Skinning away from the truck at 04:45, stars shining brilliantly overhead, we broke trail up Garnet Canyon–feeling good and ambitious, hoping for steep turns on sweet snow and fun climbing.  We did find some of that, and some other stuff.  Like a questionably-frozen lake that creaked and popped as we puckered up and kept skinning across the ice.

Skinning below the Middle Teton at sunrise.

Entering the upper canyon--bulletproof skinning through rocks. Awesome. (Here, Z is skinning below the Z Face on Cloudveil Dome. How appropriate.)

Windy? Windy.

We found a whole lot of horrifically scoured snow in the upper canyon.  More scree than snow, actually.  The East Ridge of the South Teton held so little snow on it that we left our glisse gear at the bottom and climbed it for the sake of climbing.  (What?!)  Ski mountaineering turned into mountaineering, in a gusty wind that threatened to peel the skin off our faces.

Climbing the East Ridge in blustery conditions. Note the lack of skis on Z's pack.

No snowboard, but fun climbing. Amazing views, too.

Climbing back down the East Ridge. That's what you do when there isn't enough snow to ski.

Or you might opt for a rappel or two.

The mandatory Eddie Bauer shot. Contemplating how we're going to get out of the mountains.

See all that snow blowing around on the ridge? That was unpleasant. You can just make out our bootpack in the center of the image.

We also found horrifically awful turns (bulletproof windslab, 10″-tall sastrugi, remnants of last winter’s snowpack with the consistency of glacier ice.)  Lots of them.  Punctuated with stretches of scrambling over snow-dotted scree fields in a hurricane.

Check out Z's edge penetration into the hardpack. Mmmm.

Better turns as we drop down to 10,000'. Blustery up there!

To be fair, we found really good turns lower down as well, sweet powder thinly covering jagged granite.  Like skiing through a minefield, except the casualties were the bases of our boards.  We left curls of base material and edge shards all over that place.

And then we skinned back across that lake.

But the question is: would I do it again?  Hell yes, in a heartbeat.

*You may have noticed that I used the term “ski mountaineering” rather than “snowboard mountaineering”.  Fear not–I am indeed still snowboarding, and loving my Wagner Custom board and approach skis.  I use the term “ski” generically.  Consider it a pursuit of efficiency, or laziness.  “Ski” requires 6 fewer letters to type, and a whole syllable less to think or speak.

My buddy Zahan was once again the partner of choice.  At maybe 5’9” tall and weighing in at 135 pounds (soaking wet with a hard-on,) Z is an aerobic machine.  His willingness to break trail from pre-dawn to dusk combined with solid mountain skills make him one of the greatest ski mountaineering partners imaginable.  We’ve spent many days in the mountains together and will hopefully spend many more.  With plans for some really big days in the Tetons when conditions come together, we thought that following a descent of the Apocalypse Couloir with a climb and descent of the Son of Apocalypse Couloir would make for good training.

Crossing the lake with gorgeous morning light on the far shore.

Sunday’s route took us across Phelps Lake and up through the thin forest on the east slopes of Prospector’s.  Sunrise lit up the lower forest while we skinned across the frozen lake and we were granted stunning views of Albright Peak as the morning’s inversion fog burned off.

Albright Peak pops out of the fog in the background.

Winding our way up through the forest, we made good time getting to the ridgecrest and the notch above the top of the Apocalypse.  The couloir ends about 200’ below the ridgecrest, with a steep rockband keeping it from topping out.

The inevitable summit shot--AJ and Zahan, about the enter the Apocalypse Couloir.

With our huge snowpack this year, we found snow covering the rock and were able to downclimb most of it with the aid of a fixed-line that had been anchored to a tree at the top.

AJ down-climbs the entrance to the Apocalypse Couloir.

Midway down, the fixed-line turned into a rappel anchor, so we rapped a short pitch and then down-climbed through a choke to the point where we could step in to board and skis.

Z approaches the bottom the rappel into the Apocalypse.

We made turns down the entrance shaft to the starting zone of the couloir, where I built a quick snow anchor to belay Z while he ski-cut the top.

Z descends the entrance shaft to the Apocalypse. Skinny!

Nothing moved after two aggressive ski cuts, not even sluff.  It felt like cheating to stand at the top of a 50-degree couloir with knee-deep, stable powder in it!  It’s a rare thing–usually the snow is firm and chalky, maybe even crusty, when conditions are safe enough to take on these objectives.  Z gave me the thumbs-up for the first pitch, so I dropped-in to floaty, steep bliss–effortless turns at high speed through magic snow.  Totally awesome.

Fat turns in the start of the Apocalypse Couloir. Wagner Custom just built a new board for me that rides like a dream--a bit shorter for tight spots, and it's super stiff. It powers through thick snow and chunder, and carves into firm snow like cat claws on curtains.

Z fires turns down the Apocalypse.

We leap-frogged our way down the couloir to the choke 1500’ below, where there is typically a 40’ water-ice down-climb, and discovered that it was completely filled-in and skiable!  A bit firm from perpetual sluffing, to be sure, but we were able to ski it clean and make our way to the canyon bottom without having to step out of our gear–again, a rare thing.

Lunchtime. Z catches his breath after skiing the 3000' couloir. (The exit is visible in the background.)

