Good shit bump.
Your writing style/way with words reminds me of some stuff Odin used to write. Thanks for sharing
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Good shit bump.
Your writing style/way with words reminds me of some stuff Odin used to write. Thanks for sharing
We dropped in at 7pm. Around 8 I started to get distracted by the oil painting hanging on the wall of the dingy ski condo. It was probably hung on the wall sometime in the mid 80's. I kept looking at it and finally had to pull it off the wall for closer inspection. Sure enough, there was a rectangle shaped patch of whiter wall behind the frame.
I sat in a lazy boy chair with the frame in my lap while Hans and Ethan flanked my sides on the arms of the chair. The painting depicted three skiers ripping down a broad wind blown alpine ridge line. The wind was picking up the snow and blowing skiffs around the skiers boots as they were locked in perpetual turns. It was like holding a flat screen TV in my lap, you could actually see the wind move and the skiers smiling back at us. I noticed that it was interesting that the painting was obviously dated by its general context, but somehow the skiers were making huge big mountain turns as if they were on fat skis. Where was the old school butt wiggle?
We were stuck in the condo because the mountain was shut down for the night. It had snowed all day but around 4pm the system turned warm and Alyeska was now being pummelled by what could best be described as 'monsoon like rains.' We now turned to watch the frenzied antics of the poor lifties who had the job of dismantling the lift line bamboos and rope. The base of Chair 3 was not more then 50meters from the the deck of Ethan's second floor condo. He thought they could use a hand so he grabbed a half empty flat of Redbull and jumped off the deck like some sort of super hero. He forgot to put shoes on but managed to stagger through the knee deep slush and gale force winds over to the lifties. The cardboard casing was falling apart by the time he tried to offer them a pick me up.
For some reason they declined and Ethan staggered back to the building and scaled the deck, heaving the sodden flat over the rail in front of him.
We needed a mission and quickly decided to go to the hotel. There are not many things to do in Girdwood if the mountain is not open. The hotel looms in the back of the valley like a 5 star Castle Greyskull. We prepared to venture into the elements. The hotel is about mile away so it was not too far to walk. There is a nice bike path that goes along the road in the forest but we decided to troop through the bog that the bike trail goes around. It would be shorter as the crow flies but more difficult.
It was calf deep slush and pissing rain in the dark for what seemed like an eternity. Staggering now. Must get back to solid ground. The lights of the path guided us like wayward moths in the maelstrom. Once back on the path the rain poured through the light with an atypical intensity. We finally strolled up under the large carport in front of the hotel. The red carpet was dry and toasty because the heated sidewalk was working overtime. There is beautiful rock work and timber framing all around.
As we walk into the foyer we could expect to be greeted by a bellman or at least catch glimpse of a front desk person scurrying behind a curtain. There was only silence. No muzak played as we paused to take in the surroundings. The huge vaulted ceiling soared overhead and merged into a fake northern lights display all complete with a large stuffed polar bear, hanging out on a iceberg. Silence. We were dripping wet and peering from under drooping gore tex hoods and shuffling wet feet. We aimed for the elevator. On the elevator there was muzak and we all stood and contemplated our reflection in the mirror on the roof of the elevator cab.
For what seemed like an eternity the cables pulled us up one floor and the doors opened. We turned to step out but were shocked and horrified to see an entire wedding reception deep in concentration as the lone photographer was busy lining up bodies and smiles. The bride was literally glowing under the lights and her smile was a mile wide. She managed to keep smiling as we ducked back into the elevator to decide what to do. I held the door and peeked out. Everyone was paused and waiting for us to go though but we hesitated. Hans and Ethan made a dash and I still paused, lingering in my sanctuary. The brides smile betrayed her irritance as the photog waved me through. I hurried through with a mumbled apology and around the corner was silence again. It was as if the wedding party was never even there. We made our way down the long corridor that leads to the tram base. There are shops all closed up behind little fold up glass walls selling shitty skis and glove warmers.
We were relieved to slide back out side through the automatic doors into the covered sidewalk that leads to the tram base itself. We were out of the elements but the elements were still pouring down and steaming around out feet. We stood at the closed tram base doors as if we were super early morning keeners, ready to get after some powder. We stood there like hoards of people might show up at any minute and we would be validated for standing in line for so long. Getting on first tram is one thing, being first in line for first tram is reserved for those in a league of their own. We stood there and wondered how the snow was holding up. It has to be snowing up there somewhere. We stood there and and then began to mill about in circles, losing interest. What is the hold up?
