Day 48: Best day of the year
For me, at least. Bar none. With 40 inches of snow in the preceding 48 hours, and 60 inches in 72 hours, how could it possibly be anything less?
I managed to pull up to the sheriff's roadblock at the mouth of Little Cottonwood Canyon at nearly 10 a.m., the scheduled opening time for the road after avalanche risk and control work left it closed since 7 p.m. the night before.
By 10:15 a.m. the deputy began letting us ease up the road.
This put me in a seat on the Wildcat chair by 10:45.
I was rather shocked to see how empty the place was. There were no liftlines on either Collins or Wildcat, but with most folks heading for the more obvious routes off of Collins, and visibility limited due to the still winding-down storm I figured that Wildcat trees were the place to be.
And it didn't disappoint! I bounded down through Punch Bowl, hung a left at the gate and headed out to a line just east of Westward Ho. Pointing them downhill, the surface was completely untracked, and you could blast at full speed through the powder pillows with abandon. I stood there alone at the bottom of Bridge Shot, literally laughing to myself...it simply can't be this good.
But it was, and it required a repeat performance, nearly as good as the first. But other lines awaited, and I headed over to Collins to continue my powder pillage.
I tore out the High Traverse, continuing through Piss Pass to hit a barely tracked Greeley Hill before working my way around to North Rustler, which had been worked fairly hard the afternoon before. I had to develop a game plan to get the goods, and I knew that Patrol was working its way across Yellow Trail and Backside. Supreme would likely remain closed all day, as would Ballroom/Baldy Shoulder. I had to keep an eye on Backside, which never opened at all on Wednesday and thus held the full bounty of the storm.
And sure enough, by 12:30 I arrived atop Collins to see folks start hiking up the High Notch route. The gravity gate at Germania Pass remained closed, so I joined the others and began huffing and puffing as I sidestepped up the steep grade.
After herringboning along the ridge, traffic stopped at the gate. A roar of cheers arose from the mountainside as Patrol opened the High Notch gate, and the 19 people ahead of me all continued north toward High Notch. :shock: "Let the lemmings go," I told myself, as I was the first to ease right through the gate to the edge of the cornice overlooking Yellow Trail.
What lay below, however, left me in disbelief. All of Yellow Trail, from left to right, from top to bottom sat below my ski tips without a single track in it. Not one, all the way down to the floor of Glory Hole. Light was flat, but it wouldn't matter. I pulled my goggles down over my eyes, slipped my gloves into my pole straps and pushed off the cornice.
I really have no clue when air ended and snow began. I never felt it. I never saw it. Gravity pulled me down into 40 inches of perfectly even untracked snow, until increasing speed allowed float to eventually overcome the forces of gravity. As it did so a bright spot emerged in the clouds above, illuminating the entire face to fully open the visibility and allow even more speed. The snow was so even that it had no speed limit, and I carved my high-speed signature into the mountain face as waves of white billowed up over my head with each turn. I simply couldn't stop, and kept linking turn after turn all the way down the entirety of Yellow Trail.
Reaching the bottom, I giggled with glee. I turned around to admire my signature as two others followed down behind me, total strangers who pulled up alongside as we exchanged high-fives. It was absolutely unbelievable.
I broke trail to skier's left to avoid dropping into Glory Gulch, instead making untracked turns with the other two down Glitch and Glatch. I looked uphill to see most of Backside draped in avalanche debris, further reinforcing my good fortune to pursue Yellow Trail instead. This was truly the score of the season.
Knowing that the EBT remained closed, I still opted to board Sugarloaf to approach Glory Hole from the opposite side, bounding down to the traverse leading up and out of Glory Gulch on skier's right to hit lightly tracked snow on Chartreuse Nose. It was here that for the first time I experienced the ill effects of the previous night's northwesterly winds, which had scoured down the left sides of one of Chartreuse's mini-ridgelets to the rock-hard refrozen base from before Monday's storm. It was only a momentary distraction, however, for now armed with this knowledge I was able to continue in deep snow back to Sugarloaf. By this time, however, I was beginning to feel the effects of the feeding frenzy, and opted to end my day on a high note, so I returned to the Transfer Tow to carry me back to Collins for another shot at Yellow Trail.
I again joined the High Notch hike, breathing furiously as I once again pushed through the gate and dropped into Yellow Trail. With the light traffic I was still able to ski it top to bottom without crossing anyone else's line. It was a fitting end to a stellar day in the Wasatch.
With the light traffic I returned to the High Notch hike, opting to end my day on the highest note possible.
I returned to my truck fully spent. Striking up a conversation with the guy parked next to me who was just arriving, I gave him some beta on where things were likely to still be good. As I put the transmission in drive, I heard a knock on the driver's side window, and there was my parking lot neighbor holding out an ice cold can of Modelo Especial. Kim, if you're out there reading this, I picked up some tacos on the way home and that beer was the piece de resistance for a wonderful lunch. Thank you -- I owe you one!
