Mt Hardy, "Open Fly" couloir - March 25, 2005
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While relaxing in the valley bottom after Dave and I skied a route on Mt Hardy last year, I saw another
interesting-looking line just a few hundred yards over. I tried to get a complete view of it,
but because it curved, I could only see the bottom few hundred feet (choked with debris),
and the top bit near the "Nancy Drew" sub-summit, 2000ft higher. In between was a mystery worthy of any ski mountaineer-errant
(apologies to Sky).
A couple of weeks ago, inspired by reports of soft re-crystallized snow on north aspects around
Washington Pass, I headed up there again for what turned out to be a recon mission.
Turns out it had rained or got warm and cloudy or something, because even shady north aspects were
ice. I managed to dig through the cornice, climbed down a little ways
into it and realized (perhaps with some relief) that
it would be suicidal to ski it in these conditions. For me anyways.
But I got some photos of the enchanting slot to help me convince Dave to come along for a look.
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The entrance on March 12th.
Looking down from the top.
On March 25th, we parked a half mile east of the Easy Pass trailhead, and began hiking up the forest on the
east side of the highway. The fresh snow of the past week provided a slippery coating on
the forest floor, and it was a few hours before we broke out of the trees.
This part of
Mt Hardy is becoming like an old friend now - take the gradually opening ridge, skin up onto
a small old moraine (?), then onto a flattish bench above a large grove, angling towards
the first obstacle - a ridge that you have to hit a just the right spot. Then a traverse
through some shrubs above a drop-off to a second ridge, which gives you a view of
the final slopes.
Stowing the skis for the final hike to the ridgetop.
On this day the final slopes looked non-trivial. The snow was coming down, and we had entered the
clouds - the head on view of steep snow and rock looked formidable through the mist and showers. It
might have given us pause had we not known from previous excursions that it was actually an easy hike
up. So, putting aside what it looked like, we continued on a side hill traverse to the chute,
then straight up a couple hundred feet, crossing over another snow rib into a final
broad gully that led to the
ridge top. There was a certain satisfaction in having the route-finding well-rehearsed.
Up through the fog and snow showers.
But now it was time to head into the unknown - perhaps the fog was going to make the unknown unknowable?
I crested the ridge and walked over a pile of rocks to the cornice.
Suddenly, I
was falling! I stopped once I reached my hips - ah yes, I remembered this little hole from
two weeks ago. Oops. A few more feet and I poked my head over - curiously, the fog
was non-existant on this side of the mountain, and the view was clear down the slot.
Yes, the view was clear, and clearly the photos I had taken last time, and been looking
at it since, had made it look a lot tamer than it looked now. A few minutes later, Dave arrived,
and I invited him over for a look, anxious to see his reaction. "Whoa!"
The little grapefruit-sized piece of snow I had kicked down when walking to the edge turned into
a sizeable sluff that careened down the couloir, disappearing as it found its way into the steeper
narrow section a few hundred feet down. Hmm. I spent a minute loosening TV-sized chunks of the
cornice with my shovel and sending them down, but my grapefruit seemed to have set the standard.
We chilled out nervously at the top for half an hour or so, watched occasional spindrift
funnel its way into the slot, and quietly got ready.
I offered to go first, on belay to check the snow conditions.
Or maybe I am a chicken and just wanted a rope tied to me for my first few turns?
I sat down on the edge, and inched my way in. Then I cut across the wide top of the chute,
into the steep almost fluted side walls, made a hard turn, and cut back left, hopping up and down. A couple
more turns and I stopped to dig a pit. The snow sheared fairly cleanly off the crust about 18 inches
down. Not really what I was hoping for, but I was satisfied with my ski cuts, and the snow
was not terribly cohesive.
Dave contemplative.
I took off the rope and Dave reeled it up. Soon he popped over the edge ready to
go. He commented that the entrance was steep, and maybe he should just hop it.
But I didn't think that was a great idea
with me right below, so he mimicked my ungraceful sit start.
Ahh, steep soft snow. That's what it was time to enjoy for the next 2000ft.
The upper section and our tracks.
Some of the jitters were now melting away, except we were still
wondering about the narrow section coming up, which from the entrance
had tilted away out of view. Dave went first and it looked good (he fit, anyway).
Dave skiing in/with open fly.
Dave trying to convince me I should
straightline it. The slope angle here is at least 45 degrees.
Soon it was my turn - just barely wide enough for comfortable turns, except in a couple of
spots where 10 or 20 feet of side-stepping was required, since our skis butted up against the
walls. Dave tried to convince me I should straightline the second spot - that would have
been good style for sure, and I was tempted (about 50 feet lower it opened up enough
that I might be able to execute a successful turn to check my speed),
but decided to do the conservative thing, given the consequences of messing up.
Yumm.
Yumm.
Time to give Dave the camera now.
Free from the deep constriction, the slope widened and curved to the left. I finally got a good view down, and
saw that we were probably through the toughest spot. The angle became a little less here (I measured
40 degrees, on what we called the "flat" section).
Cruising in the flat section.
At each rest spot, we stared at each other and smiled, in amazement at the
fantastic conditions. It's going to sound like shameless chest-beating, but this was
just the most aesthetic route either of us had ever skied, and it wasn't letting up - quality
all the way down.
Our turns echoed off the orange walls, and carried us down through the powder.
The odd geology of the place made it so that looking down the hallway had white walls, but looking
back up everything was orange rock.
Me somewhere lower down.
Finally, after nearly an hour of skiing in "slot world", without being able to see the ends,
the slope veered to the right, and the valley bottom was within sight.
Here, the
occasional hard chunk of buried debris tried to trip us up, but also the powder became lighter.
From whence we came?
It's almost over, it's almost over...
About three hundred feet above the valley floor, we cut left out of the debris fan of the couloir,
into 10 inches of smooth light powder,
bobbing down around covered boulders. We collapsed in happy exhaustion a short
ways above the stream bed. I broke out the olives. Dave said: "That was the best run of my life."
Our tracks are just barely visible coming down the slope.
With our powder, couloir and food appetites satisfied, our attention now turned to the way out.
The most likely way back was the basin to the west,
except I was worried about having to skin up shady avy-prone slopes to the ridge top.
It was the only option we were willing to consider though, as the others all had rather high
suck factors.
Just need to get over this little hump.
A small piece of what we skied is visible in the upper left.
At 2pm, we began the skin up a narrow gully. Soon we crested it into a large bowl. There
was an impressive amount of debris in the bowl, too much to have come from a snow slough.
It appeared to be from the previous weekend's cold snow, lightly covered by just a few
inches of fresh snow.
A large slab must have been the culprit, although it was unclear from where it had come. A short couloir
at the head of the left side of the bowl, with a wide headwall above, seemed to be the most probable place.
It made me a little uneasy - would there still be windslab up there?
Skinning back up, with Golden Horn and Azurite peak
in the background.
Our route took us up the right side of the bowl, but in the flat light it was difficult to
ascertain the slope angles ahead. A quick pit showed a really good bond to the old crust about
a foot down. That helped relax me a bit, and I led the way through stable-feeling snow to the
crest of the ridge.
Home free! Only 3200ft to descend back to the highway. The first thousand feet had some
nice powder. So did the next thousand feet - unfortunately there was no snowpack to support
this tasty topping, so a switch was done to boot mode. At around 6pm, we popped out onto
the highway, and the day was done.
Map.
Dave performing a snow crystal analysis.
