Now - Off

Transcription

Now - Off

Priceless
Rat Tales
Weak Layers
Reudi Beglinger
In Search of Telemark
Splitboarding and more
Issue XLIV
January 2010
2 Off-Piste January 2010
Off-Piste
Volume XI Issue XLIV
Publisher/Editor
David Waag
Assistant Editor
Omar Sankari
Copy Edit
Karen Holt
Design Consultant
Ullr
Contributing Writers
Jarl Berg, Peter Bronski, Cate Doucette, Larry Goldie,
Mark Hartley, Conor Hurley, Leigh Pender Jones,
Andy Roof, David Waag, Wendy Wagner
Contributing Photographers/Artists
Ruedi Beglinger, Jay Beyer, William Cotton, Ryan Creary,
Grant Gunderson, Bissell Hazen, Conor Hurley,
Jason Laramie, Jason Leslie, Fredrik Marsater,
Hamish Moore, Dan Wilder
Web Geek
Karen Holt
Printing & Distribution
Oregon Litho, McMinnville, OR
Off-Piste PO Box 1626 Hood River, OR 97031
509-999-2208 [email protected]
www.offpistemag.com
All Content Copyright 2010 Freeheel Press
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The opinions expressed in Off-Piste do not necessarily represent those
of the publisher or editorial staff. Closed minds are dangerous. No part
of Off-Piste may be reproduced in any form without prior written consent
from Freeheel Press.
Warning: Backcountry skiing is inherently dangerous. It may well cause
disruption in your otherwise normal life. Off-Piste is no substitute for
honest field experience and sound judgement. Be careful out there.
Contents
features
8
A Pilgrimage to Morgedal, Norway - Jarl Berg
10
A Ski Bum at Heart
12
Rat Tales
14
Dynafit For Splitboarding
20
Diamonds are a Skiers Best Friend
A Conversation with Ruedi Beglinger - Conor Hurley
Roughing it in the BC Backcountry - Cate Doucette
The Ultimate Rig for Big Mountain Splitboarding - Mark Hartley
The Diamond Peaks Ski Patrol - Peter Bronski
departments
6
What’s Up
7
16
22
24
26
Letters
28
Gear Talk - Insulated Jackets
Gallery
Ask The PT - Proprioception
Avy 101 - Indentifying Weak Layers
Backcountry Beta - Greenhousing
Cover Photo: Jay Beyer
Skier: Will Cardamone, Takshanuk Mountains, Alaska
Issue XLIV Off-Piste 3
First Tracks
We drive up the road to the trailhead, gear up, and break a fresh trail through the woods, yesterday’s skin track just a memory
in the snow. Alternating leads, we notice the snow getting deeper and the wind growing stronger as we gain elevation.
It is February, and we are four guys stuffed into a single motel room for a long weekend of ski touring. There is no new snow
in town, but the mountains have been socked in for two days. The skiing has been ideal: the snow is boot-top to mid-calf deep,
and the avalanche hazard is moderate. The visibility has been mixed, but we have managed to find good skiing every day. We
are all family guys, and four days away ski touring sans families is a serious coup. Like clockwork, we wake up, eat breakfast,
and are out the door, coffee in hand, by seven each morning.
Today is no different, but strong winds add a new element to our day’s plans. Our original destination is likely loaded with windtransported snow, and we decide the best skiing will be across the drainage. We adjust our route and head for the far ridge.
It takes a little longer, but we gain the ridge, and, just as we had hoped, the snow is soft and the skiing is excellent, with cold
smoke billowing in our wakes. Our next lap sets us up for a new uptrack route. The snow is deep and the trailbreaking slow.
Again, we trade off leads. My turn comes up, and soon I am lured away from the trees by easier traveling in the wind-affected,
open terrain at the edge of a bowl.
I make a couple of forays into the open, testing the snowpack with my skis and poles. There is less new snow, and the traveling
is much easier. Pretty soon, I have cut a couple of switchbacks into the edge of the bowl. I make a third and notice an abrupt
change in the snow; it has become hollow-sounding, with a firm surface. I decide it is not a good place to be, and advise
the others to hold off on following and to remain in the trees. I turn myself around and traverse toward the safety of the
trees. Simultaneously, a slab cuts loose from my high point and heads down the slope over the track I just left behind.
Looking back on this incident, I am reminded of how fortunate it was that we were all out of harm’s way and that the
slab was relatively shallow and small. Nonetheless, we had ventured where we had all earlier agreed we shouldn’t.
I was lured out into the bowl by easier traveling, and no one questioned my judgment. It was a textbook human
factor trap in action. We were all caught up in the moment; trying to get another run. We had lost sight of the
bigger picture, a picture we had all earlier agreed presented higher hazard in the open terrain and was worth
avoiding. After the slide, we kept our skin track tucked safely in the trees, and, in the end, we had a great
ski day.
Our experience serves as a good reminder of how important it is to communicate, mind the big
picture, and not to be seduced into dangerous terrain by an easier route or better skiing. Food for
thought, now get out there and ski.
Cheers,
Dave
Larry Deaver keeps the big picture in focus ... ski powder snow ... the Monashees, BC
Photo: David Waag
What’s Up
ski news, access issues, and more
Skiing with The Big Gun
By Conor Hurley
Rogers Pass, British Columbia,
straddles the crest of the Selkirk
Range, serves as a corridor
for the Trans-Canada highway,
and offers some of the burliest
roadside attraction skiing in
North America. Avalanches
have menaced the area since
its genesis. The steep walls of
the Selkirk Mountains and the
legendarily deep snows that
fall upon them create a formula
for massive, destructive, and
sometimes deadly avalanches.
Over 200 people have lost their
lives to snow slides since trains
started rolling through the
corridor in 1885.
Since 1965, a Canadian artillery
regiment with a 105-millimeter
Howitzer, under the direction of
the Avalanche Control Service
(ACS), has worked to mitigate
avalanche hazards for highway
and railway operations. Parks
Canada has also maintained a
permit system for backcountry
skiers to manage and restrict
access during times of avalanche
control.
This year Parks Canada and the
ACS have revised the winter permit
system to reduce the possibility of an incident involving skiers
and artillery fire. The new system includes changes to winter
restricted and prohibited area boundaries, parking, and permit
registration.
The changes come as a result of expanding terrain use by skiers
and the need to separate skiers from control work. All skiers
must obtain a winter permit. This is a change from the previous
system, in which a single skier could get a permit for a group.
There are two types of permits – daily and annual – and both are
free and available at the Rogers Pass Discovery Center.
The annual permit requires attending an orientation session,
agreeing to a waiver of liability and indemnity, and accepting
specific terms and conditions. Orientation sessions for annual
winter permits will be held at the Rogers Pass Discovery Center
on most Thursday and Saturday afternoons.
Rogers Pass, BC, big terrain, big consequences. Photo: Off-Piste
Today, an annual permit holder can find out about permit area
closures via cell phone or internet while en route, without having
to stop at the Rogers Pass Discovery Center (pull over or have a
passenger make the call). Ideally, the new system will mean less
driving for regular Rogers Pass skiers.
For public safety purposes, a 1,000-meter standoff from artillery
targets is being strictly enforced. Thus, popular ski touring areas
such as Grizzly Shoulder and McGill Shoulder are now winter
permit areas. Along with the addition of new permit areas, some
previously closed terrain is now open to skier access. Violators of
the winter permit system face fines of up to $2,000, which will be
handed out by the recently armed park wardens.
For full details on boundaries and how to get a permit, check out
www.pc.gc.ca/glacier or call (250) 837-SKIS.
27 meters straight ahead.
Any questions?
Photo: Doug Chabot/GNFAC
Now’s not the time to wish you’d read the manual.
Clear distance and direction. Fast processing.
No questions. No bull.
Ease-of-use and proven reliability make the Tracker DTS
the most widely used avalanche beacon in North America.
Tracker DTS: ease of use when it matters most.
For more information on avalanche beacons and education, check out backcountryaccess.com/education
Backcountry Access, Inc.
Boulder, Colorado USA
800.670.8735
Letters
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LONG LIVE FOWLER HILLIARD
Thank you for the article on the tragic fire at FowlerHilliard recently. The hut will always hold a special spot
in my memory. In 1999, after a single telemark lesson in
Sierra cement, I ventured up the trail from just outside
of Leadville on 198cm TUA Tele-Sauvages with Black Diamond
Pitbull bindings and Scarpa T2’s (I still use the boots)
and a heavy pack for the long slog up - it was my debut in
the backcountry.
I was with some old college buddies who had taught me
to alpine ski in New England after I ventured away from
Midwestern landfills. They had all taken up telemarking
in the early 90’s, and I was determined to be able to ski
with them again.
I arrived just before dark and was amazed at the place.
