Cascade-Johannesburg Couloir ski
18 April 2003
Cascade Pass is to the left of the photo. CJ Couloir joins the col 1/4 from the right side of the image. Photo taken during approach to Eldorado Peak in March 2004.
This was my first trip to the Cascade Pass area. That is, my first successful trip. Jason Hummel and I were going to attempt the couloir a few weeks before, but we were thwarted by a large, fallen old-growth tree across the road eight miles ahead of our destination. What's more, I had not intended to do anything on a Friday during this quarter of school, but I could not resist when I heard Jason Humel and Ben Manfredi were both thinking of doing something. In the end, I think Jason was obsessed with the couloir, and Ben was not too sure about the snow conditions (avalanche danger). The NWAC forecast was low to moderate, and I was willing to take a look if nothing else.
We reached the second gate, which was closed, just past mile 21. It was raining lightly, and it was five-early in the morning. We were both feeling the effects of damp motivation, and we took a forty five minute nap. We awoke to more rain, so Jason showed me some slides, mostly pictures from his trip to Mt Larrabee with Ben the weekend before. I saw pictures of skiing and climbing in terrible visibility, which looked like all of my recent trips. I promptly nodded my head for another half hour of shut-eye. The next time I awoke, I was beginning to feel bad about sitting there. Jason must have felt that way too, because with a paucity of words we exited the truck and prepared ourselves.
CJ Couloir from Cascade River Road, February 2006
The rain had changed to snow, which was good, but still not exactly what we hoped to see. After a couple switchbacks up the road, one avalanche debris crossing, and one crossing of an impressive landslide, I was grateful to take the skis off the heavy pack and skin up the remainder of the road. I was new here, so I was a bit worried about passing the spot, but I stopped at the obviously correct place where the road switchbacked within a dozen yards of the creek and an inestimable pile of avalanche debris. The clouds obscured all views of the behemoth above us, so I waited for Jason's assessment. He thought the spot looked correct, and the clouds were starting to lift just a little. I retreived the topo, and it looked like this switchback was indeed the only possibility. Without further ado, we left the skins beside the road and hiked into the void.
The clouds opened enough to assure us we were headed for the right couloir by the time we got to the base. We stopped below a rock band to get our crampons. We didn't know that we would need crampons, but we didn't want to stop during the next stretch for any reason. The possibility of big rocks tumbling off the cliffy faces above the couloir, house-sized seracs perched precariously on the Sill glacier, and constant sluffs down all the gullies funnelling into the couloir gave our imaginations plenty to do while we plodded up the steepening snow. Jason sounded like a broken record, reminding me to stay as far to the left as possible. I reassured him that I had heard his admonitions, and let him know he was free to break out of my track and head further left if he felt the need.
Jason took a short turn at the helm when I started slowing. Then I took another turn. Then Jason again, and this time when I caught him the clouds finally lifted. We could see that we were nearly out of the Sill's firing range, and the top of the couloir looked like it was only a stone's throw from us. I removed my pack to get the camera, and told Jason to make a move so my 135mm lens could get some scenery along with him. (It's pretty hilarious I had a 135mm lens with me, and a crappy one at that.) I took my time getting everything loaded again, along with a good break for a drink. When I finally caught Jason, the snowpack felt considerably different. I took a turn in front, and it was all I could do to take the smallest step without everything giving way under me and putting me lower than before my effort. After a pitiful stretch, Jason took the lead again.
Jason was making progress somehow. I was swimming behind him, and I don't think I could have gotten anywhere without his tunnel. Of course, to my defense I will remind everyone that I weigh thirty pounds more than twinkle-toes, and I had the rope and some pro in my pack. The next time I caught him, we were in the middle of a cloud. The slope had steepened considerably, and it was now in the vicinity of fifty degrees. Jason said something about how slabby the snow felt. I tried to push forward, but my contribution was even less impressive than the previous one. I was beginning to feel the fear. We weren't too sure about trying to get on our skis on the slope, we didn't know if we could manage to get to the top, and by now we were really petrified by the thought of avalanches either way.
Jason took the lead again. I asked him if he thought he should use his gloves. He said his hands were fine. I would have never asked that until recently, but I am always thinking about my hands since my frostbite incident. Jason forged a path like a mythological hero. I could barely manage to follow. He scouted the drifts in his circumference for the most consolidated section, and kept moving. We could now see the cornice at the col, and a bulge in front of it. Jason found a path that offered a little more stability where debris swept down a sixty degree gully. There was a rectangular trough we could follow, but it took us up the side of the couloir instead of over the bulge. I caught Jason, and he was frozen in panic. His hands were on the verge of frostbite from having to plant them in the snow to climb, and the slope was too steep and insecure for him to remove his pack, much less fetch his gloves from the depths. My hands were toasty in my OR Mutant Mits, so I gave him the shells and pressed ahead wearing only my glove liners.
I followed the next gully to its top, where I was able to traverse to the col. I was sure that I must have been standing on snow accumulated above a cliff. One of my steps went through the snow to reveal the black depths of a moat to confirm this fact. I gave Jason a warning, and took my next few steps gingerly. It wasn't over, but I was happy to be out of the frying pan and into the fire.
Left: Sky climbs a runnel.
Right: Jason traverses to the col in Sky's mittens.
Sky gets ready to make a first turn
Jason skis with avalanche debris 3000 ft below him
Above the couloir, we talked about how Ben was right about the unconsolidated snow. I listened to the Blue Oyster Cult in my head, "Don't fear the Reaper." I knew we would be going to the bottom of the couloir soon, the only question was whether it would be in a large pile of snow or cruising on our skis.
We approached the skier's left side of the col. Jason entered first, and a few blocks tumbled down as he went over the roll at the end of the cornice. I joined him momentarily. He was going to take a picture, so I made a jump turn. Here it is, and... nothing but a little four inch slab. Now don't get too comfortable. Don't start banging big turns. Don't ski over into the deep fluffy stuff on the left. And don't look now, but we just might make it.
I won't tell you that we skied the couloir in the greatest of style. We were still mostly thinking about not setting off a big slide with each given turn. My legs were in agony from the climb, and we didn't take any meaningful rest at the col because we wanted to start the descent while the visibility was still (relatively) good. Nevertheless, we made turns all the way down the thing. I guess that goes with the exception of the spots where Jason tried to ski on his helmet.
I had Jason ski further toward the side so I could get a picture of him skiing with the lower couloir in view. He started a sluff in the more powdery snow on the side, and he took a short ride. Too bad there's not much contrast in the picture, but trust me, it's spectacular. That's a very direct three thousand vertical feet to the avalanche debris below him.
We made our way down the world of avalanche debris that comprises the lower couloir with as much speed as we could muster. I stopped when my legs got to burning so bad that I was about to injure myself skiing. Then I started skiing again before they really felt any better. The seracs of the Sill Glacier were a great motivating force.
I almost fell in the creek while I crossed it to return to the road. Not that I would have cared too much at that point, but I'm glad I didn't. We threw our packs on the ground by the road, and I proceeded to scream like a man without wits. This was some kind of feeling. I took the trek back to the truck really slowly, stopping for pictures every minute or two. After skiing the couloir, I was only now being treated to my first views of the unruly slopes of Johannesburg. Hanging glaciers above cliffs left me questioning what else could be done on this untamed beauty. But alas, it was time to relax and admire the patches of blue sky with which the afternoon blessed us.