Ty and I started from the car at nine, a late start by Little Cottonwood dawn-patroller standards.  An hour later we were standing on top of Wolverine Cirque’s rim admiring parallel white pinstripes sandwiched between dark igneous rock.  Yesterday’s storm was dissipating and sun filtered through the fat flakes of snow that still fell.  Without any other parties with whom to share the untracked snow, our powder piggy dispositions incited us to ski separate chutes.  

The new snow sluffed with each turn, trailing a powder cloud of dry flakes that sparkled in the half-sun.  After watching Ty follow his sluff, skiing just to the side of the still-moving debris, I made a goal first of out-skiing mine then later of skiing through it as it raced to the flats.  Skiing sluff is an odd sensation: it’s a bit like powerwalking to that connecting flight on those moving sidewalks where the scenery goes by faster than it seems like it should; it’s also a bit like canoeing a rapid when the current tries to grab the stern then spin it past the bow and so the paddler has to fight to keep everything pointed the right way. I haven’t had a much practice skiing steep or sluffy slopes this winter and laps in the Cirque worked well to jog my cobwebbed muscle memory. 

Convective snow showers continued through the day,  dusting us with another few inches.  The snow was very light density – as Wasatch lake effect snow is apt to be – and on one climb back up we found that we could barely stay on our previously easy-to-climb skin track.  An inch of especially light stellar flakes greased our middle-heel steepness uptrack and each step forward became an exercise in maintaining friction, which we did using that type of concentration that some people use to bend spoons. 

By late afternoon we’d skied many of the best lines and the gaps in the snowshowers had closed into a milky fog.  Having hogged so many nice chutes in an often high-traffic area, I couldn’t help but feel that smirky feeling of having gotten away with something.

By Utah standards, this year’s storms have been feeble in terms of snow quantity but packed a wallop when it comes to frequent avalanches.  Inside the resort boundaries the avalanche danger is minimal and so that’s were we headed at 9am.   The Canyons Resort has such great access to the backcounrty, and after an hour or two of resort skiing we left the controlled area and eased into backcounrty terrain.  We found snow more stable than I was expecting, though other parties triggered many avalanches throughout our region today.

In the sunny weather following yesterday’s snow storm, Ty and I marched up Lake Peak. With lots of skiable descent options from the summit, we weren’t feeling tied to a particular route down, but after cutting cornices on the peak’s most prominent couloir, we decided to give it a go.

With yet another large storm system plowing south of the Wasatch, we packed the car and headed down to ski what is left behind.  Between road closures, below-zero temps, and biting wind, the jaunt ended up requiring more plan b’s than I hoped.  Still we skied some deep snow and our reconnoitering will hopefully be useful on a return trip.

Utah Avalanche Center forecaster, Grant Helgeson and I brapp’ed into the Uintas to poke at the snowpack.  The snow was only 4 or 5 feet deep in most places and we spotted several recent avalanches.  In an attempt to start an avalanche of our own, we lopped of the end of a large cornice and sent hundreds of pounds of snow tumbling perhaps 600 feet to the bottom of the slope.

The pedalin’s excellent right now, just watch out for wet leaf covered corners.

The trails have been alternating between muddy and frozen.  The frozen dirt happens to have just about the opposite qualities of mud: it’s grippy, fast, and I dont need to hose down my shoes when I get home.  Allison flying down the frozen Mid-Mountain Trail here in Park City.

Derek, Alex, Dibs, Ty and I hiked up to Mt Timpanogos’ snowfield.  Though it’s only snowed a foot or two this fall, the remains of Timps former glacier only need a dusting to in good shape for skiing.

PHASE I

Restless after a month of non-stop pow slaying, a handful of Park City’s seasonally-unemployed worker bees pointed rooftop ski racks north towards Canada.

Eager for the sporting adventures of a cold, shallow, and weak snowpack we booked accommodations in Alberta with the Alpine Cult of Canada

The victims were a mix of a few marginally skilled alpinists in with a handful of glacial-travel tenderfoots.  Having ascended to Utah treetops using prussics and winched patio furniture around with minitraxions we were all on the same page, more or less.

Onward, to the Wapta Icefield Traverse

Food-stressing before even leaving the car, one team member began gnawing on a brick of Milk Dud.  God help us all.

Peyto Lake.  Surprisingly tricky to find, for a big ass lake.

Over the moraine and onto the glacier.  And roped up to ease fears of being swallowed by the ice.

Mayhem as the choice bunk spots are snapped up.  Spirits were high, with eight people and eight liters of wine and whiskey.

Apres ski runs with light packs down the glacier.

Leaving Peyto Hut.

Sheets of dumb stickers had inexplicably found their way onto the icefield. First appearing on compasses, lens hoods, and glasses cases they soon began to colonize unguarded research instruments as well.

Breezy on Vulture Col

…and down the far side

Arriving at Balfour Hut.

Headed towards Balfour High Col in the upper right

Roping up for crossing the crevassed glacier between icefalls just below the col. Our good visibility went to zip as we passed through the crux of the traverse but reappeared one hour and 5cm later.

One yellow jacket away from attaining ROYGBV on the BC/AB border

Ain’t nothing to see
Ain’t nothing in sight
Into the white
-Pixies

Inside the ping-pong ball

Scott Duncan hut is perched between cliff bands in the murk.

Blue sky between the convective storms allowed for laps behind the hut.  Look closely and it’s visible at the base of the ridge.

North facing fun

Leaving the Duncan Hut, I was still pouting about not having takers for a dawn patrol lap up Daly.

The headwall above the Bath Glacier is seriously cool.

I suggested we stop to ski the 1000′ mini bowl but no takers.  Tough crowd.

For the final 3000′ down to the car most of the group chose a talus walk to a nice steep field of corn.

The other option was longer, steeper but not the “fall-you-die” line someone asserted it was.  More like “fall-you-cry”.

Sweartogod, if you stomp my bare feet with those boots while can-can’ing I will be seriously dismayed.  But after nothing but whiskey and wine for four long days, this beer sure tastes good. Hurrah!