For a hut, it seemed to have it all: two stoves,
photovoltaic powered lighting, a great bunk room.
Lots of card games, a few beers, and great food made
life inside grand. Outside, the snow was deep and still
falling. We skied three days. Actually, I mostly skied a
few turns, fell, got up, and repeated ‘til I stumbled out
one of the drainages to our car.
I was hooked. They can replace with a yurt, the classic
hut, or a new design. All are fine by me as that weekend,
the friends, skiing, and the epicenter of it all at
Fowler-Hilliard will always be with me.
Steve Troyer
Saratoga, CA
MAN’S BEST FRIEND
As an avid backcountry skier (68 days last season) who
takes my dog as often as possible, I have encountered many
hostile folks on the trail who just don’t like dogs. The
usual complaints are:
off-piste letters - po box 1626 hood river, or 97031
[email protected]
1.) dog poop
2.) dog tracks on the trail
3.) bad experience as a child
People poop on the trails too, so don’t assume its dog
poop you just skinned over. Snowshoers, snowboarders
and boot-packers punch holes in the track, too. If we
banned people from the backcountry, just think how great
the skiing would be! We have all had bad experiences as
children; get help and get over it. Most dog-related
problems in the backcountry aren’t dog problems, they’re
owner problems!
Thanks for a great publication.
Ross Greenfield
Ashland, OR
I am an avid reader and longtime subscriber to OffPiste. I enjoy every issue, and the December 2009 issue
was no exception. The fun “One More…” piece about skiing
with one’s dog, however, raises the question of good dog
etiquette in the backcountry.
I pass no judgment on the author and his ski companion,
but I urge everyone who enjoys skiing with their canine
pets to be respectful of the experience of others in the
backcountry.
Please keep your dogs in control, clean up after them, and
respect the space of others who do not enjoy the same bond
with your pet as you do.
With that in mind, take as many laps as you can.
Jason Crocker
Denver, CO
“Telemark … it’s a place in Norway!” I have heard this
for years. Being born and raised in a third-generation NorwegianAmerican family that has owned and operated the same ski shop for
many years, I have always wondered – is Telemark really only a place
in Norway?
Growing up on alpine ski gear, I first stepped into telemark boots one
fateful day in 1992. I was a senior in high school, and my dad came
to my twin brother and me to tell us we were going to start selling
something called telemark skis at the shop and that he would like us
to give them a try. It sounded interesting to me, and the shop’s longtime Nordic guru pulled us under his wing for the day. In no time, I
was hooked!
A lot has changed since 1992. The early days of leather boots and
skinny skis have been replaced by plastic boots and wide skis. Given
my alpine skiing background, I easily transitioned into the more
powerful gear. Last spring I attended a telemark clinic; it was the first
time I actually pursued lessons. The experience was eye-opening, to
say the least, but what I found interesting was how often I heard the
quote, “Telemark is just a place in Norway.” My plans to visit Norway
and my extended family were already in place last spring, but little
did I know that my journey would set me on a course to achieve a
lifetime goal, as well as clear up this mess about what Telemark really
is. This was the year I would make the pilgrimage to Morgedal in the
Telemark region of Norway and visit the little farm called Øverbø –
home to Sondre Norheim, the godfather of modern-day skiing.
My journey begins with a cast of two characters: my cousin – a
passionate Norwegian telemark skier/instructor, and me – a
passionate American telemark skier. We have talked about this
journey for years, but have never seemed to find the time for the idea
until now. In a time when both of us are losing friends to fixed-heel
bindings or other life pursuits, we still hold strong to our love for the
crazy sport we call telemark. What drives us to keep pursuing this
sport we love when we know there is an easier way? This is the story
of our quest to find out.
As we drive northeast from Stavanger, Norway, we’re like little
children on Christmas morning – not knowing what will be under the
tree, but knowing it’s going to be something good. We drive full of
anticipation. The trip north is lush with stunning scenery, memorable
vistas, and family history. Although anxious to reach our destination,
we savor the journey, visit with friends, and stay overnight in a
wonderful cabin in the middle of nowhere.
As we rise up over the last mountain from Sirdal (where my family
Story - Jarl Berg
Images - Hamish Moore
homestead is) to Setesdal, and on into Telemark, we start to feel
it – the energy of Telemark. Everywhere I look is a skier’s paradise.
The landscape is ripe with wonderful hills and endless valleys spotted
with small lakes. It is all so wonderful that I think it can’t get any
better until I come around a corner and there it stands – a statue of
Sondre Norheim, father of the telemark turn. I have been dreaming
about this moment for more years than I can remember, and the
feeling is greater than I ever expected. Sondre Norheim stands alone,
holding his skis, a symbol of his contribution to the sport of skiing
and a beacon to the world for what took place in this valley. Next to
him an eternal flame burns and reminds us that his spirit lives on in
this valley. We spend a few moments with Sondre enjoying the view,
taking pictures, and reveling in the spirit of the moment.
Feeling fully immersed in the moment, we continue on to the
museum, where even more treats are in store and where we find the
heart of our journey. The museum offers a window into the life of
Sondre Norheim and his accomplishments. Wooden skis, some built
by Sondre, hang on the walls, creating a rich atmosphere. Sondre was
a very talented woodworker, making everything from skis to furniture
to fiddles.
Sondre’s workshop is full of tools, and this is where the magic really
starts to come alive as I imagine Sondre working away, ever-socarefully making the perfect skis. People of the Telemark region were
the first to have shaped skis, and some say Sondre is the reason.
The workbench and tools make Sondre’s life look so simple, yet I feel
his importance in the history of skiing, since he really was the catalyst
for telemark skiing today.
Onward we wander through the museum. Christmas morning has
arrived for us, and we enjoy all the museum has to offer. The
museum is bursting with the history of the region and skiing. The
many explorers and ski racers from Norway and the Telemark region
have done great things – Roald Amundsen, Fridtjof Nansen, and Erling
Kagge, to name just a few. It is torturous to immerse oneself in skiing
during the heat of the summer, but it gets us excited for what’s to
come. Our journey through time continues, and everything points the
way toward the end of our pilgrimage – the homestead where Sondre
honed his skills as a skier and changed the world of winter sports
forever.
We walk on. A small sign requests five kroner. It makes me laugh,
as the keys to Sondre’s cabin just hang beside the sign. Drop your
money in the little box and off you go. The casual nature of the
moment seems a little strange until I remember that it’s Norway. The
police don’t even carry guns.
Telemark is a place in Norway, but it is so much more. It’s a spirit, a passion; it’s that person
following you up the skin track or sitting next to you on the lift.
When we reach the sign of the family
farm, I understand why Sondre loved
it here in Overbo so much. The hills
just yearn to be climbed, and, more
importantly, to be skied down.
Up the hill we go. All we can see is an old dirt road,
picturesque old houses, and farmland. Gaining the hill,
we enter a forest reminiscent of Hansel and Gretel fairy
tale images. When we reach the sign of the family farm, I
understand why Sondre loved it here in Øverbø so much.
The hills just yearn to be climbed, and, more importantly, to
be skied down. I am sure it was like a game to someone like
Sondre to ski from place to place. He even skied to school
when he was young (just as my grandfather did). He had to
be strong and adventurous to ski in these hills.
I contemplate the ultimate purpose of our journey – the
search for why Telemark is so much more than a place. It
sounds strange and a bit corny, but this place is magical. Not
your normal go-on-a-hike-and-see-a-piece-of-history special,
but so much more … I feel I am standing in Sondre’s boots as
I stand atop the hill above his house. Looking into the valley
below, I feel as if I am waiting for the first flakes to fall. Just
standing here I share the wonder and excitement that Sondre
must have felt as he strapped on his skis. The next thing you
know he is jumping over the barn sitting before us, flying
down the hill, slapping the cows as he passes. I can hear the
hooting and hollering coming from the valley. Truly magical!
So, what is Telemark, you ask? Telemark is a place in Norway,
but it is so much more. It’s a spirit, a passion; it’s that person
following you up the skin track or sitting next to you on the
lift. Telemark is all around us, because it is us. I hope that
with our efforts, Telemark will live on for generations to come,
and Sondre’s spirit will grow larger with the years. Long live
Telemark!
Jarl Berg and his family own and operate Berg’s Ski Shop in
Eugene, Oregon.
Ruedi Beglinger
A Ski Bum at Heart
by Conor Hurley
I
t was a cold, wet, raw October morning when Ruedi
Beglinger came to my shop in Revelstoke, British
Columbia. Beglinger’s resume is intimidating: founder
and operator of Selkirk Mountain Experience, author of
Revelstoke’s climbing guidebook, and developer of countless
climbs – not to mention an impressive list of alpine routes and
ski descents to his credit. But as he came through the door, his
figure was more unassuming than one might expect. Standing
less than six feet tall, his stature is not grandiose, but his air
radiates confidence, and his body carries years of mountain
travel well.