Finally as if snapping out of a trance knew that we must move on. We ventured back out into the rain and stood on a little foot bridge that goes over a creek that flows off the mountain and into the manmade pond nearby. The creek was a raging torrent as every once of precipitation was too warm to stick. The entire mountain was flowing beneath our feet and we realized that the mountain had forsaken us. She does not love us and does not care that our emotions are so wrapped up in her frame of mind.
We stood there on the bridge for what seemed like an eternity and contemplated our fate thus far. Maybe it will cool off tomorrow? This is probably good for the snowpack some how, somewhere.
We trooped back to the hotel where the skiers were still ripping their perpetual turns on the wall over the couch. This time they did not seem to be so happy. Maybe they wanted to ski somewhere else for a change?
After I had been kicked off the ski hill I turned to downhill mountain biking as a way of maintain my sanity. My 'plan A' had always been to be some sort of pro skier and things were going great until that fateful night when I decided to be a little too rebellious. Now I had to come up with a 'plan B' and biking seemed to fit the bill. I came to realize that it was not always about the skiing specifically but more of the going up a mountain to come down, that I enjoyed.
My skier friends never caught on. I would try and explain to them that the only difference comes down to whether you are hanging on to handle bars or ski poles. (as you say this you hold your hands in front and turn from horizontal bike grip to vertical ski pole grip). And to this day I can't take s skier seriously unless he hones his skills on a big bike in the 'off season.' I would call my Santa Cruz Super 8 my 'dirt ski' because that is all I had.
Believe it or not though, biking on snow can be fun and rewarding. John and I would push our bikes the hard packed snowmobile highways in Turnagain Pass and rip 3000 foot runs much to the bewilderment of the sled head locals. My favorite haunt was still Alyeska though. One of the best ways to get in some vert was to climb up the mountain in the dark of night. It was easy to dodge the groomers and the actual groomed trails offered some of the fastest, smoothest riding imaginable.
I remember one night in particular. We started pushing around 11:30pm. We knew there was a break between groomer shifts and we would have and hour or two with the mountain to ourselves. It would only take about an hour and a half to climb the 2000 feet to the top of Chair 6 where we would take a swig of water and prepare for the descent. A big part Alyeska is contained in a big bowl shaped by a steep head wall all around. There are no trees and and you can see everywhere from everywhere. We decided that we would rip down Silvertip. It is a low angle cruiser that rolls way skiers left out towards Max's Mountain.
Across the valley from where we would ride is the top lodge building. There is a huge flood light that shines across the bowl and illuminates the alpine scene in a blue artificial moon light. We were hauling ass through the blue light. At least it felt like we were hauling ass because in the dark your senses are altered to where you can't really see specific details of the route. You can feel the bike floating and bobbing underneath as it catches and rolls with the irregularities in the fine corduroy.
We quickly navigated the rolling swoops up high and pointed it across the flats before the pitch turns and rolls steep down into the belly of the bowl. John was about 150 feet in front of me and I could only detect him as a small black humanoid that didn't appear to actually be moving. But we were! We were pretty much running open brakes and going real fast now as the pitch is about 30 degrees. But since we had both skied the simple groomer perhaps a million times we both knew that it was clean and predictable.
What was not predictable was the line of demarcation between the world illuminated by the flood light up high and the dark shadow world down low in the bowl. The natural shadow cut across the steep pitch about 2/3 down. In other words, we were hauling ass on bikes on the snow and it was about to become pitch black, real fast! I could see the shadow up ahead and I could see the speck John still in the light. Then in 1,2,3 he vaporized before my eyes into the the other side. 'Break on through, to the other side' never made so much sense until that insta-second when I was still in the light and the wall of black was fast approaching and I literally held my breath and I might as well have closed my eyes because when I dared to breath again there was NO SENSORY INPUT. I knew my eyes must be open because I could now feel tears of speed and exhilaration flowing on my cheeks. I kept trying to see anything but could not. There was no light to see therefore; no one was there to see it. It was like breaking the speed of light and seeing the nothing on the other side.
I stayed light on the saddle and pedals and willed the bike to find my way down the mountain like a good horse. She floated and bobbed over familiar rolls that I could now remember from daylight and ever so gradually orange light from the lower day lodge reflected up the hill. I could see John stopped down by the first trees and I knew his mind was blown, as was mine.
