Gooney Riders

Finding Water in a Drought. Teocalli North Couloir.

Still no snow other than a squall.  The winds have pummelled all aspects over the weeks so we decided to search in a deep and dark couloir.  Couliors are amazing.  With very little snowfall the winds will fill in these deep chasms.  I went for a hike last October and noticed how the North couloirs were already filling in with barely any snowfall.  After some debate, Zach and I took a stab in the dark.

I brought two Ranger IPA's for apres ski.  It was a bike approach so Zach put them in his pannier.  I was thinking to myself that they would probably puncture, but shrugged it off.  We made it to the river crossing on Brush Creek and decided it was time to ditch the bikes.  We realized we had a wounded soldier, and we could not waste it even though it was 9:30 am.  

When we reached Death Pass it felt as if we should be mountain biking, never-mind that its December.

 We pushed on and up Pearl Pass, where our wet skins began to glop horribly.  When the snow gets wet from above freezing temperatures or the sun, the climbing skins get wet.  When you step into the shade the wet skins ice up and snow starts sticking to the bottom of the skis.  This can be a miserably slow process.  In the spring I will put wax on my skins to prevent this, but usually in December it does not get above freezing.  

Our progress was slow and skiing did not look promising.  At 1:45 PM we reached the bottom of the North Face of Teocalli after several miles of slogging with glopped skis that felt like we had cinder-blocks for shoes.  The couloir that I wanted to ski did not look entirely filled in, so we took the main couloir to the summit that looked promising.  I still need to come back for this one... 

As we were booting up, the tide changed.  Deep, soft, hero snow.  

It seemed well bonded and was really deep in the chokes where it had been sloughing.  Apparently there was enough snow and wind from the squall to blanket the couloir with this beautiful layer of snow.  

Zach muscles through knee deep snow in choke # 1 

The couloir continued up 2000 feet probably 40-45 degrees until it topped out above 13000 feet right next to the summit.  The top of the couloir was scoured by the wind, but the lower 3/4's was powder.  Zach topping out at 4 pm with Castle Peak in the background.  

We were pushing the daylight for sure, but we were certainly happy to top out.  

Its all downhill to our bikes, and the remaining Ranger IPA.  

The snow was so forgiving we were able carve fast turns and thread it with speed through the chokes on our lightweight ski-mountaineering skis.

The snow was very cohesive so it did not even slough on us too bad.  

Wow.  That might have been the best conditions I have ever had in a couloir.  

The eggress had some interesting bits through suncrust, a lot of icy fast down hills and a couple of stinger hills.  We enjoyed the remaining IPA cached at the bikes, and we coasted out at 6:30 PM with headlamps on.  Sore and satisfied. 9 hrs.  Sometimes you just gotta go for it.  

Cheers,

Chris 

 

Systems

I had gotten into bed the other night, right at nine with Desert Solitaire to lull me to sleep when Chris poked his head in the door.  'You have your systems so dialed!  You go to bed at 9, you read for 10 minutes, and you're out.'

 

Then I get up at 5, make a cup of tea, write for an hour or two depending on if I have a ride to do or a core workout, eat some breakfast, drink a cup of coffee, walk the dog, and ride to work.  I've streamlined the process down to the minute.  Chris pointing out my system made me realize how much I rely on them these days.  Days when I don't have a to-do list half a mile long (or even just two items long: go on a big ride/ski.  eat.) I get this feeling of being lost.  

 

I read The Witch of Portobello a few weeks ago and there was a section where the main character was learning calligraphy and her wise-old arab teacher was telling her that while her technique was perfect, she needed to focus on the spaces between the words.  The moments of quiet in life.  

 

During the off-season, I'm a pro at lazy breakfasts, late starts, and sitting down to read a book but once I get going a million miles and hour (like now) I feel like I have to make a concerted effort to stop every once in a while.  Just stop and do nothing.  To embrace the spaces between the words.  

 

The fact that I learned how to knit over Christmas and I'm determined to make a hat isn't helping the situation, but I guess, as with the snow around here, it's either feast or famine with life-speed and right now the train is rolling full speed ahead.  It feels good. 

Lost in an instant

When I'm in full-on training mode, I'm notorious for not wanting to stop and take pictures, eat snacks, smell the flowers, etc.  Often times, I'll be 10 yards from the house and realize that I forgot my camera, or this weekend, rode by the car parked in front of the house with my camera inside, found the car locked and instead of going back inside to get the car key, I kept riding.  I get like this.  Guilty as charged.  

