March 20, 2005, Washington Pass
3/20/05
WA Cascades East Slopes North
2761
3
Despite my frequent denials, the doom-and-gloom attitudes of formerly-enthusiastic backcountry skiers had begun eating away at me. "There's no snow in the mountains," they'd tell me, "and anyway I'd rather stay home and polish the grout lines in my bathroom with an old, bent-bristled toothbrush with a broken handle." I began to wonder: maybe they knew something I didn't, if not about skiing perhaps about the joys of home maintenance. I went wonderingly, therefore, in search of various necessary items: for example, a shower curtain of clear, unadorned polyvinylchloride to replace the old one now darkened by mildew and criss-crossed with reinforcing duct tape. What could be simpler? Alas, after walking several kilometers from the entrance to nether reaches of my local Fred Meyers, I found nothing in the shower curtain aisle but garish cartoon characters and brightly colored flowers and fishes. I left unsated.
The following morning I awoke at a fashionably late hour, determined to return to other, more satisfying activities. Skiing, for example. Specifically, skiing in untracked, boot-to-knee-deep powder, far (but not too far) from ski lifts and parking lots. Finding Mt. Baker weather less than inspiring (temperatures hovering just above freezing with almost three inches of water equivalent in 24 hours), I opted for the higher elevation and drier climate of Washington Pass. Judging by reports, I think I made the right decision; although coverage is far from robust, the Rainy/Washington Pass area offers 10-16 inches of fresh powder covering the rock-hard crusts and bare patches of recent weeks. I parked just below the hairpin (there is not a plowed shoulder at the turn itself), climbed Spire Gully and skied above Blue Lake before dropping back down to my car. I also booted up to Blue Lake Col with the intent of skiing Wall Street, but with visibility deteriorating in increasing moderate snowfall I thought better of this.
A brief digression: ever since I saw them in the New York Times, I have had an inconsolable desire to use the following words in a trip report: "vicariant," "stridulate" and "flocculent." Also, "urticating." Ok, now I've done it. I feel better, and I bet you, the reader, feel better too.
Considering the density of the underlying crust, the recent snow is pretty stable stuff, with hasty pits giving moderate releases and low-quality shears within the storm snow, while the bond at the old crust seems strong. The final 100 feet to Blue Lake Col featured awkward step kicking in fresh, 50+ degree windslab covering depth hoar over what appeared in places to be verglas. In light of this unwholesome snowpack structure and the continuing wind transport along the ridge, I decided not to ski this last bit, kicking my way back down instead with a certain amount of difficulty. Luckily, there was no one around to witness this.
I then skied 1500 feet or so towards the Blue Lake trailhead, but my chosen line was not without its drawbacks. Ok, I admit it: I am resoundingly slow on the uptake. All this time I've been failing to register certain crucial facts about the world's construction: among these, that mountain ranges are composed almost in their entirety of actual rock. Yes, rock: that stuff which makes the horrible scraping noise as your skis fail to edge, instead skidding loudly while perhaps trailing sparks. Prior to yesterday's experience, I'd labored under the happy delusion that these mountains, at least, consisted primarily of snow and ice in varying proportions and consistencies. On the Blue Lake side of the divide, rocks abound: there are boulders just below the surface of snow-covered meadows; smooth slabs under untracked 40 degree slopes; there are even rocks strewn apparently at random within otherwise-inviting glades of larch trees. Eventually, I aborted my descent and began climbing again.
The 2000+ foot descent to the hairpin offered by far my best skiing of the day (not to say month). I've been experimenting with quick transitions in a low tele stance, and once out on the open slopes below the upper bottleneck I found myself plowing almost effortlessly downhill, powder boiling up around me, flowing over my shoulders and deflecting around the brim of my cap. I was well below 6000 feet before the snow stopped billowing and started acting distinctly Cascade-ish, and within the lower bottleneck before skiing became more a chore than a sublime pleasure. The plows had left a thin skim of dirty, salty sludge along the shoulder, and I poled myself back to my van looking fearfully over my shoulder for the out-of-control RV I was sure would come careening around the corner at any moment. It did not, and I survived unscathed.
More regarding the trials and eternal tribulations of history's worst snowpack will follow next weekend.
enjoy,
Mark
Edit to add: I'm guessing that Silver Star Glacier is in prime condition right about now, and that the traverse through the swamp at 5000 feet can still be easily accomplished.
The following morning I awoke at a fashionably late hour, determined to return to other, more satisfying activities. Skiing, for example. Specifically, skiing in untracked, boot-to-knee-deep powder, far (but not too far) from ski lifts and parking lots. Finding Mt. Baker weather less than inspiring (temperatures hovering just above freezing with almost three inches of water equivalent in 24 hours), I opted for the higher elevation and drier climate of Washington Pass. Judging by reports, I think I made the right decision; although coverage is far from robust, the Rainy/Washington Pass area offers 10-16 inches of fresh powder covering the rock-hard crusts and bare patches of recent weeks. I parked just below the hairpin (there is not a plowed shoulder at the turn itself), climbed Spire Gully and skied above Blue Lake before dropping back down to my car. I also booted up to Blue Lake Col with the intent of skiing Wall Street, but with visibility deteriorating in increasing moderate snowfall I thought better of this.
A brief digression: ever since I saw them in the New York Times, I have had an inconsolable desire to use the following words in a trip report: "vicariant," "stridulate" and "flocculent." Also, "urticating." Ok, now I've done it. I feel better, and I bet you, the reader, feel better too.