Late in the summer John, Tim and I hatched onto a plan. Tim knew an older guy named Paul who had a boat and he had a lot of free time and wanted to take us out boating in Prince William Sound. He was open to doing whatever we wanted so we came up with a good idea.
The idea was to boat out to Esther Island and get after some first descents on the bikes. The topography in PWS is interesting. Some land features like Culrosss Island and were worn smooth looking as if the nearby glaciers had crushed and scraped to the once rugged features into submissive bumps on the blue sea. Whereas other nearby land masses like Knight Island have huge craggly granite spires and crazy alpine chutes that roll right to the beach.
We were looking for something in between and Esther had what we were after. We would anchor right near the hatchery and make camp. There is 500 feet of sparse forest that leads quickly into sub alpine glades and then pure rock above 1500 feet. We wanted to push up to these exposed ridge lines and bike on the rock and basically kill it. That would prove more difficult then we thought.
We met at Paul's around 10am ready to go. We had been on 'the program' all summer and could expect a general efficiency from each other, when it came to getting going on something. Paul was on another program. He puttered around his garage for a while tinkering with the outboard and trailer lights and fishing gear etc. We helped and remained patient and were generally stoked to be preparing for such a great adventure. One thing leads to another and we don't leave the house until 4pm. Land of the midnight sun you know, as we were confident that we had still had plenty of light to get where we wanted to go.
Paul decided to stop at a local restuarant and order a burger to go. I can tell John is slightly losing it now in his head and Tim is acting like we there is no problem. I am really starting to crunch numbers, be in Whittier by 5 at latest, hour boat ride out Passage Canal another 20 minutes across College Fiord and over to Esther by 7, make camp by 8, dark at... 8:30?
I was becoming concerned that we now off track. We got the burger, raced to Whittier and hopped in the boat fairly smoothly. Paul wanted to go check his shrimp pots. This was an actual surprise to us and I knew then that the joke was on us. I guess I should mention now that Pat was getting along through the mid stages of Parkinson's Disease. This entire time of preparation and anticipation was coupled with the way that Paul moved and conducted himself. He actually reminded me of my dad in his general outdoors skill set. The difference was that he walked with a limp and had shakes and could barely lift the smallest object so John, Tim and I had to act on his directions. It was all stored upstairs but his body was clearly failing him.
The light was failing on all of us as I was pulling the fifth pot up some 500 feet from the icy depths. My fingers were numb and there were about 5 shrimp in the cooler so far, so we were losing interest in pulling the last two pots. Pat was also missing one eye from some incident long ago so when he talked he would turn his good eye in your direction. He was excited for the last pot and sure enough there was about 20 shrimp kicking around and we would feast at our camp on ESTHER ISLAND! I could see her sitting out in the Sound proper, calling with her sirens cry. The light in the east was becoming pink, Esther looked dark but we were coming now.
In the 10 minutes it took for us to get from the last shrimp pot site to the point outside Blackstone Bay, a bank of low fog rolled in along the feet of our destined port. I could the see the granite ridge lines dancing above the clouds but our route by sea was becoming less safe by the moment. Soon we rolled around the last piece of land between us and the entire of northward stretch of College Fiord. Within a 50 foot distance the seas rose to maybe 3 and half feet. The 22 foot open hull aluminum skiff started to take on spray and our bikes did not seem to be protected under the trap. The spray was cold and salty and I was becoming alarmed. My first clue was when earlier in trip Paul had to take a leak off the back of the boat and was having real difficulty getting everything all zipped up after the fact. We stood there watching long enough so that the idea of how I could help actually surfaced.
I asked Paul for the map quickly. We all unanimously decided that we had to abort the mission. The light was fading fast. I scoured the the contour lines for what might be our last hope. It was interesting how through out the entire day we were going to Esther up until that very moment when it was alarm bells, all at once.
I saw a little spot on the map that might be good in the first little bay as you curve north to College. We nosed in but then decided against it. There was nothing along the beach until we zipped into Pirate Cove, or maybe the next one. It was technically dark by the time we stepped on to solid ground. There was a small, not so flat spot right at tide line from the morning flow. We would have to make due. We unloaded all of the entire camp as Paul sat on the ground under a tarp and directed us piece by piece on how to set up the camp. By 11pm we had a fire going and it was time to set up watch.
