This was a day trip, my first real back-country ski, which was summarized in the words of a recent avalanche observation, “skinned up from Basher TH”. Despite being just a three hour run round-trip in the summer, I learned a bunch, and had a good time, broke gear, and feel like telling the story.

At the Basher Trailhead, I discovered that I’d left my poles at home. Fortunately, Lydia had left hers in the car.

I’d been worried that the route would be untracked. I’m new to the area. In fact, there was a well used path through the snow and no need for map or GPS track I’d prepared in my attempt to apply my largely unused Avy 1 education.

The route initially is initially through a wooded slope near a gully before linking up with another trail. There seems to be no difference between summer and winter routes here which is convenient as the signage at intersections makes for instructive way points.

As the trees thinned, it became clear that the “first ridge” which I wanted to attain was only lightly snow covered and unlikely to slide. They way was covered in tracks. No need for the zig-zagging off trail I’d planned.

I had been chasing a snowshoer up hill since I’d spotted them ahead of me in the valley above the tree line under the first ridge. When I stopped behind an outcropping at the start of the final ridge to layer up against the wind, the snowshoer, now on his way back, greeted me and asked about my route. I’d been planning a summit attempt and he pointed out wind loading near the peak, said that he’s seen too many avalanches during his time in Valdez and decided to turn around. We would be too far separated to help if something did happen and so I followed his tracks until they turned around and then did the same myself.

I hadn’t downhill skied since the year before last and so after challenging myself to strip the climbing skins without releasing my skis, I was faced with the proposition of making my first turns on intermediate terrain above what I understood to be a loaded, avalanche-prone bowl and felt quite unprepared. Instead, I carefully turned around and poled my way back to the outcropping at the top of the nose down to the first ridge. There were frequent groups of rocks just above the surface. I wanted to stay on the nose and so had to chart a course through them. The surface was packed snow and relatively predictable despite texture from the wind. I began executing turns one at a time, coaching myself throughout, calling to mind the feeling of releasing the edges, committing weight to the outside ski, carrying weight on the shin against the boot, and staying forward over the skis. With lots of stopping and side slipping, I made it back down into the valley. Many close calls but no falls.

Back on a trail in the trees, I made a wrong turn on a cutoff while trying to avoid a steep down-up in the way I’d come. I found a snowed-covered pond surrounded with ice blocks hollowed out to hold candles. An older couple coming the other way on cross country skis explained where I was heading and said that the ice blocks were put out every year by someone in their neighborhood. What a charming tradition. I found my way back to my intended trail, successfully avoiding the down-up, but having wasted far more time and effort. The sun was setting over the narrow snowshoe “road” as I descended towards back towards the city.

The snowshoe “road” descends next to a steep gully before joining the power line service road which leads to the parking lot. The snowshoe road was too narrow to try skiing down in high-consequence terrain so I tried to cut across the slope covered in alders to get to the service road. Another shortcut. My bindings were under the snow level as it was soft off trail this low down where the wind had not scoured the surface. A submerged alder caught my ankle. I wound up with my feet above my head and unable to sit up on account of the soft snow. Pressing down with my hands just pushed through to open space under the snow created by the alders. I had to cross my poles and push them into the snow to form a platform against which I could raise myself. I’d learned that in a snowshoe class – who would have thought that snowshoing education would be so useful? When properly righted, the snow was waist deep and I one of the poles was gone. Also lost was a climbing skin from one of my skis. Quite the price for a days outing. I floundered my way back to the snowshoe road and walked out the last few hundred yards. Despite not needing to pay for a lift ticket, the day of skiing extracted quite the economic toll. All good fun though.

All Pics