April 16, 2006, Central Cascades, The Bergschrund

Day 54
4-16-06

Picture: a chute starting from a summit, ending in mandatory air whose landing was above a bergschrund that must be crossed to access a steep couloir dropping an additional 1,500 VF to the valley floor.  A fitting end to a fabulous three-day ski vacation, garnished with a Pacific storm dropping a foot and a half of new snow over those three days.  On the first day of the vacation I summited *** and found difficult warm snow.  On the second day Ron and I enjoyed dry powder on ***, a second new route in as many days. 

This last day I was saving something special €“ the direct line off ***.

Now about that bergschrund€¦

:::

The climb was a cornucopia of views, finally a sunny day to enjoy the lines around the drainage.  I summited solo, in the company of happy, chilly clouds, the surrounding mountains a white canvas of new snow from the storm, with frosting in the trees down to the valley floors.  At 11:00 am I stood on the summit, choices to make.

On the climb up I had scanned the direct line from the summit and it appeared a line was possible through the trees to the edge of the main bowl feeding the Ent Slide Path, with a mandatory drop onto the snow slope from a hanging couloir.  It looked possible, certainly.  From 2,000 VF away, at least.  But how big was that drop, anyway?

I thought about that mandatory air as I scanned down the chute from above and wondered if it would go.  The snow pack was a green light as the cold temps had hardened the subsurface and made the upper fresh an unconsolidated dream.  Visibility was superb with the best weather of the weekend holding steady in the mid morning sun.  I ate quickly, suited up and checked my resolve.  New route anyone?

I looked longingly at the escape ridge to my left, a sure thing, and then back at my line.  Below me, a very steep chute through trees ran to an obvious mandatory air and had no sure exit.  Let€™s see now, the sure thing to my left or the gamble to my right? 

I leaned forward and into the fall line, and jump turned into commitment.

After a short section of 45-degree cascade down past a dwarf pine thicket, I dropped in on the summit chute.  As I scanned down the couloir below me, the sun came out and my mood rose accordingly.  The snow was a foot and a half of powder on the hard surface of the corn underneath, and it skied like silky powder.  I carved a couple of sample turns, cutting the slope to see if steep roll-offs would release, was pleased to see a stable pack, and I cut up the choice narrow couloir down to a stand of old growth at the mouth of the chute. 

My mind boggled at the scene below.

I stood on a steep snow slope with a 10-foot cliff below me, leading to a steep apron of snow below the mandatory air.  The apron, it became obvious, was the result of the whole of the bowl peeling away from the rock bed surface, now 50 yards down slope from where it started its slow slide.  A bergschrund formed behind the 10-foot snow pack as it moved downhill, a dark crevasse devoid of snow.

I was horrified.

It suddenly made sense why these slide paths were so long as the result of colossal slides that ran to the valley floor 2,000 feet below.  With a good rain and an unstable snow pack, the whole mass could release, a climax avalanche of epic proportions.  The trees in Japan Ski appeared 15 years old, so the cycle of these monster slides appeared very long.  Maybe one was due.

I needed to talk myself down.  I was getting very freaked out. 

Calm down.  Just ski.

I eased over to the edge of the drop off and scanned for a good landing.  Finding one, I leapt and easily cut out onto the apron in soft powder. 

Pheeew.  Step one done.  Step two, the 'shrund.

I thought quickly of cutting left and crossing the gap on a narrow snow bridge where the slope seemed shallow, and in retrospect that probably would have been the best bet.  Bird in hand always pays.  I, instead, cut right to see if could get down to a lower crossing that seemed easier because the snow bridge was bigger.  My mistake was that to get to the larger snow bridge I needed to ski a steep traverse to get to it.  I led into the traverse and scored a huge boulder underneath.  The retreating snow pack was exposing the talus field underneath and fear flushed through me anew like a rush of adrenalin.  Oh no, not another Hidden Dragon - Crouching Tiger mine field just to get to the snow bridge.  Damn!  Maybe this way wasn€™t the best choice, what are my options?

I looked down and froze, my fear redoubling.

Immediately below me was a sheer snow slope where fall-away snow was sliding down from beneath my board.  It slid right into the gaping maw of a 15-foot crevasse underneath the snow pack.  The snow slid down into the crevasse and disappeared.  Disappeared!  I could not see the bottom of the crack. 

Don€™t panic.

I inched forward to ease past the rock ahead of me, but as I did so, the snow from all around it gave away, revealing a huge boulder baring my line.  I was in a precarious position.  I couldn€™t move forward, didn€™t dare go lower toward the cave, and was therefore forced to find an emergency line. 

Down and to my left was a car sized serac that had broken off the cliff above and it rested against the snow pack allowing avalanching snow to gather around it as it slid past and into the bergschrund.  Against this piling of snow a couple of shrubs poked their branches out from the darkness of the crevasse and allowed a two foot deep by two foot wide snow bridge to gap the rock bed surface to the snow slab.  The bridge was small, had holes and was made up of mostly unconsolidated new snow.  The tiny bridge was just to my left and the best bet for success.  Ok, it was the only chance for success.

In a very deliberate move, I leaned back into the slope, drove my tail into the snow, and fanned the nose of the board around in front of me, completing a 180 degree turn without moving a foot, and allowing me to approach the snow bridge on my heal side.  I side slipped down past the car-sized serac and stopped. 

Below me, a five-foot gap separated me from the snow pack proper, with the tiny snow bridge below me after a two-foot drop.  On either side of the snow bridge a certain fall of 10 feet and then a slide under the snow pack to€¦well, I shuddered to think of where.  The snow bridge did not look that sturdy, certainly it couldn€™t hold my weight.  I did not want to dally. 

I took a couple of breaths, channeled my vision to the snow on the other side of the bridge.  I pointed my board down the fall line and dropped in. 

Even with a couple of feet of runway, I was only able to hit the bridge with just a little bit of speed, and knew as I crossed I didn€™t have enough speed to carry me up and onto the 10-foot snow pack.  Oh Christ!  I sailed across the chasm on the top of the bridge and heaved my weight up and drove my board into the snow on the right side of the end of the snow bridge - and stopped dead.

I didn€™t move.

Two feet below my board was the bottom of the snow pack, a huge slab of snow suspended 10 feet off the rock slabs below.  The darkness of the chasm below consumed my attention.  I pushed it out of my mind.

I leaned forward and weighted my heel side gingerly.  It held.  The whole front end of the board was submerged in powder and I slowly cleaned it off, shoveling the snow down the crevasse to my right.  I was hoping it was filling up the hole I might fall in at the bottom of crevasse €“ but again I pushed out any negative thoughts.  With the board now somewhat free of snow, I slowly eased it forward, letting the board float its own line.  I wanted to move faster away from the edge of the crevasse, but knew this would be a mistake, and focused on evenly weighting my heel side.   

After an eternity, I crested the top of the snow pack and the board more easily ran with the fall line.  Yahoo!! 

I scanned the slope below and my elation ebbed away quickly.  As the bowl had crept slowly downhill, the mantle of pack had cracked and piled up on itself like chaotic rifts of the continental shelves.  The possibility of crevasses remained very high, so I skied quickly down the slope with speed as my friend.  I hoped I could fly right over any trouble.

Somehow, I did.

Well, from there, the game was mine.