Clad in a synthetic down jacket, toque, jeans, worn out
mountain boots, and a zip-up merino wool sweater, he began
to speak in a soft voice with a Swiss accent. He talked about
his 86-year-old father, who splits and stacks his own firewood,
and his mother, who loves walking in the snow even though she
has bad joints. Together, his parents instilled in Beglinger their
passion for nature and the omnipresent challenges it offers.
While he stood in front of me, his blue eyes peered out from
under his determined brow, and from them flew sparks as he
explained his passion for the mountains – the oneness one
can feel with a cliff while deciphering the characteristics of the
rock by moving up its steepness, or how it feels to break trail
through 50 centimeters of fresh alpine powder. Being part of
nature, he mused, was what his father did when he gave up
skiing a few years ago in order to ensure his ability to care for
his wife and her ailing joints. Closeness to nature is the essence
of life – to not only appreciate the extremes, but also the more
ordinary aspects.
Beglinger, raised in the Swiss Alps, began to rub his granitepolished hands together while his mind wandered off to the
summer of 1978 in Yosemite, California – the first he spent in
North America. The Yosemite Valley had a profound effect on
Beglinger’s life. The big granite domes opened his eyes to a
world beyond that of Europe. He returned to Winnipeg, Canada,
in June of 1980 to work – a job he quit after three days in order
Photos: Landscape image, Conor Hurley. All other images Ruedi Beglinger, selkirkexperience.com
•IN TUNE•
to head west and follow his passions. He found himself in Revelstoke,
British Columbia. The Columbia Mountains surround Revelstoke, with
the Monashees to the west and the Selkirks to the east. The area
offered the kind of opportunity and adventure that Beglinger wanted.
Beglinger lined up a job as a heli-ski guide with Selkirk Tangiers for
the following winter, bought a dark green Dodge van, and proceeded
to tour western North America, from Alaska to Yosemite. Later that
fall, he returned to Revelstoke dead broke and looking for powder to
ski.
“Did you ever consider yourself a ski bum?” I asked.
His face softened, and a smile arose as he replied, “I’d like to think I
still am one.”
A tool and die maker by trade, Beglinger, as a younger man, worked
to save money for ski and climbing trips. He sought out the most
challenging routes, pushing his limits and awakening his senses,
feeling alive.
Amidst vitality there is age, and along with it passions evolve. No
longer does Beglinger feel the need to push it all the time. He’s
learned to take pleasure in the whistle of the birds as he breaks trail
through a subalpine forest or the beauty of a snow spider crawling
out of the snow.
A twinkle in his eyes appears as he talks about the upcoming ski
season, his 29th in town. The steep peaks and sprawling glaciers of
the Northern Selkirks beckon a skier’s heart and soul at this time of
year. Beglinger has heeded the call. He is an internationally certified
mountain guide, and since 1985 has operated Selkirk Mountain
Experience (SME) and the Durand Glacier Chalet – a remote
backcountry ski lodge located on a ski touring island in the middle of
one of British Columbia’s biggest heli-ski tenures. Like many of his
accomplishments, SME took vision and hard work to bring to fruition.
At 55 years of age, Beglinger still breaks trail for his guests. His
program, which is centered on adventure, takes clients on tours
through spectacular Selkirk alpine terrain. “I am not interested in
yo-yoing the same slope all day long. It is human nature to venture
further, to go and see what is on the other side.”
For Beglinger, guiding was a means to turn his passion into a
lifestyle. “For me, everything is part of the passion, from building
sport climbing routes to multi-day ski traverses with clients. That is
what it is all about – being part of it.”
©
TUNE UP W I TH D OM A C OF F EE
W W W. D OM ACOFFEE. COM
I
stand above a steep rollover with a few stout evergreens and
peer down the slope. Aaron is below and to my right, staring
down the chute. Pointing his tips between the two cliffy
outcroppings, he disappears. I hear the swish and scrape of tight
turns. He speeds into the lower snowfield, carving fast, wide arcs,
snow plumes rising from the tails of his skis. Gathering my guts, I
hear a familiar chant echo in my head. I traverse into the short chute,
inhale, then “point ‘em and let the big dogs ride.” Emerging from the
narrow slot, I join Aaron in some scrub and turn to watch the others
send a last slice of the Nelson Range before nightfall.
The trip started like they all do – a scramble to pack and shop for
peppered beef jerky, Snickers, and batteries. By ten o’clock in the
morning, when Slack picked Krusty and me up, I was ready to get
away from Oregon’s Willamette Valley and into the mountains. First
we had to grab Aaron in Portland – we’d meet Jen and Travis on the
road. Although we’re all amateur skiers (meaning no one pays us to
do what we love), we’re professional ski enthusiasts. After a quick
check in Krusty’s driveway to make sure we had passports, beacons,
skis, skins, boots, and poles, the Vanagon rattled north to British
Columbia, and we were stoked for a backcountry hut adventure.
Despite the custom official’s surrley demeanor, we cross the boarder
without incident. Our group consists of one snowboarder and five tele
skiers. We have ditched work and school from four different Oregon
towns for a Friday-through-Wednesday ski junket to a small hut in
the Nelson Range in British Columbia. That night, on the outskirts
of town, we settle into our sleeping bags – images of skiing and
mountains filling our thoughts.
Saturday morning at 7:00 a.m. we are amped to head into the
backcountry. We top off our water bottles in the bathroom of the
general store/breakfast counter and buzz with anticipation of the day.
We are ready to roll when our contact shares the news, “I don’t know
if you guys will still want to go in there. My buddy says there’s a pack
rat that tore the place all to hell.”
“It’s livable, right?” Krusty asks, his eyes getting a little bigger. We
just drove twelve hours and plan to ski, rat or no. We exchange
nervous looks, but there is no doubt that we are going into the
mountains.
“Do you want us to bring in traps?” we ask.
“Traps?” Our contact looks stumped, as if this is the first time the
thought of trapping the rats has crossed his mind. “I don’t have any.”
Undaunted by the idea of a few rats, we mount snowmachines for
the first ten or so miles. Stuffed in our packs are maps, food, and
clothing for five days of skiing. We lean into the turns on our plywood
sleigh as our escort guns the snowmobile into the mountains. At one
steep pitch, he stands and yells through the engine noise, “If it gets
sketchy, jump off.” He makes an elaborate motion to demonstrate
how we should jump. The four of us in the sleigh exchange looks.
“What’s your definition of sketchy?” we holler back. He turns, and a
smile spreads across his tan, wrinkled face. “You’ll know sketchy when
you see it,” he yells as we skid down the hill.
It has not snowed in a week. We see the massive, intricate feathers
of hoar frost on the way in. Jagged crown lines stand out, extra-white
Crawling into our sleeping bags, we quickly find out that pack rats are nocturnal. Awake in the darkness we
listen to them, and frankly, it sounds like an entire herd. Apparently, they are called pack rats because they
travel in noisy, roving packs, and because they steal stuff and pack it away – a stellar combination.
on the steep slopes that surround us. We register the aspects where
snow has moved, and I take mental notes as we fly past big pines
and frosted trees. Fortunately, the stability is improving. We get
dropped off three miles from the hut and shoulder our big packs for
the last push into the wilderness.
An hour later we arrive at the hut. It is sunny and midday. The twostory structure resembles a missile silo. Its big metal roof wears
two feet of snow like a white toque, and the outside is wrapped in a
flapping blue tarp. The mountains spread upward all around us. There
is complete silence, and big faces stare blankly down at our group.
Rats or no, I am happy to be away from the whine of the road, ski
lifts, and everyone else.
The hut is quiet, dark, and cold. There are small turds everywhere.
Nothing looks clean. The bottle of dish soap we packed all the way
in gets dumped on the urine-stained counter next to a nearly full
bottle of … dish soap. The absence of windows makes the place dank,
and the yellow wall paint does little to brighten the mood. We hang
everything – sleeping bags, big packs, and clothing – so the rats
won’t get it. Stowing shovels, probes, water, and layers in our day
packs, we head out to investigate the terrain.
It is January 17. The south-facing terrain, baking in the sun, extends
everywhere. Bowls and aprons spread below cliffy faces and sharp
peaks. Features ranging from long, steep, open runs to really tight
trees loom above us. On the first afternoon we find a bit of crust up
high in the sun, but quickly descend to rip big turns into the softer
north faces. As we weave through trees down low, the snow just gets
better. Given the sublimation and the inversion, the thin shards of
hoar frost are soft beneath our skis. Each turn sounds like a broom
on broken glass and tinkles in the fading afternoon light.
We descend right to the hut in the approaching dark, enjoying steep
turns off the ridge. Whoops of joy crack the silence as we take turns
skiing. I watch Krusty lay out fast arcs in the cold snow feathers.