The tide for tonight was supposed to be a few inches higher and we were cutting it close. As we sat in silence watching the tide it started to rain. Paul's dog was acting all aggressive as it charged around the rear perimeter barking into the dark. We were in wilderness now. The tide actually crested the edge of the miniature plateau we were on and came with in inches of soaking our bags but we stayed dry.
The next morning was socked in. We decided to call off the trip for good and Paul was excited to go fishing. We trolled around in circles for the better part of the day and did not catch anything.
7 days later the entire south central region of alaska was still socked in under the first huge pacific storm to come in for the season. The one that rolled in while we were on route to Esther. We would have been stuck on the island for many days and were only spared many imagined hardship by a few shrimp.
Did another little recon mission, this time on race quads.
Loading them up:
http://photos-f.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos...42_63291_n.jpg
Unloading:
http://photos-d.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos..._1238052_n.jpg
20 min later, nice scenic overlook.
http://photos-g.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos..._2672489_n.jpg
There is a line in there somewhere:
http://photos-e.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos..._5366893_n.jpg
Faceshot!
http://photos-c.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos..._5028200_n.jpg
Right when we got back to the truck, Mark's wheel fell off.
http://photos-f.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos..._6367942_n.jpg
Everything is under control
http://photos-a.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos...0_260921_n.jpg
We decided it was time to throw a ski burning party.
http://photos-f.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos..._2144813_n.jpg
The Ski Bums played until their fingers were too cold. Then they passed out in my ski factory.
http://photos-h.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos..._7090209_n.jpg
We sacrificed about ten pairs of skis, including the first pair I ever built.
http://photos-d.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos..._6487200_n.jpg
I managed to not fall on the baby.
http://photos-e.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos...9_738848_n.jpg
There was some dispute when it came to burning an of pair of Salomon Equipe's. You know, the real bad ass ones from about 1997, with the Monocoque design? People were accosting me to let them ski the skis because they were so sweet. But I relented, the better the ski the more worthy the sacrifice, hence more snow.
These things were so hi tech that they did not even burn completely.
http://photos-a.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos..._2588478_n.jpg
And then it snowed, well 5 days later! Bring it on!
http://photos-b.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos...0_599227_n.jpg
Ullr seems truly pleased. Puking here well below tree line. Well done!
So I have this ski movie script that would be fun to make. Kind of a 'Lord of the Rings' meets 'Fire, Ice and Dynamite'.
I even offered Emac a role but he declined for some reason.
Here is the intro that leads into the script. You guys want soft core and monsters and skiing? Here you go.
http://www.youtube.com/jvmovie#p/u/16/h7tlmeD9Uiw
I am tempted to post actual script but don't want to slip into the clutches of one of those sponsored outfits hungry for ideas...
Vesna?! I sent you a pm.
Yes, there is only one Vesna.
There is also only one Abe Gioffre. Here he is ripping it up with Andre from Dog Lotion down in South America. Keeping the dream alive indeed.
[ame="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E-615zfAbM0"]YouTube- Las Lenas - Couloir Adrenalina[/ame]
I can remember the first day when I realized that I could not crash.
It was a Wednesday and it had snowed about 6 inches. In the morning it was cloudy but the sun was already trying to break through. There was no real rush and it was easy getting 1st on chair 6. On the first lap we hit Eagle Rock. You can come on on the corner of the drop and get about 10 feet. It is a good way to test the snow for the day with minimal risk. The next lap we hit Eagles again. There are several different stages you can play with; A ten foot drop in to a hanging pillow to another 10 footer to the left or maybe a 15 footer to the right.
The main drop is about 20 foot of vertical rock with a tranny that runs good and steep for another 40 or 50 foot before it transitions again to completely flat. After a couple of more laps it seemed like Eagles was the order for the day and we decided to just keep hitting it.
There is a rope and cliff sign across the top so you have to slow way down and side step up to the edge before taking the plunge. If there was a time lapse camera on South Face it would have looked like a type writer running through the alphabet as we started pin pointing bomb holes 6 inches over from each previous lap. A series of about 10 laps with 25 footers. Followed by another series of 10 laps with 30-35 footers. The landing proved to be very user friendly with the 6 inches of new on top of the 20” from yesterday and the 15” from the day before that and the 25” from the day before that... Alyeska will do that, average 20” a day for like 3 months.
