Falling in Love on the Shuskan Arm
Loading ...It’s true, love comes in all shapes and forms. Of the many parts of this world I love, one of them is about 1,000 vertical feet, adorned with a few cliffs, and so close to the ski area boundary that I can count the number of people coming up the lifts. It is the first sidecountry line I skied at Mt. Baker in Washington. The line demonstrates all the discernible characteristics of other love interests: exciting, a bit of a challenge, and not far away. Unlike the love that may result in chocolates, roses, laughs, and companionship, this one is easier because, well, it’s close. Everyday I ski, I get to see this line and check out if our moods match. Sometimes it’s welcoming, with powder and blue skies; other days I utilize total avoidance. We don’t get along in high avalanche danger or icy conditions.
Every skier becomes enamored with certain places on the mountain. Lately, mine have all been just outside the ski area boundary. With skins, beacon, shovel, probe and my Dukes, I have chosen my favorites; most of them are somewhere on the Shuksan Arm. But I do have interests in other states, such as Wolverine Cirque in Utah, and other lines in Colorado, California, and British Columbia. Skiers never have to choose just one.
But I always do. And right now I am in love with this line. Maybe because skiing this region landed me a full page in last year’s Freeskier Women’s Annual. Or maybe because there are variations you can choose from one day to the next, which you must defy every time.
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laThe obvious attraction is easy accessibility. After just a ten minute hike, an Alaska-worthy line lies just beneath my skis. If many others haven’t fallen for it too, I can hike back up and revisit after one, two, three, or four laps.
Good judgment and past experience function as minimum insurance against mistakes in this relationship with the mountain. It’s difficult to say when I proceeded from the uninsured level, but skiing this “line of my life” was certainly part of the process. I vividly remember that day.
Photographer Re Wikstrom stayed on the traverse out to the Shuskan Arm. We talked about where she would post-up, while I pointed out where I would ski. Hurrying out to the top of the line, I watched the full lifts consistently dump skiers off at the top of Chair eight. An onslaught of people, hidden behind goggles, hats and heavy outerwear, trekked towards my line and I realized another staple in some relationships: competition. I dropped, and all the emotions of “jumping headfirst” bestowed eagerness and susceptibility upon me for the moment. As I approached my favorite feature, a small cliff, the light turned a little. And I was nervous. Before I knew it, I was on the ground, but not on my feet. A few tomahawks left me at the bottom of the line. I was safe, but a little shaken up; sometimes with love it is more than your heart that can be broken.
Note: I didn’t break any bones, just a broken ego.
