Stop Whining, You Live in a Ski Town

Tourists and friends alike have been canceling vacations to Jackson Hole lately because of all the bad weather. Jackson's minimally imployed hang out in coffee shops looking tired--from doing nothing. Frowns abound--cause it won't stop snowing and it is June. Funny, I thought we lived in a ski town.

I too refused to accept it was still winter this morning as I drove up Teton Pass in 2WD, taking shit from my friend the whole way for not having a beacon or shovel. Then I almost drove off the road along side the hoards of spun out mini-vans and Texans (sorry David.)

Forgot to put it in 4.

2008 was one of Jackson's best ski seasons ever. It still is. Powder skiing on June 12? Can't remember the last time I did that. The Tetons are plastered, and while it has been hard to find high and dry conditions to get up on the big peaks, there have been windows and there will be more.

And the storm skiing has been pretty damn good. . .

DG enjoying a summer day in Jackson

Pepi's not complaining

Powder skiing, Teton Pass, June 12, 2008

Ski Guiding The Grand Teton 2008

Some say they love to ski, yet their skis sit idle and lonely in May. Simone Blei, meanwhile, sits on a plane over the Atlantic Ocean, wondering--not if his girlfriend has stopped crying or if he will have a job upon his return to Milano Italy--but if his K2 Outlaws are comfortable in cargo. His trusty steads must not get lost or damaged for they are to deliver him down the Ford Coulior on the Grand Teton.

Simone starts the long walk

Simone ascending Tepee Glacier

Simone Blei is the best of clients--a good friend and passionate steep skier, I first met Simone in Valdez, Alaska where he came to ski with Doug Coombs. Unfortunately Doug never made it to Valdez in 2006. As DC would have wanted, his clients arrived anyway, looking to ski the steeps that Coombs' himself pioneered--with the skills that Coombs himself had nurtured in each one of them.

Simone climbs Stettner Coulior

Doug and Simone on the final few feet of the Ford

Now, two years later, Simone is ready to ski the Ford--a 1500' 55 degree coulior that ends with 3000' of exposure. And all that at nearly 14K. Simone brings with him from Italy the requisite skills and the high pressure needed for such a descent. Consequently, we ski the run unroped except of the 100' pitch above the terminal drop. Simone skis deliberately and fluidly through the steep exposed terrain--more like a guide than a client. I am happy for Simone--because of his commitment, desire, and patience--he can truly say he skied the Ford Coulior.

Simone's first turn at 13,770

Descending the Stettner

Simone skiing to the car

Spring Skiing in the Tetons 2008

Skiing in the Tetons this spring has been unbelievable. It simply has not stopped snowing above 8500'. Unfortunately this means a lot of rain in the valley, but I sure don't mind that. While clear days have been few and far between I have managed some great days out there including a guided ski descent of the Grand Teton (see post below.) Here is a pic I like of Kajsa taken after a storm day at Jackson Hole Mountain Guides' high camp. We had hoped to ski something off the big one but decided to play it safe after the new snowfall blanketed the peak. We did have great skiing on the Tepee and on down the Black Dike Coulior into Glacier Gulch.

Kajsa Krieger skiing on the Grand Teton's Tepee Glacier, May 2008

This past Saturday I skinned up Dissapointment Peak (about 11,800') in a storm. The further up we climbed the further into winter we asecended. By the summit we figured we were back in January--brrr! The skiing was pretty good. Just a good outing overall.

Hans Johnstone, Dave Barnett, Rick Hunt, and Bill Dyer atop Disapointment Peak

One Line - The Hairy Tongue

This post first appeared on thesnaz.com

by Doug Workman, Valdez Heli Ski Guides
Photos by David A. Gonzales
Photo of Doug Coombs courtesy the Doug Coombs Collection

When the ship lands it is a wee bit hectic. The rotors are shearing the air above my head, chiseling away at my eardrums. The last client out hasn’t dropped to the ground as ordered; I grab his shoulder and herd him into the huddle by the whirly bird’s skid. I unload the basket and look around — clients situated, basket closed, door shut, thumbs up. Under the wash of its rotors I watch as Eight Zero Romeo takes flight and is gone.

