Utah a la Cascadia
Posted: Tue Dec 27, 2011 4:56 am
Cascade Mountain is one of the behemoths of the south Wasatch frequently overlooked by the powder hungry whordes of the central region of the range. Though it is big and worthy of ski attention, it is rarely trod upon by sliders on sticks. Being named Cascade, all of its trailheads accordingly are located at an unreasonably low elevation which, as Cascadians know, equates to relief. We determined it of utmost good judgement to tackle this peak via Bunnell's Fork and its 5,400' of vertical.
Due to the acute lack of snow, my Utahn sliding brethren are eager for any opportunity for self-punishment, apparently believing such behavior will cause the gods and goddesses of snow to take pity and bless them with ample coverage and plentiful bounty. Truly such beliefs are understandable at this point as a miraculous snow cycle will be needed to heal the feet of facets covering the high, NE through NW slopes of this desert range.
And so it was that as the phone call went out for willing sacrifices, the numbers grew rapidly until a desperate group of 7 disciples was assembled. Leftover Christmas ham sandwiches were assembled as well, and soon we were at the trailhead. Though snow was thin, we changed from shoes to boots after about an hour and followed the log-filled gorge up into the alpine. It was a long day with challenging and morale-stealing crusts and shrubery and facets. At times it felt like we were skinning up sand dunes of ice, the track filling in behind us, leaving the same type of travel for the seventh person as for the first. But the promise of salvation lured us onward to a icy and windy summit. And there was great rejoicing.
The descent was a blessing. High quality turns in knee-deep sugar were occasionally interspersed with crusts and windboard, but in general the turns were smooth and fast. Lower still, navigating the gullies normally filled with meters upon meters of avalanche debris was a routefinding bushwacking self-flagellation ritual. Despite the difficulties the good snow far outweighed the bad, and we all felt lucky to ski such an impressive route in reasonable conditions.
We retrieved our shoes, finding suspicious twigs in our boots and footprints all around. My parents and girlfriend, Mia, had been hiking in the area and watched us summit and ski through binoculars from their lower vantage - we met them later for dinner and stories. Hiking through the woods that final mile on a low snow year in the dark wasn't so bad with 7 good friends doing it together. Sacrificial ski tour complete, we now look to all powerful NOAA hoping for prophesies of better times.
Cascade Mountain seen from home in Midway. We skied the prominent snow face from the left of the two summits.
Brownies.
Whities.
Existential skin track high above the Heber Valley.
Summit ridge stokeout with Marq Diamond.
And Dr. Sterling.
Other rad terrain further south.
Prepare this.
Prepare that.
All together now?
The good.
The bad.
The end.
Due to the acute lack of snow, my Utahn sliding brethren are eager for any opportunity for self-punishment, apparently believing such behavior will cause the gods and goddesses of snow to take pity and bless them with ample coverage and plentiful bounty. Truly such beliefs are understandable at this point as a miraculous snow cycle will be needed to heal the feet of facets covering the high, NE through NW slopes of this desert range.
And so it was that as the phone call went out for willing sacrifices, the numbers grew rapidly until a desperate group of 7 disciples was assembled. Leftover Christmas ham sandwiches were assembled as well, and soon we were at the trailhead. Though snow was thin, we changed from shoes to boots after about an hour and followed the log-filled gorge up into the alpine. It was a long day with challenging and morale-stealing crusts and shrubery and facets. At times it felt like we were skinning up sand dunes of ice, the track filling in behind us, leaving the same type of travel for the seventh person as for the first. But the promise of salvation lured us onward to a icy and windy summit. And there was great rejoicing.
The descent was a blessing. High quality turns in knee-deep sugar were occasionally interspersed with crusts and windboard, but in general the turns were smooth and fast. Lower still, navigating the gullies normally filled with meters upon meters of avalanche debris was a routefinding bushwacking self-flagellation ritual. Despite the difficulties the good snow far outweighed the bad, and we all felt lucky to ski such an impressive route in reasonable conditions.
We retrieved our shoes, finding suspicious twigs in our boots and footprints all around. My parents and girlfriend, Mia, had been hiking in the area and watched us summit and ski through binoculars from their lower vantage - we met them later for dinner and stories. Hiking through the woods that final mile on a low snow year in the dark wasn't so bad with 7 good friends doing it together. Sacrificial ski tour complete, we now look to all powerful NOAA hoping for prophesies of better times.
Cascade Mountain seen from home in Midway. We skied the prominent snow face from the left of the two summits.
Brownies.
Whities.
Existential skin track high above the Heber Valley.
Summit ridge stokeout with Marq Diamond.
And Dr. Sterling.
Other rad terrain further south.
Prepare this.
Prepare that.
All together now?
The good.
The bad.
The end.