Once out of our ski boots, we hang gear to dry and scope out our
lodging. It becomes immediately clear that the kerosene heater
reeks, and we can’t have it inside the hut. There’s no apparent way to
turn it off, so we let it run out of fuel on the ice-glazed porch. A small
propane heater, along with the heat from melting water and making
dinner on the gas stove, will have to suffice. We’re all happy we’ve
brought down jackets.
Crawling into our sleeping bags, we quickly find out that pack rats
are nocturnal. Awake in the darkness we listen to them, and frankly,
it sounds like an entire herd. Apparently, they are called pack rats
because they travel in noisy, roving packs, and because they steal
stuff and pack it away – a stellar combination. They knock over dishes
and run up and down the stairs. They are in the walls, too, and if I am
not awake listening to them, I am dreaming of hundred-pound rats in
fitful bursts of sleep. Later, we find heaps of crap that the rats have
dragged up the stairs and through the walls and stashed. In clumsy
piles are parts of coffee makers, Slack’s de-icer, lighters, a small
bottle of olive oil, and a pilfered pack of cards.
January 18: We share our individual rat experiences over coffee in the
morning. My first mistake was choosing the top bunk. The mattress,
continued on page 30
S
plit snowboarding (splitboarding) is the most effective
method for snowboarders to tour in the backcountry. While
offering huge advantages over snowshoes and mini-skis, the
performance of the standard splitboard setup is still quite limited
in comparison to that of alpine touring (AT) ski gear. A growing
group of splitboarders are addressing performance limitations by
integrating a Dynafit AT binding toe-piece into the splitboard system.
A basic splitboard setup uses Voile Equipments hardware and
universal splitboard interface. The interface system uses slider plates
that are easily moved between brackets for touring and mounting
pucks for descending. The system is simple, durable, and functional.
Typically, a soft-boot binding is mounted on the slider plate, and the
rig slides downhill more or less like a regular snowboard.
When switched to touring mode, however, the deficiencies of the
system become obvious. First, the system is heavy. The slider plates
combined with the actual binding base plate create unnecessary
redundancy. Second, set up as is, the touring pivot point is behind
the big toe. This results in an unnatural stride and unnecessary
lifting of the whole system. When used with soft boots, the bindingboot interface is wide enough that following a well-beaten skin track
can be a real drag – literally. Finally, traditional snowboard boots and
bindings do not offer much lateral support. This is not a big deal for
snowboarding, but it is in ski mode! Splitboarders often find this out
the hard way, with difficult edging in hard conditions and marginal
control on downhill pitches that are too short to warrant switching to
board mode.
Many of the limitations of the basic system can be addressed by
using a hard boot with the traditional split system, but performance
can be further improved by integrating Dynafit AT binding technology
into the split system. This involves using Dynafit-compatible hard
boots (AT ski boots) and replacing Voile’s touring brackets with
Dynafit AT binding toe-pieces (ordered through your local Dynafit
dealer). With the hybrid Dynafit system, the Dynafit toe-piece
becomes the touring binding and the snowboard binding (the slider
plate with a hard-boot binding) gets stashed in the pack while
touring uphill. The hybrid Dynafit system is the best way to increase
the efficiency and performance of the splitboard, making it an
effective long-distance touring and glisse mountaineering tool.
The hybrid Dynafit system offers many advantages. One set of
advantages stems from the use of hard boots:
•Better skiability and edge control.
•Reduced width underfoot when touring, resulting in easier trail
breaking and easier following of established skin tracks.
•Quick & easy forward lean adjustment.
•Quick & easy engagement/release from bindings (Flow bindings
and other step-in systems offer this, but with other issues).
Mark Hartley puts his hybrid Dynafit sytem to use, Avalanche Mountain, Rogers Pass, BC.
Photo Conor Hurley
•Quick & easy entry into and exit from boots (Ever had
to dig away at frozen laces with freezing fingers while
overnighting?).
•Crampon-compatible boots with soles better suited to
technical climbing.
The Dynafit toe-piece advantages include:
•Significant weight savings on the uphill.
•Improved pivot point (keeps the ski on the snow with a
more natural stride).
•Ski crampon (www.bndskigear.com) transitions can be
made without removing skis.
•Easy on and off in touring mode (no bending over)
Together these improvements create a splitboard system
that is comparable to AT skiing for uphill efficiency. The
biggest drawback to this system is the cost of the numerous
components, and, for some, riding in hard boots.
Many snowboarders switched from skiing and loved the freedom
from their old clunky ski boots. Don’t stress about going
back to plastic. Lightweight three-buckle AT boots are very
different from downhill ski boots. Loosely buckled, they are
almost as soft as snowboard boots. Buckled snugly, they
ski much better. Some might remember years ago that
Damien Sanders proved you can jib in hard boots – even
while wearing brutally offensive Day-Glo. The production of
cants that work, either commercial or do-it-yourself (DIY),
would definitely help the jib factor. It really comes down to
a choice: do you want to go higher, faster, and further in the
mountains more easily, or do you want to ride shorter shots
in the backcountry, like it’s a natural jib park? Buy the ticket,
take the ride. It’s all one tribe, friends – one love. Do what
works for you.
Hybrid Dynafit splitboard rig in tour mode.
How to Tee Up a Dynafit Splitboard Rig
The hybrid Dynafit splitboard setup centers around mounting Dynafit
toe-pieces on your board. While DIY or custom options used to be
the only ways to mount the toe-pieces, Spark R& D now makes a
Hybrid Dynafit splitboard rig in descent mode.
Gallery
Blair Hurst and Brian Vajda climbing the shooting star couloir, James Peak Wilderness, CO Photo: Fredrik Marmsater
Dean
Michaela Zitkova, Jumbo Pass, BC 16 Off-Piste January 2010
Photo: Ry
Gallery
n Collins skis the light, Mt Baker backcountry, WA
yan Creary
Larry Deaver, Flaps a Flying in the Monashees, BC
Photo: Grant Gunderson
Photo: David Waag
Gallery
Reed Purvis threads the needle in the Crystal backcountry, WA
Nick Walrod tours the burn, Wallowas, OR
Photo: Bissell Hazen
Photo: Dan Wilder
Gallery
David Bishop Peeling hide, Furano Backcountry, Hokkaido, Japan
Nils Larsen enjoys the fluff, Powder Creek, BC
Photo: Ryan Creary
Photo: David Waag
Diamonds A re a
Skier’s Best Friend
Peter Bronski
O
n December 2, 2007, a trio of friends left the
Zimmerman Lake Trailhead near Cameron
Pass – a popular backcountry skiing destination
in northern Colorado – destined for a spot locals
refer to as Hot Dog Bowl. One was on alpine
touring gear, another on a splitboard, and the third
on snowshoes with a snowboard strapped to his
pack. As the group neared treeline on the northern
slopes of Iron Mountain in the Never Summer
Mountains, they remotely triggered an avalanche
that released from up above in the bowl. The two
in the lead turned around just in time to see their
friend, Lukas Oldenburg, a landscape architect
from Fort Collins, disappear beneath the slide.
The Cameron Pass region of Colorado is unique
among the state’s highway-accessible backcountry
destinations. It has big alpine terrain with areas of
extreme avalanche danger, and is anchored by the
twin Diamond Peaks, which loom over the summit
of the pass. It has over 100 miles of unmaintained
trails, and it sees heavy backcountry use in the
winter. That much is par for the course in the
Rockies.
But unlike Colorado’s other mountain passes, such
as Loveland, Berthoud, or Rabbit Ears, Cameron
Pass is far from civilization. The nearest population
center, Fort Collins, lies 66 miles to the east, a
drive which can take up to two hours in winter
conditions. Cell phone reception is essentially
nonexistent, and the nearest medical facilities are
more than an hour away. Backcountry emergencies
here are inherently more serious than equivalent
emergencies elsewhere.
Backcountry skiers and boarders saw a need
for a local resource – a backcountry ski patrol.
The National Ski Patrol, meanwhile, “sanctions”
two types of patrols: Alpine, which services liftserved areas, and Nordic, which services groomed
cross-country centers. Cameron Pass demanded
a kind of hybrid patrol that drew from both areas
of expertise. Meet the Diamond Peaks Ski Patrol
(DPSP).
The all-volunteer, 30-member team first went
Members of the Diamond Peaks Ski Patrol heading out on patrol. Photo: William Cotton DPSP
into service for the 1990-91 season. Operating under agreements
with the U.S. Forest Service, Colorado State Forest, and Jackson
and Larimer Counties, DPSP has become the go-to resource for
winter search and rescue and avalanche awareness and education
at Cameron Pass. It’s no small task. The Diamond Peaks area is
arguably one the most dangerous in Colorado for avalanche fatalities.
