Wednesday, February 24, 2010

Intro to Backcountry Ski... Guiding!

I joined Dave this past weekend on an Intro to Backcountry Skiing course he was holding at Pear Lake, in Sequoia National Park. The weather was going to be rolling in, and at first they predicted 1-3 inches: just enough to mess things up. "Dust on crust" does not provide the most exciting of ski conditions.

Gradually, however, the forecast trended worse and worse, which made us hopeful. Several more inches of snowfall would actually give us some good turns!

We met Doug, Chris and Andy at the Wolverton trailhead on Friday morning under a threatening sky, and after checking gear and talking about skinning techniques, we were on our way up the hill.

We made it to Emerald Lake just in time for one last glimpse of Alta Peak, before it was engulfed by fog -- to be seen only once more peeking out of the clouds on the last day. Visibility would be quite limited the whole weekend, but just enough to be awed by the spectacular peaks and chutes looming above. An extreme skier's paradise, but not our agenda.

The second day, we covered basic avalanche safety, practiced searching for buried "victims" with our beacons, and hammered out the ever-elusive kick-turn. Traversing over to Pear Lake, we found some excellent snow on the north-facing slopes, and got some sweet turns in on the LFP (see previous entry: LFP=Lame Flat Powder).

Pear Lake hosts one of the Sierra Nevada's few backcountry ski huts. We skied down to it and popped inside to check it out. The caretakers, Miles and Jess, were there tending to the fire and keeping it warm and cozy inside for the skiers staying there. It sleeps about 10, and costs $40/night -- but you'd better be lucky and have your whole winter planned out in order to score a spot. They hold a lottery in November for every weekend in the winter, and they fill up fast.

I asked if there were any plans to put in another hut; after all, they promote enjoyment of our natural environment and help to preserve the wilderness by concentrating camper use to the hut. But our wilderness system does not allow any new structures to be built, and upkeep costs must be exorbitant -- something our meager wilderness budget couldn't possibly support.

Use is a delicate issue for our National Parks and Wilderness Areas -- but I can't help but think of all the huts in Europe, how they teach people to appreciate the natural environment, allowing them to live in harmony with nature, and thereby developing a profound respect for their wild lands. This is reflected in their public policy decisions, in their diet, and society's overall health. Think of the French paradox. How can they eat such a high fat diet, smoke, and still be so healthy? Well, I would argue it is in fact because they eat rich foods, but also because they walk. To the metro, to work, back home, and for the pure enjoyment of it in the mountains.

But our wilderness policies focus on keeping people out, further forging a divide between humans and our natural environment. Of course, we don't want overuse to degrade our wild lands to levels beyond repair, such that they are no longer healthy, functioning ecosystems. But a binary solution to a complex issue is wholly inappropriate. "Open or closed" seems to be the management scheme, further dredging the gap between humans and wilderness. A complex issue deserves a complex solution, and with the massive amounts of creative energy at our fingertips in our society, why can't we find a happy middle ground? Our State budget is certainly one problem, but a lack of appreciation is the bigger issue. Our population is growing at staggering rates, and these numbers are reflected in the use of our Parks. Let's go way back to the basics, educate people on the value of our wild lands, and enforce, with a certain conviction, restrictions that have been deeply researched and proven to be of high priority. It does not suffice to lock the gate and simply restrict permits. It is a quick fix that may have further-reaching and more long-term consequences than we can yet recognize. I realize I offer no solution, but with enough thought, I think we are inventive enough to find one that can work for all.

Enough from the soap box.

We managed another lap on our north-facing slope before heading back to camp and holing up for the night as the storm blew in stronger and stronger.

The next day, we started up a west-facing slope, but it proved to still hold a certain crust under the new snowfall, so we headed for a north-east facing slope on the other side of the lake, and managed some stellar, steeper turns in excellent snow, despite the low visibility.

The group excelled on the kick-turns, and acclimated quickly to the variable nature of backcountry skiing. It was a fun, athletic group to ski with -- the guys all had a very healthy respect for the seriousness of skiing in the backcountry.

For me, it was fascinating to see the artistry in ski guiding. Climbing is much simpler -- you must move safely and quickly, keeping out of harm's way at all time. But the nature of skiing forces you into harm's way, and you must learn to manage it. When climbing, you avoid avalanche terrain as much as possible; but the fun part of skiing puts you square in the middle of avalanche terrain, and you must learn to manage the risk -- quickly. Make your assessment of the stability, keep your eyes open to changes, get yourself out there, and have fun.

It is an art unto itself, and one I look forward to learning more of in the years to come.

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

LFP

LFP = Lyra F. Pierotti

I have long been wanting to take a road trip to Colorado. Through the years, I have encountered many people from the state of fitness. From super strong clients on mountaineering trips to daring skiers on Mexico's volcanoes, Colorado seems to produce a great number of outdoor enthusiasts. And with North America's highest concentration of fourteeners, it is no wonder.

Dave and I joined some friends from Bishop, and a former client (now friend) of mine from Golden, Colorado, for a week of ice climbing in Ouray, and decided to take another week or two afterward (before the winter trips ramp up!) to get some of our own climbing in: professional development, if you will.

The Ouray ice park is a great place to get strong, hone your technical ice climbing skills, and for me, a great place to get some practice leading on ice. But just as with the climbing gym, it soon comes time to move beyond the ice park.

We headed out to Skylight area, a roadside ice "crag" with several multi-pitch ice climbs. It was a beautiful day, so many of the climbs were taken. We spotted a curtain of thick ice on Chockstone Chimney, and headed to the base.

Ice can change dramatically from place-to-place, year-to-year, day-to-day, and even hour-to-hour. The ice we found here was nice, a little less chandelier-like, a little less shattery, but with the top in the sun, quite a bit drippy. A few laps each was enough to wear us out, craving a big meal of pasta and sleep.

After several days of ice climbing, I needed a rest day. Refusing to sit around with ample opportunity for adventure in Colorado, Dave, Rick and I headed up to Red Mountain Pass near Silverton, to go ski some...

LFP = Lame Flat Powder.

Dave was very proud to discover another use for my initials. Ha ha. Ha.

But lame it was NOT! Excellent quality, fluffy soft powder, all under 30 degrees (there was "considerable" avalanche danger reported, which in avi lingo means "natural avalanches possible, human triggered avalanches probable," so we stuck to low-angle snow, least likely to slide).

Rick, in addition to being a very solid, efficient ice climber with excellent technique, is also an elegant telemark skier, and former professional photographer. With a beautiful blue sky and striking white mountains all around, he was snapping away all day.

The snow was so stellar and the terrain so mellow, that we just couldn't stop skiing. For some reason, the mountains in Colorado seem fore-shortened when compared to the Sierra Nevada. That peak in the distance is really only a 30 minute skin-track away. Perhaps it is my eyes that are calibrated to a much larger relief -- in the Sierra Nevada, your trailhead can be at 6000ft and your peak at 14,000ft. In Colorado, you would start at 10,000ft or so.

So we kept going, up and down, up and down... and before I knew it my "rest day" had turned into merely an exchange of muscle groups. And we couldn't have been happier.

Seven days straight of activity, and finally I find myself in a nice warm coffee shop in Ouray, with a huge roast beef sandwich I still can't quite seem to finish.

Maybe I should get back to work on that...