Shot 10a

As I rip across the inky Nevada night in my 4x4, the pitch black is split by the flashing white lines of the roadway and the incessant patches of snow. Glancing at the thermometer it reads -18 and I tone it back to 75 and figure it would be deadly to slide off the road, though the horses do survive out here. Traveling the long and lonely road to Utah always is an adventure and a time of reflection and hope. Reflections on the weather forecast, and hopes of another epic trip.

I remember the time I took Greg "Hack" Johnson to Utah. It was March of 1984 and Greg had skied the two raddest lines at Mammoth in an afternoon, in horrific rimed ice conditions. So burly were the conditions, I said no way in an instant while Greg was in a zone. I told him on the way home from skiing that there was a dump going on in Utah. Since we were shy on pow that year, nuff said and off we went on an all-nighter across the Great Basin. Arriving thoroughly baked and ready to grab some freshies we headed straight to McDonalds and bulked up for a big day ahead.

The target of this day was Snowbird and it was sick. We headed straight to the Cirque and looked at Great Scott and though it was cut up, right next door was the slightest slot called Shot 10a and it was ours. After many runs of choking fluff, we had to bail and we were off to our Motel 6 suite, er, room. We had little money so we did the whole budget fast food thing as I tried to convince Greg to go to this podunk little ski area called Solitude. He was all "I never heard of it, what's wrong with where we just were", and I tried to counter that I know of a secret spot that nobody skis and it would be all his. Finally he was sold since the lift tickets were cheaper.

We awoke early and grabbed our food and gear and drove up Big Cottonwood Canyon. As we arrived at Silver Fork, the view of The Honeycomb Cliffs grabbed us and we stopped to gaze at it's sheer verticality and huge cornices. A tad more up the road and we were there, bluebird skies, 4 degrees and the snow sparkling at the Solitude Ski Resort. The powder looked pretty cut up but we managed to grab some pow on The Milk Run and a couple laps in Honeycomb Canyon had us ready to tackle the cliff chutes, but there's one problem. Only guided groups could access the Highway to Heaven gate and the traverse across to Twin Lakes Pass and the chutes. We did another lap and I said to Greg, lets just go right up this ridge where there is no closed sign, obviously an oversight due to a lack of preparation by patrol for wannabe extreme skiers from California.


Marching upward through some stunted and worn trees, skis on our shoulder, we gained the rocky section and it got steeper. We vaguely heard someone yelling and I said to Greg, "don't look back buddy, it's all ours now". He agreed and climbed up past me and began leading this dire section of rock, snow, and hidden bottomless holes of rotten frost. It all seemed so easy at the time, but as we neared the crux of the ascent, gloves ripped from the rock, hands starting to get cold, reality was way apparent and the exposure real. Several hundred feet separated us from the slopes below on either side of this boney route no one had thought to mark closed. Reaching the top and the easier going we scoped the first chute in the line-up, a veritable mini Corbett's Couloir. "Naw" said Greg "too easy" and he headed off down the ridge looking for a better line. As we rounded a bend, He spoted one of the biggest lips on the ridge and I instantly said "no way dude" and he said nothing.


This was "Hack" in his element, and I immediatly sprang into action. "Greg, that's not the chute you think it is, the next one down is the wide open freeway chute, this one ends on a cliff". "It's OK", he replied and said he can get through. I wondered what the hell he was thinking, but then again, the avi danger was low, the snow very cohesive but stellar by Mammoth standards, and the lip was only 15 feet high. As I moved out on the edge of the ridge next to the very consolidated lip, I too noticed the two to three feet of fresh lying in wait yet I couldn't see the line Greg did from his position on the lip.

So this then was our chance to have our usual debate about skiing. I say no way and he says yes way over and over 12 different ways. A couple of stomps to warm up the feet and he floated off, obviously done with the conversation. The lip may have been 15 feet but he dropped a full 25 feet and I do mean three sheets of plywood here folks. The snow was so fine he landed in a spray and hammered short turns upon landing. "Holy shit, that was insane", I yelled down to him as he stopped after several turns. He looked around and said, "hey, you were right, there is a huge cliff down here". I asked if he could make it, and he replies that he thinks so, then headed down and left out of view.