Anyway it felt like we were just getting warmed up when we started pushing into the 40+ range. I remember sitting on the chair lift and feeling twitchy and slightly nauseous at times. I turned to Abe and remarked that it felt like I could not crash. Like I could not crash even if I tried. Abe agreed and and we knew that it was on!
By now people on the chair started taking notice as we were getting random hoots in the lift line. Chair 6 rolls right up the main bowl so everyone can see everyone else's run assuming you are not over on North Face. From the lift we could see all of our perfect landings laid out in rows lower and lower down the tranny. As soon as the skis touched the snow at the top of the lift all apprehension melted away and, to sound cliche, it was like a computer game.
We started ducking the warning rope faster and faster and soon enough we were pushing the limits of the useable transition. By now we had hit the damn thing about 35 times as we were doing back to back 50 footers. I can clearly remember the highlight of the day. By now we were just ducking rope and not even slowing down and leaping blind. I remember as I ducked the rope I kind of turned my head sideways and as I did that I saw Abe as he was ducking the rope at the same time no more then 5 feet to my left. I watched as he dropped into the classic aerodynamic/semi-tucked position one uses when bombing big air. I noticed the flow of snow crystals flow behind him as he started to descend with the arc of trajectory.
I could see he was stoked because this was one of the biggest air yet and I watched as he slowly lowered the landing gear and prepared for touch down. I swear I could count 1-2-3 in the air as I kept watching while Abe stomped the shit out of the landing in an explosion of snow all around. He had landed at the absolute bottom of the tranny meaning we had soared over 60 feet through the air.
I was still about five feet away and still looking at Abe as we zipped across the flats and started laughing and was like “did you see that?” That was when I realized that I too had cleanly soared and stomped the big air without even looking as I was so transfixed by the beauty of Abe's flight. In the end we hit Eagles 48 times that day.
There is something to be said about sled skiing. It is fun, expensive and dangerous. In some cases it is practical while in other times it is not. It can be the most exhilarating thing you can do in the mountains and it can also be very back breaking and arduous.
I have found that within some circles of skier types there is a misunderstanding of what 'sledding' is. To the elitist, sled heads are lazy, beer drinking morons that have too much money and not enough brains to realize that it is more fun to climb up a mountain then to blast up the same mountain at 60 mph on your M1000. True, it can be very tiring to climb up 3000ft to ski one lap. But it can also be very tiring to make 10 laps on the same mountain with a snowmobile. Same effort = 10 times more vertical powder skied? Sign me up!
In Turnagain Pass there is a line of demarcation between the skiers on the East side of the highway and the sledders on the west side. Actually, the sledders are not allowed to go where the skiers go but the skiers can go where the sledders go. On the skiers side the parking lot is quite except for Phish wafting in on the breeze laced with aromatic 'cigarettes'. Telemark skiers munch granola and fluffy dogs frolic.
Go down the road a half click and the sledder parking lot is cranking Rob Zombie with huge jacked up trucks spinning donuts as sledss gap the snow berms. I admit, when I was proud hippie I used to be slightly intimidated by the uproar and general mayhem that I perceived. “Look at those lazy fuckers blasting around in circles... How can they experience true mountain beauty on one of those machines?”
And then they would zip away as if on greased lightning and climb the far horizon.
So I eventually got a sled. There is the debate, in BC at least, that you can get away with a smaller sled because you just need to access the 20k of logging roads before you get to the good alpine terrain where you can ditch the sled and get back to good old skinning, only because the sled can only take you so far. On the other hand a big sled can actually climb the steep alpine terrain with two people on board, no less, and deposit you on the top of a run.
In Turnagain Pass there is no logging roads or trees for that matter and a small sled will barely get you out of the parking lot, let alone up close to the good skiing. So I opted for the REV 800 with a 151” track. Pretty sweet ride, all I had to do was learn to ride the damn thing. After about ten days of burning fossil fuels I finally figured out how to counter steer in powder and how to basically not get stuck in the first place. It was time to really get after it!
Usually you ride two people to a sled when you are skiing or boarding. Both people ride up, one skis down and the other shuttles the sled to the bottom where you reload and go up again. I find it interesting that people in BC will argue until blue in the face that the best way to ride two people is to use the 'tandem' method. This is where the riders stand side by side, each on a rail while one hits the throttle and the other is on brakes. The riders both steer and negotiate the terrain together. This method is useful when travelling on logging roads or established trails but to me it seems unwieldy when it comes to more aggressive terrain.
