29 Agosto, 2009; Col de Martial, Ushuaia

After skiing Cerro Castor yesterday, we had high hopes for our first day of backcountry skiing. Andy (Antonio) and Anastasia both woke up with a head cold (Anastasia had hers yesterday€¦ perhaps I need to watch those two more closely), but were too excited at the prospect of powder and views that they rallied admirably for our 8:50 pick-up time.

Having spoken with Juan Pablo (our guide for our first couple of days), we knew that the wind was going to be picking up over the course of the day. We climbed up through the government-run Martial ski area, skinning along under the lone two-seat chairlift on the low angle run from the top. Martial is a popular beginner/family area on the valley floor, surrounded by sharp ridges and long couloirs that gather their snow from the prevailing southwest winds and the cold southern Pacific ocean, only 300 kilometers away.

Having left the ski area behind, we approached the head of the valley and turned west, climbing the moraines of the retreating Martial Glacier and watching the swirling cascades of southwest facing powder make their way down to our tracks. At times, the skin track would fill in between us as we went, erasing our passage before we had left.

After two and a half hours we reached the protection of a cliff face. We rested briefly and Juan Pablo shared some hot tea, but quickly had us buttoning up our jackets, putting on our helmets and getting ready for the skiing. The only remaining high point, the Martial Col, was 20 feet above us and serving as the the business end of a wind-hose as the 50 km/h blasts accelerated up the west side and raged over our heads, curling and twisting with snow.

We carried our sails, I mean skis, to the col and fought the elements just long enough to take in the unexpected and stunning view of Cerro Donnelly on the other side, before stepping into our skis and waiting for a break in the wind to make our exit. Waiting isn´t really accurate, I guess. Hunkering? Cowering? Yeah, that´s more like it. I don´t mean to belabor the point, but I´ve been in some pretty heavy winds and this put them all to shame. Gore-tex was cracking like a jib that´s snapped its sheets in a gale. It was intense.

The reward was 3000 feet of some of the best wind-buffed powder I´ve ever had. We hooted and hollered all the way to the valley floor, though by the time I arrived my hollering was in pain and torment, as my thighs (which are evil and must be punished) were on fire.

We skied down to the refugio at the top of the Martial ski lift and took stock of the group over sandwiches and snacks. The effort of the day was catching up with the Double As and, wanting to preserve health for more skiing later in the week (read: tomorrow) they decided to finish the day in the Tea House near the parking lot. Much to my thighs dismay, I chased Juan Pablo up the side of the valley to La Ola, The Wave, for a 300 meter bonus run in nice snow, though slightly more wind-packed than what we´d enjoyed on Martial.