 

But I'm trying to change.  I'm realizing that many of the fleeting moments that we take for granted, the chances to stop and smell the roses, the chances to talk to friends who drift in and out of our lives, the chances to chase our dreams as we see them, are in fact just that: fleeting.  

I went out early to ride this morning (7-degrees and balmy) and immediately the sun lit up the eastern sky.  I had already sunk both hands deep into my pogies and was ready to roll when I remembered my promise to myself: document the beauty.  So I stopped and took the picture.

 

40 minutes later, the sun lit up the Ruby Range with dark morning clouds acting as a backdrop.  I thought about riding a little farther in to get a better picture (and I was debating if it was worth the stop as I was technically in the middle of an interval) but I pulled the camera out and took the picture.  Not 30 seconds later, the light faded as the sun climbed into the low eastern clouds.  

One second it was there.  The next, it was gone.  It took me 10 seconds to stop and document it, to appreciate it, to acknowledge it.  I need to start doing more of this. 

Neglect

I feel like I've been neglecting this blog.  I blame it on a variety of reasons.  First, it's winter, which means it's Chris' season to get after it in a big way.  My piddly-dunk adventures seem pretty...well, non-inspiring compared to some of the things that he's done in the past few weeks.  When it first started snowing, I told Chris that I was going to post a winter's farewell on the blog and that I'd return from hibernation in the spring.  But when it comes down to it, I've been doing some neat things in the past few weeks, so the pretense of hibernation is sorta kinda a complete lie.  

 

Secondly, I like to tell a good story if I'm going to post here because generally my pictures aren't as awe-inspiring as Chris', so I try to be entertaining through words instead.  Unfortunately, or fortunately actually, I've been working on a lot of writing projects on the side (which actually help pay the bills) and when I get to the end of the day, I'm all storied out.  Plus, one piece I'm working on is proving to be far more challenging than I had anticipated, so I've spent far more hours contemplating the meaning of racing, adventuring, and being a bike racer versus a bike rider that I'd like to admit.  

But I feel like, in my attempt to play all three acts in my three-ring circus, that I've lost sight of some of the beauty in the little things around me: in the view of my morning commute, in getting to walk Maia-doggie in the sunshine, in being able to ride my bike comfortably in -10 degree weather, in the little things.  So I'm going to make a concerted effort again to document the bits and pieces of life that make it special.  Day-by-day.

 It may just be my morning commute, but it sure is spectacular.  

Dragons Tail on Christmas Eve

Zach carpooled with us to the Front Range for Christmas to see his Parents in Estes Park.  It worked out pretty good. We had pancakes and sausage at his parents then set out for a short tour in the park.  

I have never been up the Dragon's Tail this early, It's amazing how much snow fills in this couloir.  House size boulders are in the way of the couloir that are completely buried in April.  We made it up to the spire before we notice a phonebook thick slab getting thicker and deep powder on the side.  I started to wallow in thigh deep powder and we deemed it a good time to turn around.  While a little slabby on the skiers left, it was great powder on the skiers right.  Exposed rocks made it exciting and technical in spots.  

Zach with a calculated hop-turn

Zach milks some powder

House sized boulder choke on the exit

I brought my skis to the Front Range because I heard there was snow, but I had no idea I would be skiing a couloir.  Our tracks... 

I love Rocky Mountain National Park.  Something magical about that place with it's massive granite spires.  We have amazing peaks in Crested Butte, but we do not have the granite.  

I was back down in Boulder early for dinner after the couloir suprise, what a great ski for Christmas Eve!

Happy Holidays,

Chris

Gifts

Today was a gift.  

Localized snowfall seems to have brought a nice 5-10 inches of fluff in Baxter Basin.  The snowpack is weak, but without energy.  When we get a big storm there will be a big avalanche cycle. 

Despite the winds, Skuykill's massive cliff wall provides shelter for soft snow

The turns were delightful.  Josh... 

Endless turns

Zach

A little booter chuter

Zach through the choke

One the third run Zach carves a rib

Our three runs.  No complaints.  

Cheers,

Chris

Ice Video

One of a few small film projects that I have been working on.    

Enjoy!

