I was having some difficulty finding a trip partner this holiday season. I went and did some solo touring in DEEP powder before Christmas, and found my confidence to be waning while going solo, so I scrambled to find someone to help me take advantage of the good stability and sunshine. It seemed as though everyone was out of town, but then an idea (cue light bulb), I must have friends that live out of town that are back on the coast visiting relatives! I harassed some more people and struck gold. John was back in Vancouver from Fernie, and a plan to ski the Joffre Couloir on Saturday (the 29th) was hatched. I hoped that it was sheltered enough to leave us with epic powder.
The weather was supposed to gradually improve throughout the day, with clear skies forecast for the afternoon, there didn't seem to be any huge rush. We left the car shortly before 8am and were treated to the occasional view of Joffre through breaks in the clouds.
On approach to the Anniversary, I counted 14 people ahead of us on the glacier (some are out of picture on the bottom left)!
Everyone seemed to be heading up the Joffre Pocket (lookers right of the Anniversary), I wondered if they knew something we didn't. Were they trying to do the standard scramble route up the peak? I wondered if the Aussie wasn't in good condition. But it wasn't true, the Aussie was probably in the best mid-winter climbing shape I've seen it. Nothing over boot top trail breaking, it was great. While waiting at the top of the Aussie, the group that had led the way up the Joffre Pocket had done a run, then followed our tracks and met us up there. It turns out Juya was amongst them, so we stopped and chatted and hung out on the summit for almost an hour while the weather cleared.
By 2, the clouds parted and it was time to go.
I took a couple pictures of Juya's group skiing down the Aussie, then turned my attention to the Joffre Couloir.
I wasn't sure of the exact spot to rap, but I saw the distinct snow ramp that Andy used a couple years ago on his birthday ski. It looked to be in shape, so we decided to go for the 'sans rap' option. There was a VERY airy slope that led down to the snow ramp. We carefully picked our way down it. The ramp looked good. There was a pretty sharp transition to the slope at the bottom of the ramp, so I carefully started side-stepping down it till I felt a hollow sound of ice. Yuck. I had no interest in testing the integrity of rotten ice over crazy exposure. I straightened the skis and stopped with a thump at the bottom of the ramp. The snow felt REALLY good. There was a 5cm layer of new snow with a bit of a wind skin on it that was fracturing easily, but the snow underneath was pure coastal magic; 4F density, but super consolidated.
I hammered the pick of my axe into a crack, since John had to follow my sketchy maneuver without as much snow, and put a "safety" tether on it. John executed the snow ramp without incident, and I led the way across another airy traverse.
Time to ski!
But first. Some background. I bought some of the NTN Freedom bindings in September, excited about a potentially releasable binding that could save my knee from further carnage. Although I had already gotten 5 or 6 days on them so far this season, I wanted to test them out on something steep. Saturday seemed like as good a day as any. The NTN works by clamping around the "duck butt" of NTN compatible boots. When you initially click in, you default into tour mode, and must push the pink tab flush with the ski in order to "lock" it into ski mode. By doing this, you place a block under the toe, that restricts it from rotating down, thus forcing you to use the springs, creating tele mode. When I initially clicked into my skis, I banged as much snow and ice out of the binding as I could, simply as a best practice from other tele bindings.
So, on my fourth turn in the couloir (a left handed turn), it was a little narrow, so I landed my turn on the harder snow where sluff had wiped away the powder and expected to run it out into the softer snow. As I hit the softer snow, my weight was thrown forward slightly. No big deal. Then I heard a click, and I felt my left (uphill) foot fly up as if I had lost a ski. This in turn threw all my weight awkwardly onto my right leg. I tried to correct my balance, but as if in slow motion, I felt my weight go over the plumb line, and I realized that I didn't have enough room for error here. I fell head first, face up. Probably the worst way to fall. I quickly stuck my arm out as I began to slide and corrected my body so I could self arrest. I felt my feet grab, and I slowed, but the slope was too steep, and there was no chance of me keeping my body against the snow to stop. I toppled over my feet again, and began what I thought could have been the first of many tomahawks. But somehow, potentially while upside down. I jabbed my arm deep into the snow. I twisted awkwardly on my shoulder and felt a quick pain and that numb disconnected feeling you get when you dislocate something, and suddenly came to a stop. I waited; expecting to roll over again, but nothing happened. I stood up on my feet and moved my arm. It was painful, but not too bad. Somehow it hadn't fully popped out, and seemed to be strong enough still to use. It's been worse. I quickly realized that my left ski had not just released, it had instead popped into tour mode with the force on the ski as my weight was thrown forward. Although it cams slightly to "lock" into place, this doesn't seem like enough in extraneous circumstances. I pushed it back into ski mode and side stepped down and to collect my poles. My ice-axe had been in my harness for quick access in any icy spots, but had fallen out when I fell. Here John retrieves it for me.
I realize how lucky I am. There was no skill in how I stopped, it was pure luck. I will have to repay the mountain karma somehow. It would have been a very long way to fall, and would not have ended well.
I decided to side step any of the narrow sections where there was questionable snow, but still did turns on the majority of the couloir, albeit rather cautiously. We both took things slowly, and put a strain on the clock.
John, with an uncanny resemblance to Elroy Jetson. Atleast he's still smiling.
We still had time to enjoy the snow
John contemplates the late hour and uses the antenna on his head to pick up alien signals regarding the Mayan apocalypse about to happen on the glacier below once the sun sets.
Night time glacier antics ensued. Including: dusk bergschrund hopping, retrieving a backpack from the edge of a crevasse, & skiing roped up in the dark (embarrassing, but it was really dark and they were hard to see). The moon finally came up when we were off the broken part of the glacier. But a little late to help us with navigating the tight sections of thinly covered crevasses. The beer tasted extra good.
The next day Stefan & I skied some super fun powder on Fissile. It was nice to relax a bit after that one.