The team kicked off this 2009-10 season with a meeting in the
basement of Mugs Coffee Shop in downtown Fort Collins. Nearly
everyone was there, from the 18-year-old Colorado State University
student to the 60-year-old DPSP veteran. One in five are women, and
a variety of backgrounds are represented in the group: ecologist,
electrical engineer, graduate student, wildland firefighter, EMT.
All the people of the DPSP have something in common (a friendly
rivalry between AT and tele skiers notwithstanding): They share a
love of backcountry skiing and a commitment to the team. To earn
full stripes as a member, each person undergoes rigorous training,
including outdoor emergency care, mountain travel rescue, avalanche
level I, and much more. Most rescuers talk about the “golden hour”
in responding to a crisis. DPSP patrollers refer to the “golden day,”
owing to the unusual remoteness of and difficulty of access in the
Cameron Pass area, despite its roadside locale.
On any given weekend, anywhere from a handful of team members
to as many as 10 may patrol the pass. Patrol involves stopping at
Ted’s Place, a well-known landmark en route to Cameron Pass from
Fort Collins, to pick up radios. Patrollers then “log in” with a call to
Larimer County Dispatch, indicating that they are now on duty. Up
at the pass, they’ll typically patrol in pairs. They often follow the
trail network, sometimes break trail up to a ridgeline, and of course
take a few runs. Throughout the day, they’ll dig snow pits to evaluate
conditions and chat with any backcountry users they encounter. Then
it’s back down Poudre Canyon to Fort Collins, where they’ll “log off”
with dispatch.
Ironically, when the avalanche buried the snowboarder in December
2007, no DPSP members were on patrol. It was a Sunday, and the
previous day the team had staged its early season, all-hands-ondeck, on-location training at Cameron Pass. Impressively, though,
the trio of friends involved in the accident was exceptionally wellprepared and well-trained. Within two minutes, the two who
had avoided burial had located Lukas with a beacon search and
pinpointed his body with their probes. A minute later, his feet were
uncovered, and minutes after that, he was on the surface of the
snow.
But he wasn’t breathing, and his heart had stopped. His friends
began CPR, and eventually his pulse resumed and he began to
breathe. One skier rushed out to the trailhead to call for help on an
emergency callbox, while the second packaged Lukas in a sleeping
bag and slowly began to drag him toward the distant parking
lot. DPSP pagers went off around 2:00 p.m., and eight patrollers
responded.
It was eerie. As they rushed up the Zimmerman Lake Trail, they
followed the skin track they had put in just 24 hours earlier, when
they had simulated a toboggan rescue with a theoretical avalanche
victim. This time, it was for real. Lukas was transferred to a
toboggan, and DPSP team members ushered him down the trail,
dodging exposed rocks and tree stumps in the thin early-season
snow cover.
A Flight for Life helicopter met them at the parking lot and whisked
Lukas to a hospital in Fort Collins. Everyone was hopeful for a
positive outcome. Days later, though, the backcountry skiing
community was saddened to hear of his death. It hardly seemed fair.
Apart from the avalanche itself, everything had gone right: the selfrescue, the DPSP response, the helicopter evacuation. And yet in the
end, it still ended tragically.
Even so, Lukas’ passing was the exception, rather than the rule.
Incredibly, DPSP responds to only a handful of calls each winter.
The vast majority of members’ time is spent either patrolling or
conducting avalanche awareness and education classes – the team’s
primary source of funding (along with donations and an annual ski
movie screening and silent auction). Most people aren’t getting into
trouble at Cameron Pass. In a sense, because of its education and
patrol activities, DPSP may deserve much of the credit for that.
Of course, if backcountry skiers and snowboarders do find
themselves in trouble, DPSP is there to help. Educating the public,
preventing accidents in the first place, and responding with speed
and skill in the rare instances when accidents do happen – that’s
as much as any ski patrol, backcountry or otherwise, can hope to
achieve. For the backcountry users of Cameron Pass, the Diamond
Peaks Ski Patrol is indeed a skier’s best friend.
Peter Bronski is an award-winning writer and avid backcountry skier.
A member of the North American Snowsports Journalists Association,
he is also the author of Powder Ghost Towns: Epic Backcountry Runs
in Colorado’s Lost Ski Resorts.
Ask the PT
training, stretching, and advice to keep your body skiing
When the eyes are closed and the brain does not have visual information to utilize for balance, it
relies more on proprioceptive information. Repeated practice results in the growth of informationrich neurological pathways from joints, muscles, and tendons to the spinal cord and brain.
P
roprioception is defined as the sense of orientation of one’s body
in space. A recent research article refers to proprioception as
“the most important sensory modality participating in the control of
human movement.” The brain receives information from the body’s
proprioceptive organs; these nerve endings are present in skin,
ligaments, muscles, tendons, and the capsular tissue surrounding
joints. They provide information regarding the position, motion, and
angular acceleration of the body’s joints. The brain integrates this
neurological data with visual information from the eyes and signals
from the vestibular organs of the inner ear in order to keep our
bodies balanced as we glide through snow with sticks on our feet.
Proprioceptive training is incredibly important during rehabilitation,
since joint and soft tissue injury result in decreased proprioceptive
input, which may lead to chronic joint instability. Training for this
type of body awareness can also improve sports performance,
and proprioceptive training is one of the foundations of any
comprehensive ski program. The main points of this type of training
involve challenging our balance in a variety of positions that simulate
our sport while selectively removing visual input. When the eyes
are closed and the brain does not have visual information to utilize
for balance, it relies more on proprioceptive information. Repeated
practice results in the growth of information-rich neurological
pathways from joints, muscles, and tendons to the spinal cord
and brain. Try the following exercises to improve proprioceptive
processing for skiing.
First, using the “matrix” pattern discussed in previous issues, go
through front, side, and side-with-rotation lunges (see illustrations).
While holding a 5- to 10-pound medicine ball in your hands, touch
the ball to the floor in front of the foot that has just moved into
the lunge position. Work both legs through each of the three lunge
positions a few times. Now, here is the proprioceptive crux of the
exercise: do this entire series of positions with your eyes closed.
To further increase the benefit of the exercise, have a partner
call out a random sequence of lunge directions for you to follow.
Reaching down to the floor with the ball and then returning to an
upright position loads the posterior elements of your body – back,
buttocks, hamstrings, and calves. People tend to be weaker and
proprioceptively deficient on this side of the body, so focusing your
efforts here helps to balance you out. Move through each of the
lunge patterns 20 times, and try not to run into your furniture while
your eyes are closed.
Next, try a backward lunge. Step backward with one foot into a
telemark position while holding a medicine ball. Once in position,
reach up and back with the ball over the shoulder that corresponds
to the front leg. This will rotate and extend your spine and hips,
thereby loading the abdominals, hip flexors, and hip rotators. Once
again, moving through this pattern with the eyes closed will increase
your reliance on proprioceptive input, particularly from the hips and
spine. If you are feeling discomfort or pinching in your lower back
with this exercise, you are extending or rotating too far. Make an
You will notice a difference in your ability to maintain fluid ski form on days when
your visibility is obscured by poor weather, or, preferably, by abundant face shots.
adjustment to move your spine through a comfortable range. Again, work through this pattern
of movement 20 times in each direction with your eyes closed.
Now, work on training your proprioceptive capabilities in a plyometric or “explosive” manner.
With an imaginary line on the floor, practice two-footed jumps side-to-side over the line with
your eyes closed. Keep your hands in front of you as if you are holding ski poles. This nicely
mimics the lateral explosion required in alpine and tele skiing. Work a set of 20 jumps before
changing your direction to front-to-back jumps. Practice landing softly to train your muscles to
decelerate your body smoothly, thereby decreasing compressive forces on the joints of your
spine and legs. Mix it up and work half of the jumps for height and half for side-to-side distance.
Slacklining is another great dry-land proprioceptive training activity. Balancing on a narrow
swath of material mimics the relatively narrow base of support that a skier has while edging. It
also provides a great proprioceptive workout to the muscles on the outer and inner aspects of
the thighs and the sides of the trunk. This side-to-side balance is incredibly important for skiing,
but it is specifically trained for in few other sports or exercises. Personally, I can barely walk a
slackline with my eyes open. If you can walk one with your eyes closed, you are a proprioceptive
genius and probably don’t need to be reading this article.
Perform this battery of exercises at least once a week for eight weeks. You will notice a
difference in your ability to maintain fluid ski form on days when your visibility is obscured by
poor weather, or, preferably, by abundant face shots.
Avy 101
avalanche science
Photo: Grant Gunderson
B
elieve it or not, regardless of what triggers an
avalanche, every avalanche has one thing in common:
they all fail on a weak layer of snow. Personally, I would
much rather be out skiing than standing around in snowpits,
looking at snow crystals, and analyzing weak layers.