Considering the density of the underlying crust, the recent snow is pretty stable stuff, with hasty pits giving moderate releases and low-quality shears within the storm snow, while the bond at the old crust seems strong. The final 100 feet to Blue Lake Col featured awkward step kicking in fresh, 50+ degree windslab covering depth hoar over what appeared in places to be verglas. In light of this unwholesome snowpack structure and the continuing wind transport along the ridge, I decided not to ski this last bit, kicking my way back down instead with a certain amount of difficulty. Luckily, there was no one around to witness this.
I then skied 1500 feet or so towards the Blue Lake trailhead, but my chosen line was not without its drawbacks. Ok, I admit it: I am resoundingly slow on the uptake. All this time I've been failing to register certain crucial facts about the world's construction: among these, that mountain ranges are composed almost in their entirety of actual rock. Yes, rock: that stuff which makes the horrible scraping noise as your skis fail to edge, instead skidding loudly while perhaps trailing sparks. Prior to yesterday's experience, I'd labored under the happy delusion that these mountains, at least, consisted primarily of snow and ice in varying proportions and consistencies. On the Blue Lake side of the divide, rocks abound: there are boulders just below the surface of snow-covered meadows; smooth slabs under untracked 40 degree slopes; there are even rocks strewn apparently at random within otherwise-inviting glades of larch trees. Eventually, I aborted my descent and began climbing again.
The 2000+ foot descent to the hairpin offered by far my best skiing of the day (not to say month). I've been experimenting with quick transitions in a low tele stance, and once out on the open slopes below the upper bottleneck I found myself plowing almost effortlessly downhill, powder boiling up around me, flowing over my shoulders and deflecting around the brim of my cap. I was well below 6000 feet before the snow stopped billowing and started acting distinctly Cascade-ish, and within the lower bottleneck before skiing became more a chore than a sublime pleasure. The plows had left a thin skim of dirty, salty sludge along the shoulder, and I poled myself back to my van looking fearfully over my shoulder for the out-of-control RV I was sure would come careening around the corner at any moment. It did not, and I survived unscathed.
More regarding the trials and eternal tribulations of history's worst snowpack will follow next weekend.
enjoy,
Mark
Edit to add: I'm guessing that Silver Star Glacier is in prime condition right about now, and that the traverse through the swamp at 5000 feet can still be easily accomplished.
In case anyone else is wondering:
Main Entry: strid·u·late
Pronunciation: 'stri-j&-"lAt
Function: intransitive verb
Inflected Form(s): -lat·ed; -lat·ing
Etymology: back-formation from stridulation, from French, high-pitched sound, from Latin stridulus shrill
: to make a shrill creaking noise by rubbing together special bodily structures -- used especially of male insects (as crickets or grasshoppers)
Main Entry: vi·car·i·ant
Pronunciation: -E-&nt
Function: adjective
Etymology: translation of German vikarirend, present participle of vikarieren to act as a substitute, from Vikar representative, proxy, from Middle High German vicar, from Latin vicarius substitute
: of, relating to, or being the process of vicariance or organisms that evolved through this process <the possible vicariant origin of the Antillean arthropod fauna>
Main Entry: floc·cu·lent
Pronunciation: 'flä-ky&-l&nt
Function: adjective
Etymology: Latin floccus + English -ulent
1 : resembling wool especially in loose fluffy organization
2 : made up of flocs or floccules <a flocculent precipitate>
Main Entry: ur·ti·cate
Pronunciation: '&r-t&-"kAt
Function: intransitive verb
Inflected Form(s): -cat·ed; -cat·ing
Etymology: Medieval Latin urticatus, past participle of urticare to sting, from Latin urtica
: to produce wheals or itching; especially : to induce urticaria
Nice TR. :-)
Main Entry: strid·u·late
Pronunciation: 'stri-j&-"lAt
Function: intransitive verb
Inflected Form(s): -lat·ed; -lat·ing
Etymology: back-formation from stridulation, from French, high-pitched sound, from Latin stridulus shrill
: to make a shrill creaking noise by rubbing together special bodily structures -- used especially of male insects (as crickets or grasshoppers)
Main Entry: vi·car·i·ant
Pronunciation: -E-&nt
Function: adjective
Etymology: translation of German vikarirend, present participle of vikarieren to act as a substitute, from Vikar representative, proxy, from Middle High German vicar, from Latin vicarius substitute
: of, relating to, or being the process of vicariance or organisms that evolved through this process <the possible vicariant origin of the Antillean arthropod fauna>
Main Entry: floc·cu·lent
Pronunciation: 'flä-ky&-l&nt
Function: adjective
Etymology: Latin floccus + English -ulent
1 : resembling wool especially in loose fluffy organization
2 : made up of flocs or floccules <a flocculent precipitate>
Main Entry: ur·ti·cate
Pronunciation: '&r-t&-"kAt
Function: intransitive verb
Inflected Form(s): -cat·ed; -cat·ing
Etymology: Medieval Latin urticatus, past participle of urticare to sting, from Latin urtica
: to produce wheals or itching; especially : to induce urticaria
Nice TR. :-)
It doesn't sound like hairshirt asceticism to me. Very nice.
As per your usual standards, Mark, a very entertaining read.
And, if one cares to look, there is all the elelments of a textbook stellar TR there, as well :)
And, if one cares to look, there is all the elelments of a textbook stellar TR there, as well :)
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