The silence is abrupt. To relax, I rely on routine. I stick a piece of willow in the snow and flag it with survey tape. I feel like a canine pissing in the park. I stomp out the snow around the landing zone—get it all buffed out so that Andy can come in next time and land “flat pitch.”

“Saddle up,” I say to my guests, who mill about, agog at the scenery. “Time to ski.” I step into my Coombas and gaze down towards the Hoodoo Glacier 3,000 feet below. We can only see the top few hundred feet of the crevassed slope before it rolls over out of view. Somewhere down there lies the Hairy Tongue.

The 100-foot-wide, 1,000-foot-long Tongue, first skied by Doug Coombs over a decade ago, lolls over seracs — cliffs of ancient ice — and black schist, linking the the mountain’s ice cap and the glacier below. While not that steep — the slope probably tops out somewhere around 42 degrees—its setting is sublime. The seracs glow green where the ice has calved off. Mounds of pale jade litter the glacier below.

It is two years and two days since Doug died. I am awed by his gift to us all—it is a blessing to be in his playground.

From our vantage above, little of the run can be seen other than the dark crevasses that line the edge of the run. I point out the bergshrund that attempts to bar us entry. “It looks pretty filled in,” I say. “Just carry some speed and lift up your skis a bit. Be sure to avoid the sagging snow-bridges.” There’s not much more to add other than, “Stay close to my track.”

My skis carry me over the ‘shrund with little effort. I bounce and carve through a sea of powder, wary of the black holes dotting my path. I’m following my nose, as I can’t see the tongue. I’m hoping it will draw me in, be my portal through the void. I crest a roll and it all comes into view—the blue ice walls and the magic carpet leading to the sweeping Hoodoo Glacier. The Tongue narrows, steepens, then gracefully delivers me to the valley below. I stand staring at the ancient ice cubes around my feet and pick up a gleaming chunk for this evenings’ cocktails. I key my microphone.

“Skied well,” I say, turning to skate towards the waiting ship. “Belkin, have at it.”

Val-Disease 2008

Some people say that anyone can ski in Alaska. They’re full of shit. Sure, you do not need to be a professional “athlete”. Nor do you need to hang it out daily on double-exposed near death runs. You just need to be a junkie. You know, the type that sits around drooling over ski photos in July. Or the geeked out freak that sits in front of their computer in May writing about skiing in Alaska in March.

When it’s snowing in Alaska you can’t fly. When it’s windy in Alaska you can’t fly. When it’s cloudy you can’t see ten feet in front of your ski tips. So when it storms you sit. And pace.

Maybe the best ski guides in Alaska are the ones on Prozac. Come to think of it guides and clients alike should make the little green pill standard issue along with shovel, probe, and beacon. At least during down days you would actually use the pills.

Port of Valdez photo: Eric Henderson

Eventually, you put your skins on and hike into the ping pong ball. With no trees for reference you make your way to the couloirs above the Tsaina Lodge. Two thousand vertical feet later you are there—at the base of the coulior. Once inside you can actually see, the rock walls giving you reference, security, and hope. One thousand feet later and you are at the top.

Rick Hunt on Stairway photo: Doug Workman

With luck, a milky hole appears in the sky and you jump into the powder below. Ten seconds of joy before being confronted by the blinding whiteness of the glacier below.

Back at base more clients and guides stare at the sky hoping the clouds will burn off. Some are more realistic than others.

Don Sharaf asleep but ready photo: Doug Workman

Those that have played the game longest know it’s worth the wait. But not all have the patience. Eventually one or two clients pull the rip cord and venture home. Veteran guides grin, knowing that it often takes a sacrificial lamb to earn the favor of the Chugach.

Doug Workman reaps the rewards on The Wall photo:Mike Stoner