Feb 5, 2011, Miller Peak â Awful or Awesome
2/5/11
3368
5
She gave her gifts of cold snow early, but with several weeks of Chinooks, rain, inversions, and high-pressure systems, La Niña has given us the warm shoulder of late. Shes been winters equivalent of an Indian giver. Friends tempt me to go mountain biking out in the Columbia Basin but this is the first weekend in February, and even though the forecast calls for a mixture of rain and snow along the Cascade crest, I'm still married to winter.
Given the forecast, visiting the sunnier, colder Blewett Pass environs east of the crest makes sense. With sun on the right exposures, conditions could be awesome. In all likelihood, however, the skiing will be awful. I call the few people I know who could care less about the conditions if it involves skis, theyre interested.
At 7:30 a.m. on Saturday, Tom Janisch and I leave the car and start skiing the Scotty Creek Road leading toward Old Blewett Pass. We discuss the fine line that sometimes separates awesomeness from awfulness. Right now that line doesnt seem so slender the snow is cement hard and rutted with deep snowmobile tracks. Its no problem skinning up this mess, but without some softening the return trip promises to be positively awful.
Reaching Shaser Creek, we turn right and follow roads making a westward run toward the foot of Miller Peak. Three and half miles farther along, we leave the road system and start climbing a small ridge that will eventually intersect the prominent East Ridge of Miller Peak. A short distance up this ridgelet a visual reconnaissance of the terrain reveals big avalanche slopes to the north that, once reached, yield a direct, open line upward. Given the days absence of avalanche hazard, we contour through thick forests and cross snows that are more pine needle than water to access those slopes. This is a dose of Cascadian awfulness the green chastity belt that so often protects the rewards of this range. Once weve unlocked the belt, seductive slopes lead directly upward.
The slopes are firm and too steep to climb efficiently with skinned skis. Skis come off, crampons go on, and then Tom kicks steps skyward with metronome regularity. Almost in a trance, I ride the Janisch escalator to the 5700-foot level of the East Ridge where our summit pops into view. From here, its a 45-minute stroll to the top. The steel sky overhead is breaking up and being pushed south by a blue tide streaming in from the north. Minutes after stepping on the summit, rays of sunlight offset the chill of the wind. Awesome.
The awesomeness continues when we snap on skis and start the descent. On the climb our feet sometimes busted the crust and we sank to our shins in crystalline snow. Initially we wonder whether such collapses could precipitate a tumble that would send us tobogganing downhill on our bellies at high speed. A few minutes into it, however, were confident the skis will remain on the surface. We start skiing more aggressively Our passage sounds like planks getting dragged over asphalt, but the skis turn easily and the textured snow holds our edges.
As we plunge downward we lap up the scenery, the quality of this slope, and the actual quality of the skiing. Two thousand vertical feet lower, awesome conditions turn ugly as we renegotiate the needled, forested traverse leading back toward the roads.
Its mid-afternoon by the time we reach the valley floor and intersect those roads. What might normally be a gentle glide downward is, today, a snowmobile-churned, ice-encrusted luge course. We rocket down four miles of road well aware that we'll either reach the car fast or break a clavicle when we pile up. Riding the razors edge between exhilaration and terror I cant quite decide whether this final plunge is awfully awesome or awesomely awful.
++++
Given the forecast, visiting the sunnier, colder Blewett Pass environs east of the crest makes sense. With sun on the right exposures, conditions could be awesome. In all likelihood, however, the skiing will be awful. I call the few people I know who could care less about the conditions if it involves skis, theyre interested.
At 7:30 a.m. on Saturday, Tom Janisch and I leave the car and start skiing the Scotty Creek Road leading toward Old Blewett Pass. We discuss the fine line that sometimes separates awesomeness from awfulness. Right now that line doesnt seem so slender the snow is cement hard and rutted with deep snowmobile tracks. Its no problem skinning up this mess, but without some softening the return trip promises to be positively awful.
Reaching Shaser Creek, we turn right and follow roads making a westward run toward the foot of Miller Peak. Three and half miles farther along, we leave the road system and start climbing a small ridge that will eventually intersect the prominent East Ridge of Miller Peak. A short distance up this ridgelet a visual reconnaissance of the terrain reveals big avalanche slopes to the north that, once reached, yield a direct, open line upward. Given the days absence of avalanche hazard, we contour through thick forests and cross snows that are more pine needle than water to access those slopes. This is a dose of Cascadian awfulness the green chastity belt that so often protects the rewards of this range. Once weve unlocked the belt, seductive slopes lead directly upward.
The slopes are firm and too steep to climb efficiently with skinned skis. Skis come off, crampons go on, and then Tom kicks steps skyward with metronome regularity. Almost in a trance, I ride the Janisch escalator to the 5700-foot level of the East Ridge where our summit pops into view. From here, its a 45-minute stroll to the top. The steel sky overhead is breaking up and being pushed south by a blue tide streaming in from the north. Minutes after stepping on the summit, rays of sunlight offset the chill of the wind. Awesome.
The awesomeness continues when we snap on skis and start the descent. On the climb our feet sometimes busted the crust and we sank to our shins in crystalline snow. Initially we wonder whether such collapses could precipitate a tumble that would send us tobogganing downhill on our bellies at high speed. A few minutes into it, however, were confident the skis will remain on the surface. We start skiing more aggressively Our passage sounds like planks getting dragged over asphalt, but the skis turn easily and the textured snow holds our edges.
As we plunge downward we lap up the scenery, the quality of this slope, and the actual quality of the skiing. Two thousand vertical feet lower, awesome conditions turn ugly as we renegotiate the needled, forested traverse leading back toward the roads.
Its mid-afternoon by the time we reach the valley floor and intersect those roads. What might normally be a gentle glide downward is, today, a snowmobile-churned, ice-encrusted luge course. We rocket down four miles of road well aware that we'll either reach the car fast or break a clavicle when we pile up. Riding the razors edge between exhilaration and terror I cant quite decide whether this final plunge is awfully awesome or awesomely awful.
++++
Always a fun read Andy! Thanks for pulling this off so we can semi-commiserate it with you!
Thanks for giving it a read. The day exceeded expectations -- probably because we had low expectations. There's a truism in there ... always have low expectations and you'll rarely be disappointed??
I have a saying, That the pleasure of skiing exponentially increases by 1000 percent, when the skiing becomes microscopically better than my lowest expectation. ;)
I take it that you, too, are a sick glutton for punishment. Many would start measuring exponential gains from a benchmark based on a memory encompassing good conditions.
Guilty as charged ;)
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