edge of Lake Taminah.

The snow got wetter and stickier as we finished our descent out of the canyon, and we stripped down to t-shirts for the glide across Taggart Lake and through the moraines to the parking lot. Today was a phenomenal day in the mountains, successfully making a big descent of a big peak with a great friend. Awesome.