The other method, which I prefer, is called 'potato.' Basically one rider is in control of the whole sled and stands up while a passenger sits in front and hangs on to the steering column. This way the center of gravity is lower and is actually centered on the sled. The driver yells “LEFT!” and they both lean left as the driver counter steers right and you make a right hand traverse...
Anyway, this is all child's play. The true experts ride solo and rely on the 'ghost ride' method.
As the name implies, one rider rides up gets off at the top and pushes the sled into the fall line and if all goes well, she will be waiting at the bottom like a trusty steed. Sometimes you will fake ghost ride, which is just riding without braking or steering , so a track gets put in. This technique is not for the faint of heart and really only works in wide open alpine terrain with obvious fall lines and no real obstacles.
There is one guy in Girdwood who only ghost rides. I would watch in amazement as he would release his brand new REV and not even look twice while he strapped on his bindings before he slayed powder for 2000 feet. I did see him nearly demolish his sled one day. He kept ghosting down Juniors and since the whole slope rolls over from the top, he did not see how his sled was punching in a depression at the bottom of the long steep pitch. Lap after lap I watched from a distance until finally it was too much and his beauty of a ride compressed and then launched and then nose dived and then came cart wheeling out the bottom. He seemed unfazed, strapped it back together and was off to the races.
I only ghost rode a few times and never really liked it. It is kind of like sending your kid off to college. You know they mean well, but you know they can also 'get off track', if you know what I mean.
Here is an example of a perfect ghost ride run. Kris Dudley killing it:
http://www.facebook.com/video/video....00775273282734
awesome thread. that bit about eagles rock got me all stoked for aly to open up...
^^^Thanks buddy!
Jared and I were poking around in one of the southern bowl that spills down into Seattle Creek. Later in the sled season this bowl is a real highway of traffic but as it was now mid February, no one had been down into Seattle Creek yet, at all. We were up on the ridge top speculating on our next run. From where we could see, there is a small bowl that rolls off the ridge top and it flattens out before falling another 1500 feet to the creek bottom. Even though there were two of us with a sled each Jared was pushing for me to ghost my ride into the first small bowl. I did not want to because I knew that my track was on the loose side and when she coasted, she coasted farther then other sleds.
He really thought it would be all right and I finally caved. I took my skis off and pushed and guided the sled about 50 feet before releasing her to the world. Jared sat perched on his ride right next to me. As my sled disappeared over the roll I had a moment to tell Jared to get his sled ready, he would have to hurry and save mine if it looked like trouble. Just then she popped out on the lower flats and I knew right away that she was moving fast. She slowed... and slowed. I told Jared to get on it fast and he paused and finally pushed him to get going. I could see my sled slowing, slowing. This was going to be close. I could see Jared down on the flats now racing. I could see that my sled was now not slowing as she actually crested the point of now return.
Jared raced over the gentle roll and managed to get right up along side of mine but there was nothing he could do. Mine was accelerating now and was about to roll over the real steep part. Jared was right up along side like he was trying to corral a wild bronco. He could save mine bit he would loose his! He had to pull a shit hook at the very last moment as my ride disappeared into the no mans land.
It was a walk of shame for me as I turned up hill to gather my skis and my wits in preparation for the what was to come next. As I skied down by myself I was quite enjoyable. On skis it felt fairly low angle, in the 30 degree range. About half way down I made the mistake of looking back uphill, over my shoulder, and felt my spirits sink. As a sledder it looked steep and completely covered in powder. I made dollar signs with my sled track and could see where it caught air and where it dipped and rolled with the terrain. For a while I could not see the actual sled until about three quarters down the run when I saw a small speck at the very far away bottom of Seattle Creek.
'Ho-Lee Shit' I thought as I skied up on to the scene. There she was looking all innocent with powder piled up around the cowling . I took my skis off and it was a solid waist deep. I knew that this would be a test of all of my minimal sledding abilities. I got the skis strapped on and took a deep breath.
I got her started and made a tentative tap at the throttle. If I dug a trench with my track here, I would be hooped. I stayed light on the throttle and then eased into a full throttle display of machismo that only the ptarmigans would witness. The sled pitched in the air and wallowed and wailed and I managed to pull an all out survival turn towards uphill and then I really gunned it! I made a high mark up, oh, about 20 feet before I had to pull her down hill again with all my might. I got back to where I started and carefully tried to stay on my track as I gunned it again and made it another 3 feet. 'Three feet?! Holy fuck, this is bullshit' I thought as I circled again and made it another 3 feet. At the top of each of my mini high marks the sled was damn near vertical in the snow pack as I struggled to maintain control and composure. A lesser man surely would have cracked right then but I knew I had to dig deep.