After a brief lunch break in the sun we put our boards back on our packs and pointed ourselves up the Son of Apocalypse Couloir.  The lower half was great climbing–firm and fast.  But as we got higher the snow got deeper until we were breaking crotch-deep trail to the top of it.  Brutal.  We would each take a turn at the front, kicking steps for maybe 5 minutes before stepping out the way and getting a reprieve from plowing the track uphill.  Another quick break in the sun on the ridge allowed us to recover a bit before turning ourselves back downhill for another fantastic run.  The ball-deep trail-breaking on the way up translated to fat, fast powder turns descending the top half of the couloir.

Fast turns down the Son of Apocalypse Couloir--part 2 of one hell of a day.

Leap-frogging again, we made huge, mach-speed turns down to the midway choke and our return to chalky snow.  1000’ of skiing down sluffed snow and old avalanche debris brought us back to the bottom of the canyon and an hour of cross-country travel back to the truck.  (I remain convinced of the superiority of approach skis for snowboard mountaineering–the side-hill skinning and rolling travel would have been awful on a splitboard, but on the Wagner approach skis it felt cruiser.)

I will remember our day on the Apocalypse and Son as one of my most successful, fun days in the mountains.  Amazing snow, mind-blowing terrain, 5000′+ of skiing, and a partner with the skills and stoke to make it happen with style.  Life in the Tetons is good.

If you’re getting your ass whooped, you might as well appreciate it.  So, with memories of last weekend skimming through my mind I say that it’s good to get whipped every now and then.  It helps keep a body humble, helps me remember to set my eyes on realistic objectives and pursue them in appropriate conditions.  It makes me thankful for friends who appreciate a healthy bit of suffering.  And it’s a good reminder that coming home safe to ride another day will always be better than the alternative.

After a brief spurt of technical difficulties, Zahan Billimoria, Nate Brown, and I set off from the truck at 6am last Saturday with the hopes of climbing the North Ridge of the Middle Teton and traversing to the Southwest Couloir for a descent on skis and snowboard.  The weather in the valley was gorgeous–clear, starry skies and warm temps with no wind.  The skin track was firm and fast, a nice change from the cold and sticky skin tracks we’ve had for most of the winter.  I am continuously impressed at the performance of my Wagner approach skis–light, agile, and remarkably smooth when I just need to glide on a rolling track.

AJ skins out of the Meadows and into the sun. Love those approach skis!

Easy conversation brought us to the Meadows and sunshine, where the day’s first winds blew down from the Lower Saddle, a preview for what was to come.  The skin from the Meadows up to the Moraines below the Saddle is always a bit of a butt-kicker–steep and firm, offering little chance of stomping in an edge.  With gusts swirling down the slope, I was occasionally unsure whether I would be blown off my feet as I stood precariously in Z’s faint “skin track”.

Coming in for a break.

Approaching the final climb to the Saddle the wind kicked up in earnest and we hunkered behind a boulder to take a break for food and water.  Wind-borne snow pounded through our “shelter” while the sun shone from above and we took in as many calories as we could stuff in our mouths, put on harnesses and helmets, and prepared ourselves to commit to the climb above.  The North Ridge was plastered in amazing rime formations and spindrift tails blew over the Saddle from Idaho.  Brrr.

Nate leads the traverse around the Bonney Pinnacle.

Climbing into the shadow of the Middle, we got a good taste of the conditions for the rest of our climb as we donned crampons and every stitch of clothing we carried with us.  Winds blew hard enough to knock us around, bare hands quickly became unusable.  Nate led us up the ridge, around the head of the Bonney Pinnacle, and down to a notch at the top of the Pinnochio Couloir.  Once gathered there, with the wind funneling through the notch, we decided to push on and see how conditions were further up the ridge.  After all, we were only a few hundred feet from the summit.

Climbing rime in the windy cold.

Z backs off the North Ridge of the Middle.

After two more pitches of interesting climbing on rime-covered rock, we estimated that the winds were blowing at a sustained 50mph across the ridge and decided to pack it in.  Standing in that kind of cold and wind while belaying is unpleasant, but climbing with a cold body and the constant fear of being blown off the route adds a whole different element.  So, two quick rappels brought us back to the top of the Pinnochio Couloir, and a pretty good consolation prize.  Z slung a horn and we threw the rope down the steep and narrow entrance; Nate put himself on rappel, cleaning out 20cm of fresh windslab as he skied-on-rappel down past the entrance choke.

Z approaches the end of the rappel into the Pinnochio Couloir.

Z followed Nate, and I rappelled last, muttering expletives when I got to the bottom of the rappel and discovered that the ropes were stuck.  Stepping out of my snowboard in that terrain is always a bit dicey, but I managed to get it off my feet and anchored into the snow without dropping it 1200’ down the couloir to the glacier below.  Repositioning the ropes back at the notch for a clean pull (after climbing back up) turned out to be easier than anticipated and my second trip down the rappel was smooth, the ropes pulled easily, and the rest of the couloir was pleasant, chalky powder.

Riding fun snow in the Pinnochio.

When I rode the Pinnochio last year I had to rappel a rockband midway down, but today it was well filled-in and we were able to squeak through a narrow passage to the fan below and made quick turns down to the moraines.  The steeps above the Meadows were probably the best riding of the whole day, nicely lit up and softened by the sun, the first time I was able to really open it up.  Z and Nate carved their way down to me and we all admitted to being pretty worked as we stowed away our climbing gear for the romp out of Garnet Canyon.  Tired legs, tired backs, tired bodies.  Whether mental or physical, or both, the cold and wind really took it out of us today.

Returning to the truck and warm, spring-like temperatures felt like a relief after being up high.  We agreed that a bit of suffering was good for us, and committed to getting back on the route for another attempt soon.

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.

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.

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

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