However, weak layers are still important. I am not going to
bore you with the technical nuances of secondary crystal
metamorphism. In fact, there is a lot of snow science that
is still not fully understood, even by the guys in the white
lab coats. Instead, I will attempt a low-tech approach to
understanding, finding, and identifying weak layers in the
snowpack.
Okay, so now that we have a handle on layers, more
specifically weak layers, how do we find them while we are out
skiing? The easiest way to find them is to know what we are
looking for. That’s where the pros come in. By checking the
avalanche forecast each morning, you can get an idea of what
weak layers we should be on the lookout for.
To begin, let’s talk about the basic ingredients of an avalanche. We
need three things for an avalanche to occur: a slab, a bed surface,
and a weak layer. A slab is a unit of cohesive snow – as opposed to
loose snow. The bed surface is the layer of snow that the slab slides
on and is what remains on the surface after the avalanche has run.
The weak layer is what facilitates the slide and is what we are going
to discuss here.
Before we talk about weak layers, let’s talk about layers in general.
Every storm has its own unique environmental conditions. As snow
from a given storm lands on the ground it creates a layer of snow
directly related to the weather conditions at the time it fell. That’s
why the snowpack is not a uniform blanket, but instead a series
of layers. As backcountry skiers, we are concerned with the bond
between these layers. A weak layer, much as the name implies, is
a layer of snow that isn’t as strong as the layers of snow above or
below it. Common sense tells us that this is an inherently unstable
situation.
Okay, so now that we have a handle on layers, more specifically weak
layers, how do we find them while we are out skiing? The easiest
way to find them is to know what we are looking for. That’s where
the pros come in. By checking the avalanche forecast each morning,
you can get an idea of what weak layers we should be on the lookout
for. There are several common weak layers that are the culprit in the
majority of avalanches that threaten us as backcountry skiers.
Let’s begin with one of the scariest and most persistent weak layers
– faceted snow. Facets can occur at the snow surface or deeper in
the snowpack. Facets, commonly called sugar snow because they
resemble loose sugar, change over time into large, angular grains
that lose the ability to bond with neighboring snow crystals and
layers. These crystals or facets form a weak layer in the snow, one
that can persist for long periods in the snowpack. The two main
factors that drive this process are cold temperatures and a shallow
snowpack. They are common in the early season in maritime climates
and can persist all season in continental climates.
Another type of faceted snow is surface hoar. This weak layer is
actually appears on the snow surface as the winter equivalent of dew.
Feathery in appearance, surface hoar crystals can act like a house of
cards when new snow falls on top of them. What makes surface hoar
so spooky is that it can hold quite a bit of snow before it begins to
fail. It can also remain intact within the snowpack for many months
or even the entire winter. It can be triggered from adjacent slopes,
and when it does fail, it can propagate long distances.
Another weak layer is low density snow. We all love to ski blower
pow, but when that blower has a layer of slightly warmer, denser, or
wind effected snow on top of it, we have a very unstable situation.
This is a common weak layer that we deal with during and shortly
after storm cycles. Even during a single storm, temperatures and
winds can fluctuate considerably, and we can find weak layers within
the new snow deposited during one snowfall. The nice thing is that
these weak layers tend to settle out and gain strength fairly quickly
and don’t remain in the snowpack for prolonged periods.
Now that we know some of the most common weak layers, how do
we find them? One of the easiest ways is by simply probing the snow
as we tour. Pushing a pole into the snow allows us to feel changes
in density within the snowpack. In an ideal world, the snowpack
density would slowly increase as it gets deeper and closer to the
ground. If, as we push a pole into the snow, the density is consistent
or increasing and it suddenly gives way to the pressure of the
pole, this is a good indication that there is a weak layer within the
snowpack. The beauty of the pole test is that it doesn’t take any time
out of your tour and you can do it on various aspects and elevations
throughout a tour. The downside of the pole test is that it is not very
good at finding thin weak layers or layers deep in the snowpack.
At times like these, its
good to have the skills
to pull out a shovel,
and in a representative
site, conduct some
bonding tests to see
what the snowpack
looks like right there
and right now.
To find thin weak layers, we are going to have to pull out our shovels
and dig a little. Knowing what weak layer to look for is going to help
us decide where to dig. For example, surface hoar is more commonly
found at or near treeline, in areas with a clear view of the sky. Once
we have a pit wall, a hand hardness test yields a quick look at the
layering of the snowpack. Often times, weak layers will be distinct in
the pit wall as they are a different color due to the different density
of the snow in this layer. Finally, many of the bonding tests, such as
the compression test and the Rutschblock test are particularly good
at identifying weak layers. Do you need to pull out a hand lens and
identify the guilty layer? Practically speaking, it’s enough to know
that a weak layer exists and to get a sense of just how sensitive it is
and how likely it is to propagate.
Being able to identify
weak layers in the
snowpack alone does
not make you a safer
backcountry skier. It
is merely a piece of the
puzzle to factor into
the decision making
process. The snowpack
can be extremely
complex, is constantly
changing, and varies
considerably over
relatively short
distances. When you
do pull out your shovel
and begin digging, be
aware that one thing quickly becomes apparent; the more you know,
the more you know that you don’t know. You know?
Now for a guy who purportedly likes to ski more than he likes dig
pits, this is starting to sound like a lot of digging. If you feel that
way as well, than its time to play our trump card – the terrain.
With the information available to us by our local avalanche center,
we should have a good idea of what weak layers are out there and
where they might be found. Armed with this info, we can make
terrain choices to tour in areas where we are least likely to find these
weak layers. Sometimes, however, these layers are so widespread
that there is no easy way to avoid the potential hazard of the layer.
Larry Goldie is an IFMGA certified guide and lead guide at North
Cascades Mountain Guides.
The ultimate snow safety quiver.
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Our light, bombproof oval shaft now holds
a full-length 240-cm probe quickly deployed
through our nested grip. Available in two
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Arsenal shovel/probe: locked and loaded for immediate rescue.
For more information on avalanche beacons and education, check out backcountryaccess.com/education
Backcountry Access, Inc.
Boulder, Colorado USA
800.670.8735
Backcountry Beta
tips, techniques, recipes, etiquette, and more
Greenhousing
The interaction Between
Sun, clouds, & snow
By Wendy Wagner and Leigh Jones
W
hat follows is a dialogue on what appears to be a
straightforward concept, but which can occasionally trip up
even the experienced backcountry traveler. As usual, before we
get your brain tying itself into knots, we’d like to take you back in
time to a ski day memory.
It’s late winter, but not yet fully spring. You wake up to a foot of
fresh, so you call in sick and plan to spend the entire day skiing
some untouched pow. Temps are in the teens up in the hills, so
you bundle up and head out. The weather is fair; the snow has
stopped falling, winds are calm, and there are a just few clouds
hanging around on the tail end of the storm. You spend all morning
skinning up high to your favorite north-facing bowl. The first lap
is stellar, with face-shots galore. The new snow is light, fluffy, and
bouncy. You skin back up for another lap, rip off your skins, and
get stoked for the next round of face-shots. But in your first turn,
you notice that something’s happened. The turns aren’t as bouncy
and the snow feels a little inverted. By your third lap, the truth
is starting to sink in. Your hero snow’s gone. It’s become upside
down and manky on top. What gives? The temperature is certainly
below freezing, and, for Pete’s sake, you’re on a north aspect! You
wasted a sick day for this!?
In this instance, it is likely that “greenhousing” is the culprit.
You may also have heard of this referred to as “re-radiation.”
They’re both terms that are tossed into avalanche advisories
now and again, and you can usually find a sentence or two in
an avalanche handbook on the subject. But we, the authors –
driven by wrecked-turn frustration turned fascination – have
found that, depending upon who you talk to, each person seems
to have a slightly different idea about what it takes to create a
“greenhousing” event. This is the juncture where experience and
theory collide to make for a highly intriguing, and often perplexing,
discourse. Thus, here and now, we dive in and discuss.
The greenhouse effect – what is it? In short, the greenhouse
effect acts to let radiation in without letting all of it back out,
which ends up increasing the radiation input at the surface. It
usually results in a net increase in temperature from the “trapped”
radiation. For example, it causes our earth to be warm enough
to live on, and if you increase the ability of the “ceiling” to keep
radiation in, you can increase the warming underneath it (e.g., in a
global warming application). So does this phenomenon apply to our
wrecked powder scenario?
To answer that, let’s recall that we’re on a north-facing aspect.