For me, at least. Bar none. With 40 inches of snow in the preceding 48 hours, and 60 inches in 72 hours, how could it possibly be anything less?
I managed to pull up to the sheriff's roadblock at the mouth of Little Cottonwood Canyon at nearly 10 a.m., the scheduled opening time for the road after avalanche risk and control work left it closed since 7 p.m. the night before.
By 10:15 a.m. the deputy began letting us ease up the road.
This put me in a seat on the Wildcat chair by 10:45.
I was rather shocked to see how empty the place was. There were no liftlines on either Collins or Wildcat, but with most folks heading for the more obvious routes off of Collins, and visibility limited due to the still winding-down storm I figured that Wildcat trees were the place to be.
And it didn't disappoint! I bounded down through Punch Bowl, hung a left at the gate and headed out to a line just east of Westward Ho. Pointing them downhill, the surface was completely untracked, and you could blast at full speed through the powder pillows with abandon. I stood there alone at the bottom of Bridge Shot, literally laughing to myself...it simply can't be this good.
But it was, and it required a repeat performance, nearly as good as the first. But other lines awaited, and I headed over to Collins to continue my powder pillage.
I tore out the High Traverse, continuing through Piss Pass to hit a barely tracked Greeley Hill before working my way around to North Rustler, which had been worked fairly hard the afternoon before. I had to develop a game plan to get the goods, and I knew that Patrol was working its way across Yellow Trail and Backside. Supreme would likely remain closed all day, as would Ballroom/Baldy Shoulder. I had to keep an eye on Backside, which never opened at all on Wednesday and thus held the full bounty of the storm.
And sure enough, by 12:30 I arrived atop Collins to see folks start hiking up the High Notch route. The gravity gate at Germania Pass remained closed, so I joined the others and began huffing and puffing as I sidestepped up the steep grade.
After herringboning along the ridge, traffic stopped at the gate. A roar of cheers arose from the mountainside as Patrol opened the High Notch gate, and the 19 people ahead of me all continued north toward High Notch. :shock: "Let the lemmings go," I told myself, as I was the first to ease right through the gate to the edge of the cornice overlooking Yellow Trail.
What lay below, however, left me in disbelief. All of Yellow Trail, from left to right, from top to bottom sat below my ski tips without a single track in it. Not one, all the way down to the floor of Glory Hole. Light was flat, but it wouldn't matter. I pulled my goggles down over my eyes, slipped my gloves into my pole straps and pushed off the cornice.
I really have no clue when air ended and snow began. I never felt it. I never saw it. Gravity pulled me down into 40 inches of perfectly even untracked snow, until increasing speed allowed float to eventually overcome the forces of gravity. As it did so a bright spot emerged in the clouds above, illuminating the entire face to fully open the visibility and allow even more speed. The snow was so even that it had no speed limit, and I carved my high-speed signature into the mountain face as waves of white billowed up over my head with each turn. I simply couldn't stop, and kept linking turn after turn all the way down the entirety of Yellow Trail.
Reaching the bottom, I giggled with glee. I turned around to admire my signature as two others followed down behind me, total strangers who pulled up alongside as we exchanged high-fives. It was absolutely unbelievable.
I broke trail to skier's left to avoid dropping into Glory Gulch, instead making untracked turns with the other two down Glitch and Glatch. I looked uphill to see most of Backside draped in avalanche debris, further reinforcing my good fortune to pursue Yellow Trail instead. This was truly the score of the season.
Knowing that the EBT remained closed, I still opted to board Sugarloaf to approach Glory Hole from the opposite side, bounding down to the traverse leading up and out of Glory Gulch on skier's right to hit lightly tracked snow on Chartreuse Nose. It was here that for the first time I experienced the ill effects of the previous night's northwesterly winds, which had scoured down the left sides of one of Chartreuse's mini-ridgelets to the rock-hard refrozen base from before Monday's storm. It was only a momentary distraction, however, for now armed with this knowledge I was able to continue in deep snow back to Sugarloaf. By this time, however, I was beginning to feel the effects of the feeding frenzy, and opted to end my day on a high note, so I returned to the Transfer Tow to carry me back to Collins for another shot at Yellow Trail.
I again joined the High Notch hike, breathing furiously as I once again pushed through the gate and dropped into Yellow Trail. With the light traffic I was still able to ski it top to bottom without crossing anyone else's line. It was a fitting end to a stellar day in the Wasatch.
With the light traffic I returned to the High Notch hike, opting to end my day on the highest note possible.
I returned to my truck fully spent. Striking up a conversation with the guy parked next to me who was just arriving, I gave him some beta on where things were likely to still be good. As I put the transmission in drive, I heard a knock on the driver's side window, and there was my parking lot neighbor holding out an ice cold can of Modelo Especial. Kim, if you're out there reading this, I picked up some tacos on the way home and that beer was the piece de resistance for a wonderful lunch. Thank you -- I owe you one!