My first real goal was to surmount a small wind drift thingy about 50 feet up hill. I can remember how that first little goal seemed so big and daunting. I felt that I would be happy if i only made it that far because I knew I had tried my hardest. Soon enough I made it over that first roll and realized that my up track was quickly becoming more like a highway. After the first steep mini pitch it was a long, long medium pitch that I had to dissect one high mark at a time. I would be racing up my sweet track and then get bobbing back and forth and all of the sudden loose all my momentum in the deep snow on the sides.
After about an hour going balls out, I was becoming fatigued. I had to position my knee on the seat just so that I took the weight off my arms as I battled the G's uphill. On each down lap I would hang my arms loose and try to shake them out in preparation for the next rep. It was funny because if i was skinning, I would have taken only about 45 minutes to get out of this same drainage and here I was only half way out and damn near beat.
There was one more main crux that I could see. At the top of the long, more gentle pitch, it turned fairly steep before rolling onto a flat knoll. I can remember the first time I cleared the knoll my sled was actually vertical and digging deep in the snow. I was hovering 8 feet in the air and could look to the top and see three of four people sitting on the ridge watching over me. I spun a 180 on the tail of my track and descended to the bottom again. The problem now was the trench I had just dug at the top of the knoll. It was a good 4 feet deep and 16” wide and it kept throwing me off for the next 5 attempts.
Finally, after an hour and a half of sheer battle I gained the little knoll and ran out of gas. Luckily I had a the reserve jerry can strapped on back and it took all of my effort to refuel. By now the calvary decided that I had had enough and they descended to help punch a track up the remaining 500 feet.
That night I could not sleep because I kept dreaming that I was still trapped in Seattle Creek. It started snowing the next day and 15 feet of snow and a week later it cleared. If I did not get out of there when I did my precious REV would have been buried for the season.
hey i am with you. I think Potato (nice name for it btw) is way better. Tandem in deep snow is pretty tiring - possibly because i suck at it .Quote:
Originally Posted by carpathian
Edit: and your story re ghostriding. I saw a very expensive custom ghostridden into a slot. Not my party so not my problem but that looked not so good
Keep them coming
Here are the latest skis I have built in the last 2 months.
http://profile.ak.fbcdn.net/v229/136...58288_1986.jpg
Mine are the black ones.
http://photos-b.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos..._8161672_a.jpg
I will test this week and let you know how it goes.
Maybe the closest I ever came to the 'big time', I was on my board. The day after getting sponsored my new Atomic board I got caught poaching and got kicked off Alyeska for 2 years. I then fled to Whistler the following season where I wanted to refine my technical/gnar riding on the skis and board.
One day I was cruising out of the back of Blackcomb Glacier and I spyed a professional looking film crew. I rolled up nonchalantly and asked who they were filming. In a thick french accent the film guy pointed up at the craggy face and just said 'Hugo, MSP.'
I stood there for a minute acting like a fan or something and then asked if I could go and hike to catch up with him and maybe be filmed?
He scoffed and hemmed and hawed something about avy danger or daylight or something and basically said 'get lost.'
I stood there for a minute and slowly started sidling away towards where Hugo was having trouble breaking trail. It was steep and you could see he was punching through to rocks in the sugar snow. I said ' I am going to help him break trail' and before they could object I traversed over and madly started bootpacking. We were on the flank just down valley from the main Spearhead Face.
I quickly caught Hugo and he seemed slightly miffed. I quickly told him not worry, I would not take his line. I respectable tucked next to a rock and waited while Hugo was going on in french over the radio. No doubt concerns about traffic control and letting randoms like me up on the film palette.
After five or ten minutes they were ready. 3-2-1 Hugo dropped in and shredded 3 fast turns and soared off a 20 knoll of shark teeth. The snow crystals still lingered in the air as he ripped down to the camera crew.
I was up. This is my big chance. Maybe the illustrious MSP will find it in their heart or budget to let the camera run while little old me prepared to drop in. Maybe this is my big break?
I sat there for a moment and took a breath. When I ride for the camera, I like to visualize the run from the camera perspective. What are they seeing and what do they want to see? By visualizing the perfect run for the camera, you end up shredding the perfect run.