What would it take to heat up the snow on this otherwise typically
chilly slope? Think about what happens on north aspects. The
snow surface stays cold, often until late spring. Snow is a very
effective emitter, and is constantly shedding longwave radiation,
so the north side just doesn’t get the influx of radiation that other
aspects get. So when it does heat up, what contributes to the
energy it gains? An air temperature that is warmer than the snow
temperature transfers heat into the pack. Wind can enhance this
transfer of heat energy. High humidity can release latent heat
(say what?) by deposition of atmospheric water molecules into
the upper snowpack (got that?). In these three instances, heat
is transferred to the snowpack without the direct input of solar
radiation. If enough energy is input to raise the temperature of the
pack to the melting point, then you’re edging dangerously close to
the realm of mashed potatoes.
But, curiously, none of these conditions are in place on those
unique, cold powder days when greenhousing manks up the snow,
which is why it so often takes people by surprise. These events
occur in sub-freezing temperatures, when winds are calm and
when the relative humidity is less than 100%, knocking those
The first lap is stellar, with ace-shots galore.
...another lap, rip off your skins, and get
stoked for the next round of face-shots.
But into your first turn you notice that
something’s happened. The turns aren’t as
bouncy and the snow feels a little inverted. ...
What gives?
three options off the table. Manky snow on a cold north aspect
in late February or early March is pretty damn counterintuitive.
In fact, as we’ve consulted with several snow, avalanche, and
radiation science experts on the matter, perhaps the most notable
reaction has been a hint of disgust at the mention of greenhousing.
It is reviled for its ability to demolish a picture-perfect powder
paradise, for the inability of its nuts and bolts to be fully grasped,
and for its impact on snow stability – frustrating the skier, the
scientist, and the forecaster alike.
So, let’s go back to that sick day that we took off from work to get
the goods. Somehow, despite the fact that the air temperature was
below freezing, the snow surface on that north side heated up.
Here are some effects that might have contributed to that: Since
everything that has a temperature emits longwave radiation, the
clouds themselves are emitting radiation in all directions, one of
which is toward the north slopes. Of course, we can’t forget that
the snow surface is also constantly emitting longwave radiation.
So what does that mean for the snow? Try this: hold your hands
flat about a centimeter apart. Feel the warmth? Our skin is
constantly emitting radiation freely to our surroundings, just like a
snowpack, thereby losing heat in the process. However, as soon as
you put two body parts next to each other, your skin is receiving
radiation as fast as it can release it. It stays warm, because it’s
not efficiently shedding heat anymore. (The two surfaces are
equilibrating at the speed of light!) Minus a few minor details, this
is not unlike what happens between a cloud and a snowpack.
But wait – if that’s the case, then we should expect greenhousing
at night, too, right? Not necessarily. True, the presence of clouds
will keep the snow surface warmer than if they weren’t there,
but because both the cloud and the snow are below freezing, the
presence of the cloud isn’t simply going to bump the temperature
of the snow above freezing. Something has to nudge the snow
temperature toward the melting point. The necessary ingredient
is, in fact, added radiation from the sun. But how does it get onto
the north face? For the answer to that, you have to be a good
sport and use your imagination. Let’s say you’re a photon – the
basic “unit” of light – that has just been released from the sun.
You’re hotfooting it through outer space at the speed of light,
then through Earth’s atmosphere and straight for those south
aspects, when – bam! – you run smack into a single cloud droplet
(which is huge compared to you). But you ricochet off and get
pinballed around for a while in-cloud before being spit out at, say,
90 degrees from the trajectory you came in on. Whoa, that 90
degree corner just sent you flying onto a north-facing slope. So,
the presence of the cloud contributes to this double whammy on
radiative input at the snow surface.
But, as with all snow science discussions, it’s not just as simple
as that. For example, new snow reflects about 90 percent of the
solar radiation that comes to it. What’s amazing is that even that
10 percent that actually gets absorbed by the snow may be just
enough to cause melting on the edges of the snow grains. But if
that doesn’t do the trick, what also might happen is that the 90
percent of solar radiation that gets reflected from the snow may
Gear Talk
A
n insulated or puffy jacket should be standard equipment for a
day of ski touring. An insurance policy of sorts, a good insulated
jacket offers protection from the elements while stopped or when the
weather takes a turn for the worse, and literally can be a lifesaver
given an emergency situation. To be fully functional, a good puffy
needs a hood and should be sized to fit comfortably over all of your
layers. The ability to pull a warm jacket on over your shell saves
time, body heat, and simplifies transitions.
After years of using synthetic and down filled options, I am a fan of
synthetic fill jackets for my daily touring needs. Synthetic fill jackets
take the abuse of repeated wear, stuffing, and re-stuffing over the
course of a day, a week, and a full season with little or no sign of
abuse. I have one well worn puffy with five seasons of abuse on it
that still serves me well.
Simply put, synthetics are lower maintenance than down filled
options. Synthetic filled jackets handle wet weather, fabric tears,
and being stuffed and re-stuffed during storm conditions better
than down. Down still has a place. Ounce for ounce down offers the
highest insulation to weight ratio and the best compressibility. Down
serves ultra cold and less aerobic activities very well, but synthetics
have advanced a long way in recent years and endure the
abuse of all-conditions ski touring very well, regardless of
your geographic location.
The following selection of jackets suit ski touring well:
all have hoods, all use synthetic fill, and offer light to
medium weight insulation. You can find warmer and
more select use jackets, but the following jackets
offer excellent all-around touring functionality.
Mammut Stratus Flash $189
Weight: 18oz, Insulation: Ajungilak MTI 60 gram
Fabric: Pertex Quantum
minimalist. The jacket includes two insulated handwarmer pockets,
two small zippered chest pockets (one inside and one outside), but
no larger pockets for skins or gloves. This is a quality no-frills, golight shell. The PrimaLoft® ECO insulation features 50% recycled
fibers, packs well, and provides warmth in moderate climates. The
Fraction cut is relatively trim so consider stepping up one size for a
jacket that fits well as an outer layer.
Patagonia Micro Puff Hoody $225
Weight: 20oz, Insulation: PrimaLoft One 100 gram
Fabric: 1.5-oz 32-denier 100% recycled polyester
Patagonia has been a player in the synthetic
puffy category for many years. Their original
Puff Ball jacket has evolved into the new
Micro-Puff hooded jacket. The Micro Puff
steps up to PrimaLoft® One insulation PrimaLoft’s flagship micro-fiber product
- and the shell and liner are 100%
recycled polyester fabric. More tangible
improvements include better hand-warmer
pockets and a more compressible package
than previous versions. The jacket has two
insulated, zippered hand-warmer pockets,
Patagonia Micro Puff
one small zippered chest pocket, and one
inside mesh pocket. The inside mesh pocket
is generous in size (fits skins), but a second
mesh pocket would be nice. The fit is roomy and with the 100
gram fill, the Micro Puff strikes an ideal balance between light,
packable, and warm. This is a high quality, low-frills, utilitarian
jacket. In keeping with Patagonia’s sustainable approach, the
entire jacket is recyclable through their Common Threads
Recycling Program. The Micro Puff includes a stuff sack.
Cloudveil Enclosure Hooded Jacket $250
Weight: 28oz, Insulation: Primaloft One 200 grams
Fabric: 100% recycled polyester
The Mammut is generously cut (for use as an outer
layer) and strikes a good balance between light and
warm. It has all of the standard pockets including a
The Cloudveil Enclosure (hooded) is the warmest of the puffies
small zippered chest pocket, two insulated, zippered
we tested. There is a small weight and space penalty for the
hand warmer pockets, and two inside mesh pockets.
Mammut Stratus Flash
added warmth, but the Enclosure remains surprisingly light
The mesh pockets offer ample space to hold skins or
and compressible given its 200 gram insulation - twice the
a second set of gloves. Mammut uses Ajungilak Microinsulation rating of the other jackets included here. The
Thermal Insulation. The non-tech talk is that this insulation
Enclosure offers expedition warmth while maintaining a
uses a blend of synthetic fiber types to create a resilient,
modest packable volume for day
light, and warm fill. At 60 grams of fill, the Stratus Flash
use. This is a puffy for folks
is not the warmest, but it met all of our needs and is in
touring in cold temps. There
the top three for compressibility of the jackets tested.
are two generous inside
One sweet detail that sets the Mammut apart is the
mesh pockets for skins,
thumb loops on the sleeve cuffs. It sounds simple, but
gloves, etc, two standard
this little feature goes a long way. The loops are key
hand-warmer pockets, and
for keeping the sleeves inside glove cuffs and keeping
one small zippered chest
out cold air and snow.
pocket. Oddly, the handwarmer pockets offer no
OR Fraction Hoody $160
insulation between the
Weight: 16oz, Insulation: PrimaLoft® ECO 60 gram
outer fabric and the inside
Fabric: 20 Denier recycled polyester
of the pocket. Otherwise,
the Enclosure is sure to
The Outdoor Research (OR) Fraction Hoody takes the
keep you insulated from
prize for lightest, most packable puffy. You can find
the elements.
a warmer jacket, in fact, OR makes one, the Chaos
Jacket. But the Fraction is sure to please to the go-lightOutdoor Research Fraction
Cloudveil Enclosure
6140 ORT Off-Piste 1/4pgBW
8/27/09
8:31 AM
Page 1
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Rat Tales
continued
sagging and stained, was only a few feet from the roof. Said roof
echoed with activity as the little critters ran around all night. In a
nutshell, the night went like this: thump-thump-thump-thump. A rat,
sounding like it was the size of a football, thumped its way down the
central stairs. Once on the first floor it took to knocking over various
metallic kitchenware items and heavy objects. After choosing a small
sacrifice from our kitchen, it dragged it up through the walls. Next, the
rats crawled through the ceiling. My bunk seemed to be directly under
their thoroughfare as the beady-eyed rodents dropped items clanging
through a hole in the ceiling. Then they scurried back down the walls
to haul whatever treasure they collected into a pile under a lower
bunk. Repeat. Now, think all night long. Sleep was impossible as the
rats terrorized us.