Cheers,

Chris 

 

 

Christmas Chutes

We have been getting shafted by the storms.  The general vibe in town is pretty low.  I figure you can mope.. or ski some chutes! 

I woke up to the house creaking to the wind.  We debated eating donuts over skiing.  Cold and blustery.  Since I sprinted down to the highway with skis strapped to my back, missed the bus, and thus  hitch-hiked to town, I figured I was committed to some kind of tour.  We fired up the snowmobile and buzzed a frigid 5-10 miles up the Slate.  We figured even if the storm missed us, there would be some oragraphics on the divide providing some of that white stuff.  We skinned up through faceted pungies and cracking windslabs that simply was not stoking the fire.  Then we turned a corner. Steep cliff walls had blocked the wind, and there was a new layer of powder.  We dropped a tree chute for some great turns and set off up the barrel of the gun.  A beautiful rock lined chute completely sheltered from the wind.  

There was a bit of a choke....

We decided to just ski from the choke, because the powder was calling.  

Awesome turns

What a pleasent suprise. 

Happy Holidays.

Chris 

Couloir Huntin

 

Zach, Fred and I went out on a tour in hopes of skiing some couloirs.  The Ruby Range is were the snow is so we set out from the Y on Kebler Pass road to ski Owen and Purple.  

Zach dropping into a nice chute off the ridge of Owen

Fred charging

Great turns out the apron

We chose to boot up a South facing couloir on Purple that would set us up for the "S" couloir.  We all have our places.  As soon as it gets steep and rocky, Fred gets a big grin on his face.  

After topping out the couloir, we chose to summit.  

The edge of the Western Slope

The couloir was obviously not as filled in as spring time, and made it a bit more spicy.  Looking down the couloir.  

Some bits were barely wide enough for the skis

Zach turns through the crux

Fred finds the soft stuff

And out...

Exiting back over Scarps with Purple in the backgound.  Great tour. 

Cheers,

Chris 

Inspired Energy

I was dragging ass on the Red Lady skin track yesterday.  I had a big week participating in the CeeBee three-ring circus (where no one, or very few, have a single, regular full time job, but instead, stitch together three or four different money making occupations in an attempt to pay rent each month while maximizing play-time) and was starting to verge on worn-down.  But I had a window of free time during which I wasn't excessively stressed by deadlines, or emails that I had to send, or travel to coordinate, or work to be at, and it was bluebird, and warm, and really, I couldn't bring myself to pass the day up.  

So Chris and I had settled on touring Scarps Ridge from town to Irwin, because we could, and because I'd done it as a mountain bike ride with Cat earlier this summer and I love being able to ski and ride similar routes.  But about 30 minutes up the skin track, I started to realize that my energy levels quite possibly didn't match up to my ambition levels.  But, ~1,000 feet up, there was no turning back.  See, we have a dire snow situation around here and while there was enough snow to ascend the skin track, it would have been a skis-on-back hike down had I decided to bail.  LW once asked me if I snowshoed.  I looked at her funny.  Why would I possibly want to partake in an activity that doesn't have gravity-fueled rewards?  There was no way I was hiking back down, so we went up.  

Exhausted, I reached the top.  Skins glopping in the mid-day sun, sweating, cursing myself for my FOMO.  But we looked down Red Lady Glades and determined: thin.  We looked at the bowl: thin and tracked.  I looked up the ridge towards Irwin and reasoned that if I didn't do this hike now, I probably wasn't going to get around to it for the rest of the winter, and really, Irwin wasn't that far away, and since there's a cat-skiing operation there, we could descent the cat-track and avoid the rock-jumble that is just lightly covered by the snow around here.  

As we hiked, my spirits, and energy soared.  It had been a while since I'd gotten up high and I hadn't realized how much I'd missed it.  Up near the sky where none of the little problems and stresses of the three-ring circus matter.  It was truly beautiful up there.

We did a very un-backcountry ski descent into Irwin, double-poled across the lake, slid through the town of Irwin, and proceeded to skate the five miles down Kebler Pass road.  I finished giddy and with far more energy than I started the day with.  Chris is convinced that I'm the only person who would actually enjoy skating down Kebler, but I was in the groove, the endorphin-producing groove that only comes with knowing that after a pseudo-big day on skis, there's a tupperware of Christmas cookies from Chris' sister waiting in the car.