I gave a loud, long Whistle and waited another 10 seconds. They had every warning for what was coming. I dropped in. My 170cm Don Senior was a big mountain slaying machine and after a month on it in Whistler, I could man handle it pretty good.
I made sure that I made less turns then Hugo before the air. 1--- 2 and I made sure to olly for my life and nail the landing farther out then Hugo did.
I stomped the landing and with a naive exuberance I stuck my arm in the air with a "I'm number 1" sort of thing and straight lined out the out run and cruised out the rest of the Blackcomb glacier, beaming.
I doubted if the camera was running and they didn't chase me down in the lift line. Such is life. Or I should say, such is my life.
I finally got a day on the snow!
We got real progressive out there on No Boards.
I got to test my NoKoNo board and my friend Greg was testing the Torpedo and Bill was using the Commitment.
Good times had by all but snowshoes kind of suck.
If you look real close you will see me crash...
[ame="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X7gPxvKxGZo"]YouTube- No Board day 1.mov[/ame]
Day 2: Started hiking at dusk to test these skis, fresh off the grinder.
http://photos-a.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos..._1069017_n.jpg
It was dark and I was tired after 4000ft in 2 and half hours, they seemed to work though. Let's see how they do in real terrain...?
I must point out that one of the the most progressive things an alpine skier can do for their skiing is to make alpine turns on tele gear. Really fine tunes the balance under foot so when you get back on real alpine setup, you kill it.
We finally got out to this sweet zone.
http://photos-a.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos..._3771712_n.jpg
Bill with tracks in background.
http://photos-b.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos..._7788387_n.jpg
Howson's on horizon
http://photos-d.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos...6_702588_n.jpg
Bill is at the drop in spot. Manana the dog is over on the left. He was running around close to the edge of cliffs and proved to be a potential liability.
http://photos-f.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos..._4224693_n.jpg
Here are my tracks out the bottom
http://photos-e.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos...8_726260_n.jpg
Bill is in the chute and Manana got stuck over in the diagonal chute to the left. He is in the rocks trying to get to bill.
http://photos-c.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos..._3151352_n.jpg
Bill is out bottom and Manana is in diagonal chute right at crux above big cliff into the caulderon.
http://photos-f.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos..._3283716_n.jpg
The dog ran right to the top of the last cleff then juked into the gut and was cliffed out for a minute and then he made it.
"Good boy! Very progressive line choice for a dog, you got the 1st descent so we will call it 'Manana's'! "
http://photos-d.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos..._5317913_n.jpg
For lap 3 we had to down climb in to this interesting feature and under the hanging cornice.
http://photos-b.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos..._4068201_n.jpg
We came in the cleft at top. My tracks out the bottom.
http://photos-c.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos..._5552395_n.jpg
Bill out clean and Manana still in the rocks. That dog totally at ease in the gnar.
http://photos-e.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos..._3013241_n.jpg
Great no boarding, and overall an awesome thread. Those no board turns motivated me to post, but I gotta say this is definitely one of the top threads on the board, and that dog rips!
That dog was giving me a heart attack all day. The dog is Gregs but he only skis with Bill, no matter what. As we are getting up on the ridge and I am like "UH, Manana is out on the cornices..." I didn't recount my on 'dog falling off mountain story' until the end of the day.
I stop worrying when I thought that manana is spanish for 'morning' or 'tomorrow' so I figured he will live to see tomorrow. He was like an Ibex.
I forgot to get this shot in there. From the bottom it is all fun and games looking at lines that could be fun. But by the time you get to the top, all perspective changes. It becomes serious and we were kind of nervous. Like always I was looking for excuses to not drop in but in the end I could not find enough reasons.
This is the entrance at top of first run. Blind roll over on wind drum and it is all cliff to left. I ski cut across roll and dropped in on little ramp on other side.
http://photos-h.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos..._4560920_n.jpg
These are the first real turns of the year and the first turns on these new skis. This video goes with the stills from previous post. We are calling the zone Transformer Ridge and it looks like good testing grounds if I do say so myself. We are working the kinks out with camera gear etc but there is lots more to come.
http://www.youtube.com/jvmovie#p/a/u/0/2F1oLpvT-pA
Oh yeah, I've decided based on these preliminary ski test results, that my skis are now for sale for $900 a pair. You get what you pay for.