A Foot of New Snow

A Foot of New Snow

I knew the steep lines from the summit well.   I’d been skiing them all season and had notched several descents only a few days prior.   Looking down from the top of the peak the fresh, snow covered face sparkled bright in the morning sun.   There was over a foot of new, cold powder atop a slightly wind affected snowfall from the previous forty-eight hours.   There were several options available.   I could ski cut across the main chute, which would cause it to slough and ruin its beauty, or I could jump straight into it and deal with the fact that it would definitely slide from my entry as it usually did, because it was very steep.   Sometimes, depending on the snowpack it would hold and offer one of the best powder experiences available for skiers like myself.   The second and third options were to go in a little farther skier’s right and enter on a dog leg that wasn’t as steep, but sloughed as well, or drop in from the exact center of the summit’s peak and crank a first turn that took you through two pine trees and into space with several more trees a bit further down before it opened up and hope for snow stability.
The path through the trees seemed to be the middle ground, as the trees offered anchor to the slope and would minimize the affect of the snow if it did slough behind me.   I dug a snow pit up there just before the recent snowfall and knew there was a stable base underneath, so dealing with a foot of the fresh would not be difficult, as I always out skied it when it came down in my wake.   The desire to keep the chute pristine for my second line was part of the reason for taking the more cautious entry.   I hoped the new snow would hold up and caress me with its love.
My skis dropped off the ridge and sank into the soft powder with first a short turn to the right and then left and down between the trees; speed increased with the next turn and I could see a bit of snow releasing and coming down behind.   Velocity needed to be turned up a notch to stay ahead of it, so a longer radius turn followed with shin deep fluff coursing up and over the knees.   It was magic the feeling of floating through the powder, when in a heart beat the dynamic changed and in slow motion I watched the large area of snow that lay before me move, buckle and ever so slowly pick up speed as huge cracks in the surface appeared.   We both were moving now in the same direction down the mountain and instinctively I looked up to see the snow in the short space above flowing down.
It was impossible to ski down or side ways to avoid the slide so I turned my skis to brake and sideslip while sitting into the mountain face to arrest my descent.   The snow below the crown fracture pulled off one ski, with the other I maintained control skidding underneath and used both arms and pole grips to drag on the slope as the moving mass pulled me effortlessly with it.   There was the same feeling as being pulled along in the ocean by a massive wave’s white water after it has broken on you, except I was able to keep my body and head above it.   A small stand of trees below my path helped diminish the energy as I slid by them into the open again and finally past another larger group, where I was released just beneath their timber wall.   It was impossible to direct my passage as the evergreen branches remained only inches away from my grasp.
Breath came deep.   The slide continued on for a football field’s length before it slowed and settled.   I unstrapped my poles, took off the one ski and used both to help boot pack up the settled face and find the ski that was wrenched away.   After passing the trees the top of the peak came into view showing a slide from the chute’s rock spine all the way across to the horn of granite that marked the other side, a distance of perhaps forty yards.   I saw my ski very near the point of its exit from ski boot and felt extremely fortunate that it was not lost or buried.   The twelve inches of snow, that were in actuality more like eighteen due to wind loading, carried me down about fifty yards and the fracture became wider as it traveled.   Upon inspection skiing through the debris, the lower bowls slide path was nearly a hundred yards wide.
Later after hiking out, settling into the drive home and reflecting on the day’s experience, the risk of skiing on the steep slope illustrated the over confident approach and mentality I exhibited.   Clearly the power and energy of a foot thick crown was glaringly underestimated.   Yes I had survived with some discomfort and the fact that there was not that much area above me to come down in great volume was taken into account, but the nagging thought that if it had happened after a few more turns, when I was further down the face, the larger mass of snow might have easily carried me farther and buried my body with relative ease towards the bottom of the run out.
It was plain to see that I needed to re-evaluate my approach to a familiar place I had been visiting on a regular basis for over a decade.   The mountain had literally kicked my ass, chewed me up, spit me out and showed that a mere mortal needed to respect the inherent powers of even a small cirque’s might.   There could be no question as to how unwise this skier’s actions proved and that I was indeed lucky and fortunate in the outcome.   My only merit was in keeping calm and dealing with the slide as best as my survival instincts provided.   Humbled beyond imagination with a life and death experience, there was a new insight and resolve into the way I would approach and evaluate future back country endeavors.   My mistakes would be used as harsh reminders of fool hardy actions and help maintain the focus that is necessary for safe and successful backcountry experiences.
Love of skiing virgin powder in pristine places would keep this soul returning to the mountains through the snowy seasons, as sure as fate, chance and destiny are a part of everyone’s life.   Upon returning home and changing clothes, the shiny copper penny that I had picked up in the parking area next to the highway on the way to the lifts fell out of my bib’s side pocket, where I had placed it, thinking, “is it really good luck to pick up one cent, or is it the humbling of one’s self to bend down and retrieve it, regardless of what others may think, that is behind the myth of the penny?   Staring at the burnished coin, holding it between thumb and forefinger, I knew it was both.

Thanks

Great narrative, filbo.
Glad you were around to write it.

Nice story glad it worked out and didn't get ugly, similar story to a couple of my own events. Thanks for the reminder!
Now go buy a lotto ticket!

Thanks for the perspective, glad you lived to share it.

Thank you filbo. I am glad you are here to tell the story.