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The heli-pad

A soft rectangular beam of gray light, leaked in.  I watched as it expanded and probed into the dark corners, my eyes adjusting with the incremental increases in intensity. The texture of the wooden beams above my head emerged, the unevenness of a plane around knots visible. The pliable feel of the pillow that I relished last night was feeling more like a wad of bumps wrapped in cotton.

I leaned across the bed and peered out the window. Dawn had erased the night stars, but it wasn’t yet light enough to distinguish bluebird sky or high overcast clouds. A wind stirred the needles slightly on the fir tree. Yet even with the rising sun, the cabin was still. Six days of hiking, skiing, and hiking again had made muscles weary and twenty-eight soles sore.

Footsteps scuffling on the porch and the creak of the door signaled that someone had rambled out of the other cabin to greet the day. With plywood floors and little insulation, the cabin had little ability to dampen sounds. The creaking stairs served as an undemanding alarm, yet reminded me of the significance of the day. It was out last full day at Icefall.

Skinning up for more sweet turns

We arrived at the backcountry hut, deep in the Rocky Mountains of British Columbia, six days prior. My eyes ogled the ridges and peaks surrounding the cabin that sat just below treeline. Alpine bowls combined with undulating topography made the terrain big. The snowpack was reputed to be finicky and complex.  The mountains radiated an air that was distinctly different from the mountains I usually skied in the Cascades.

We began cautiously, tentatively exploring the area around the cabin. Poor light and a touchy snowpack pushed us out of the alpine and below treeline on our first day. Though we started as one large group for the ascent, we quickly divided into smaller groups for the descent. We found good turns in the trees as 30 centimeters of newly fallen snow parted effortlessly at the urging of ski tips, and deep creek gorges formed from glacial runoff that hardly registered on the topo maps. As the sun dipped behind the western ridgeline, we skinned up a track set by the prior group. We arrived at the hut just as the sky finished its colorful arc from brilliant pink to a dusky twilight blue. Smiles abounded.

Though we began as a collection of friends and friends of friends, by the end of the week there was an ease amongst the group. No new snow fell and snow conditions improved throughout the week. The sun emerged, the wind stayed at bay, the avalanche danger decreased and our confidence in the area grew. Nearing the final day, motivation originated from what you wanted to ski, not who you skied with.

Last run

After a stomach filling breakfast of poached eggs on toast with cranberry beans, I advocated for exploring the north facing Alien Bowl and possibly circumnavigating a nearby peak. I headed out moving slowly but steadily. Lactic acid combined with remnant alcohol molecules from the previous night’s birthday celebration made my muscles lethargic. Fortunately the consolidated snow made skinning easy under bluebird skies. Heading up into the bowl, we realized that the photo we had seen of the ridge enveloping the bowl had been taken much later in the season. While it might be possible to ski hop down a line, we had little motivation to go up onto steep slopes that were just coming into full sun.

Circumnavigation plan impeded, we deskinned and arced turns down the bowl. Feathery light snow and tinkling hoar frost gathered around my boots as I schushed turns. I was surprised at the awesome snow quality. While some headed back to other bowls near the cabin, five of us ventured on for just a bit more of the north facing goodness. An easy traverse brought us to the top of a small gully. We negotiated through a short pitch where we couldn’t initially determine the features, then onto a large fan. The fan had the perfect pitch for arcing huge GS turns. And the snow? I think it’s what folks refer to as hero snow. I slid from one ski to the other effortlessly, my speed gaining, and the tinkling hoar frost amplifying in intensity. I flowed from one little bump jump to another as I maneuvered around small saplings.   I collapsed at the bottom, giggling as I watched everyone else come down.

Twilight

The tired legs, the proclamations of taking a short day, and any inklings of a headache were immediately forgotten. We ate lunch and with little discussion amongst the group headed up for another lap. The giddiness propelled us up at least half the skin track. But as we gained elevation, the pitch in the trees increased. While the snow made for fantastic skiing, it did not lend itself well to creating a compact skin track. With each skier, the track became more difficult with the corners collapsing at nearly every kick-turn. I’m not sure I’ve been on a track that steep before. We joked that we would make an equal number of turns on our way down. Buoyed by the thought of another run through perfect snow, we continued up.  Two hours later and a mere 1300 ft of elevation gained, we reached the top.

Was it worth it? That depends on whether you love steep tree skiing like I do. Within milliseconds into the first turn, I forgot about the collapsing skin track, and the murmurs of retreat. I whisked between trees with hissing waves of snow undulating around me. As the pitch eased, we regrouped and found the best entrance back onto the flawless fan of snow.  Knowing the snow was consistent to the bottom of the run, I surged faster down the hill, making fewer turns. And again, collapsed at the bottom giggling.

As we made our way up the skin track to the hut for the last time, I lingered to admire the pink infused slopes across the valley. I smelled the mingling scents of fir, snow and alpine. Hearing the hoots of others, I looked over to the fan of snow and saw them skiing the same gem of the day. We arrived at the hut to enjoy a final beer on the heli-pad before the light vanished. The pale pink on the far slopes transformed to a stellar white contrasting against the deepening sky. With the cold alpine air creeping in towards my skin, I gave one final look at the encroaching twilight, and headed inside.