January 4, 2004, Crown Peak
1/4/04
2080
0
Battling a cold all this past week, I wasn't certain that going out Sunday was the best idea. I did, however, make clear that the kids were to call me Saturday night - just in case.
Though we had been considering a trip to the eastern Cascades, when half our ranks broke from the trip, the Casshole and I changed our tune and headed to the Crystal backcountry. We left the truck at 9:30 and made our way to the eastern lift, skinning up the groomer and the subsequent cat track to its terminus below Pickhandle Basin.
We had our eyeball on the north-facing aspect of Pickhandle Peak, but encountered an undesirable problem at the end of the road: the entrance to the foot of the basin required a steep scramble between two loaded cliffs. While someone bolder than I had skied it within the past week, we declined our invitation to the terrain trap. The right being too thick and steep, we turned left into a drainage in hopes of finding an alternative route.
After some climbing, we were able to pick our way through the thick growth and emerge onto the eastern wall of the basin. As gaining Pickhandle Ridge at this point required dropping down into the basin and up the other side, we again changed plans.
The problematic easterlies in the forecast were absent, nullifying the concerns we had with skiing high on western aspects. A quick 6' pit revealed 18" of fluff above a 15" layer of well-bonded powder sitting on what appeared to be a thin rain layer. Below that was a similar 12" layer that came off in a shear test. All things considered, however, the snowpack was rather solid and we started up.
Aside from the remnants of an old downtrack, we were alone on our side of the mountain. While exceptional, it seemed even more so when we topped out on Peak 6479 and looked down onto the zoo of people in Bullion Basin. A short trek down the ridgeline over Blue Bell Pass and we were on Crown Peak.
The ski down held the best turns I've had in my four winters in Washington. Thigh-high, light, dry, fast, continental-style powder down a 35-40 degree pitch in widely spaced trees and open glades. Alone.
Too fun to worry about taking pics of the Casshole, I managed only one that even hinted at the brilliance of the day:
Though we had been considering a trip to the eastern Cascades, when half our ranks broke from the trip, the Casshole and I changed our tune and headed to the Crystal backcountry. We left the truck at 9:30 and made our way to the eastern lift, skinning up the groomer and the subsequent cat track to its terminus below Pickhandle Basin.
We had our eyeball on the north-facing aspect of Pickhandle Peak, but encountered an undesirable problem at the end of the road: the entrance to the foot of the basin required a steep scramble between two loaded cliffs. While someone bolder than I had skied it within the past week, we declined our invitation to the terrain trap. The right being too thick and steep, we turned left into a drainage in hopes of finding an alternative route.
After some climbing, we were able to pick our way through the thick growth and emerge onto the eastern wall of the basin. As gaining Pickhandle Ridge at this point required dropping down into the basin and up the other side, we again changed plans.
The problematic easterlies in the forecast were absent, nullifying the concerns we had with skiing high on western aspects. A quick 6' pit revealed 18" of fluff above a 15" layer of well-bonded powder sitting on what appeared to be a thin rain layer. Below that was a similar 12" layer that came off in a shear test. All things considered, however, the snowpack was rather solid and we started up.
Aside from the remnants of an old downtrack, we were alone on our side of the mountain. While exceptional, it seemed even more so when we topped out on Peak 6479 and looked down onto the zoo of people in Bullion Basin. A short trek down the ridgeline over Blue Bell Pass and we were on Crown Peak.
The ski down held the best turns I've had in my four winters in Washington. Thigh-high, light, dry, fast, continental-style powder down a 35-40 degree pitch in widely spaced trees and open glades. Alone.
Too fun to worry about taking pics of the Casshole, I managed only one that even hinted at the brilliance of the day:
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