I headed back to the mini Corbetts Couloir and reveled in the solitude that is Solitude Ski Resort and hoped that it would stay my secret spot forever. But alas, my friend was who knows where, and I needed to attend to his corpse, or his glory. Dropping in I got buried and threw a turn to the right and instantly it was pack instead of pow due to the narrowing of the chute and steepening of the pitch. Hairball to say the least at 45 degrees and 12 feet wide, but basically I was skiing Mammoth windpack. After watching Greg get the goods, my reveling started to wane as I reverted to jump turning. As I neared the bottom of the chute, I moved right and found the 3 foot of fresh I had been waiting for. Bang, bang, and that was that, and I traversed down canyon to meet Greg. Greg was standing there waiting like no big thing and I figure fine, no need to talk about it now, let's get out of here, we still had to drive all the way home that night. We skied all the way down and decided to go back up to Honeycomb one last time just to look it over again before we left.


As we exited the Summit chair, we saw a patroller standing there and panic set in. But he paid us no mind and we stood there looking at the chute I had skied. We mentioned to the patroller that Greg had just skied some rad chute with a cliff at the bottom right over there and he replied "you gotta be shitting me". We said that no it's all true and I had just skied the main line right above the lift. He then tells us how the one I did had been skied before but nobody had skied the cliff line known as Shot10a. Shot10a I said to nobody in particular and I wondered if there are any more Shot 10a's out here in Utah because they are mighty sweet.


But reflections aside this is now time for hope, it's over 20 years later, Greg is healing from a desperate snowmobile incident, and I am on a mission. A mission to find powder where others say there is none. The guy on the lift at Mammoth that implores that his friends in Utah telling tales of rock damaged skis knows I should not go. The guy posting on Teton Gravity forums about how sucky Utah is knows I should not go. My friend Karl who lives there says it's pretty boney mate and yet hints that there are some spots of secret stash out there and I think boney, hmmmm.

I drive into Solitude to find some of the steepest and best courderoy on the planet and instantly forget my mission. After scaring myself into submission however, I swap skis and head out for the known, and the unknown. Arriving at the top of the Summit chair at Solitude is a real eye opener. Our secret ridge now has a gate for access and metal cables along the rocky sections and it also has a name. They call it Fantasy Ridge and I think yeah, that's about right. The cliffs and cornices found here sheltering bottomless powder are the stuff of dreams.


To see the Honeycomb Cliffs in person is surreal. But there are no lips now, it's a dry winter thus far and yet there is powder. Where is the question. This day is favoring the eastern aspects and I climb up the Fantasy Ridge to the rocks and stop at what is called The Apron. On my right, The Apron is a smooth wind-packed slab but on my left is some 18" of light and dry fluff that has some tracks down lower off the Highway to Heaven traverse, but the upper slope is all mine. Not wanting to miss out on the windpack, I crank a few turns into the windpack softness and then pull out back to the ridge. Climbing back up, warmed up and ready, I plunge left, straight into the very stuff I was told didn't exist. Oh wait, maybe it exists but there will be rocks. Wrong, wrong. Deep, light and rock free was all it is and now I am ready for more.


I spend the rest of the day traversing and skiing 18" of untracked powder way the hell out there on the high traverse. But then, I have it all to myself because Jason and his local pals are all watching the Patriots game (sorry J). This is their domain, but I am grabbing all the goods. Looking up at Shot 10a as I pass by, it has tracks. My mind is boggled, it is so thin with a cliff at the top instead of a lip and three doglegs. Talk about exposure. I think of Doug Coombs and then think of Greg and then it hits me, Solitude, and all of Utah for that matter, is all about Fantasy Ridge, or pursuing one.

I like this guy already.

Yeah, solid first post.

Welcome to TGR, Hairy.

where are the pics man! ;)


I can't read!!!!

Damn straight. Photo's of this TR could possibly eclipse the inevitable demand for Photo's of......








I am sure it is coming soon....





bienvenidos, hirsute one.

nice writup

and thanx! for the welcome...you guys always make me laugh so hard I get tears...but hey, ok, here's a couple pics from the current pow...back then when Greg went big, I couldn't afford film...

http://www.gomammoth.com/cliffsnow.jpg

http://www.gomammoth.com/twinlakespasspanosm.jpg

http://www.gomammoth.com/me1lookwhatifound.jpg

and on a side note, I have some video posted over at you tube if you like steeper skiing

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0X9QRamLnR4

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4gt2ROlEswQ

hola mi nuevo amigos y amigas