Heading out, our group gets into what Krusty later refers to as “northfacing tighter-than-snot trees.” We watch each other weave down
through the thick evergreens, and experience technical survival skiing
at its best. Later, as we pick branches, moss, and packed snow from
our clothing, Krusty comments what a great ab workout it was to
extract himself from numerous tree wells. It is a day of skill building,
where an appreciation for the ability to link more than two-and-a-half
turns in a row is gained. After a couple of runs in the thick trees, way
beyond glade skiing, we get one more open run that salvages the day.
Linking turns rocks! We declare the day a success and ski breakable
death crust home in the dark.
Just before dinner, the propane runs out. There are no more small
tanks to be found. The boys wrestle a tall tank into the hut and
proceed to rig the lantern and heater onto the valve. Despite the fact
that the apparatus is not designed for a big tank, with some ingenuity,
light and heat are restored. The lantern juts out over the table at a
rakish angle.
The night again proves long and clamorous. This time I have claimed
a bottom bunk and brushed the most obvious feces away. In the dim
light I try to pretend the urine stains aren’t that bad. We have almost
45 minutes of quiet before the rats come alive. Some time in the
middle of the night, just when I think I am the only one still awake,
Travis curses. A headlamp shoots out as he initiates a hunt for the rat.
I hear my companions chuckle and realize that we’re all awake.
January 19: Again, on little sleep due to rat activity, we strike out, and
this time avoid the drainage and head for the north-facing trees. We
find sweet snow. The regenerating snowpack has treated us well, and
we stick to the shade and trees to find the softest stuff. After the tight
trees yesterday, these chutes and open lines seem like a gift as we
link turns in the afternoon shade. Just to keep us humble, a breakable
crust rears its head every now and then.
We settle in for another night with our furry hut-mates. Biding time,
we fiddle with gear. On the second floor we listen to Travis trying to
sleep; he periodically pounds on the wall to quiet the rats. They scurry
overhead. Later, when we are all in the bunk room and headlamps
filter through the darkness, I watch Aaron track the rats through the
ceiling and hit them through the canvas. This temporary rat slapping
is only entertaining for so long as we settle in for another night
punctuated by mischievous rodents.
January 20: Our last full day is another in the string of bluebird days
on this trip. If fresh snow isn’t in the cards, sunshine is the next best
thing. It feels like spring in January. Today, we do shorter laps. Again,
the north facing snow is surprisingly good as we ski steep, short shots.
Dark evergreens dot the slopes that spill down into the flats. Sticking
to the shade, the two-inch hoar frost crystals look like ornate glass
Christmas trees and provide a sweet home for our edges.
Despite the lack of fresh snow, we have found new terrain and features
each day. We have sampled only a small slice of British Columbia’s vast
terrain, but our imaginations rev with the possibilities that good snow
would bring to this place as we admire the big bowls and faces that
surround us. Sunshine has blazed daily, and no other skiers are to be
found. With the exception of the rats, we have the place to ourselves.
January 21: Today we head home. I wake up and pack quickly. We
shoulder our big bags once again – lighter now from having eaten
surprisingly well. Eggs and bacon, sausage, burritos, pasta, soup, elk
meat, chili, and cornbread have all been ingested. Another spectacular
day – the sunshine illuminates the tallest hoar frost we have seen yet.
We had a good group and good terrain. Rats and the absence of
new snow didn’t ruin the trip. Even the lack of consistent heat, small
propane tanks, and workable bindings didn’t sink us. Instead, we
chose to laugh at the rats, work the tight trees, tinker with the gear,
and enjoy the place. Although it may not have been exactly utopian,
we were nestled in the mountains away from it all with our skis. It
could have been so much worse – like classes, work, or just not being
on snow. Or, the burly woman at the border crossing could have really
searched us. Driving south again, entirely too soon, I think about the
trip. I would instantly go back with the same people – with the hope
that the rats were dead, the powder was prevalent, the snow was
stable, and the sizzle of bacon was my alarm clock.
Dynafit for Splitboarding
continued
converter plate for mounting Dynafit toe-pieces in the Voile pattern
inserts ($65, www.sparkrandd.com). Hardcore DIY’ers should note
that snowboards are
not designed to have
bindings mounted
outside of the inserts
provided; they lack
the core structure to
hold screws securely.
Dynafit toe-pieces are
especially stressful
on a ski due to their
closely spaced hole
pattern. The Spark
interface plates
are a great option.
Otherwise, using
three T-nuts (mounted
through the board deck) is more
Spark R&D converter plate
secure than five wood screws straight
into the board. The hybrid Dynafit
system evolved to help snowboarders go further; therefore, it needs
to be mounted in a reliable manner.
Also, when buying Dynafit toe-pieces, be aware of the differences
between Dynafit binding models. Although all models work on the
same principles, the TLT Speed model has the shortest lever and
interferes less with the position of the front foot heel puck, allowing
for narrower or more set-back stances. The TLT Vertical ST uses a
thicker base plate with a reinforced ski crampon bracket, and it is
compatible with Spark’s “extended inserts” converter plates. The
Spark plates with flush inserts work best with the TLT Speed or Low
Tech Race models. Given the lower-profile base plates, you may
have to file down the screws to keep them from damaging the top
sheet of the board. The Low Tech Race model is the lightest option,
but it doesn’t accept ski crampons. You may still find TLT Comfort
(discontinued model) toe-pieces. The Comforts combine the short
lever arm with the thick base plate that has the reinforced crampon
bracket.
Notes on Dynafit Use
The Dynafit toe-piece is releasable unless the locking lever is
cranked all the way up. If there is hard snow or ice built up in the
space under the center of the binding, the lock will not fully engage,
even if it may look like it is engaged. Keep the binding free of snow
(toggling between open and closed before stepping into the binding
is a great way to keep it clean), and keep it cranked on tightly. While
“releasable” may sound attractive when considering avalanche
safety, it is much less attractive if it occurs while skinning up a steep
slope. There are other measures that one can take to help avoid
being buried in an avalanche. The application of common sense, I’m
told, is one of the best.
Also, most splitboarders use wire heel lifts – either the stock Voiles
or something similar – none of which were designed to be paired with
the Dynafit toe-piece. It is important to lower the riser wire before or
to unweight your foot while releasing from the toe-piece; otherwise,
your foot may force the wire backward upon release (especially if
you’re pointed uphill). This action can break the mounting block.
In an ideal world, in addition to having peace and an equitable
distribution of the burdens of disease and wealth, there would be
a common hole pattern for both the Voile touring bracket and the
Dynafit toe-piece. Voile would make cant pucks that work well, AT
boots would have some adjustment of lateral stiffness, it would
never rain in Revelstoke in February, and “dirtbag ski bum” would
be a respectable profession. Dare to dream. Put safety first. Happy
travels.
Greenhousing
continued
be reflected back toward the snow surface again, this time by
the cloud. So, the input of radiation at the snowpack is further
increased.
This greenhousing phenomenon may be occurring quite often, but
conditions have to line up just right to dampen your turns. That is,
if the radiative input isn’t enough to raise the temperature of the
snow to above freezing, then your turns may not be affected at all.
And can greenhousing happen when the air temperature is already
above freezing? Most definitely; and in that case, melting is ultraenhanced by the presence of the clouds.
You can imagine that the equation could get fairly complex. For
example, what is the optimal setup that’ll trick you? What types of
clouds optimize heating on the north side – low-level, mid-level,
or high-level clouds? Can a cloud be too high in the atmosphere to
add to north-side heating? What about the thickness of the cloud?
The thickness will determine how much solar radiation actually
makes it through. And do the physics change when the cloud is
made of ice rather than water droplets? For the setup to catch you
off-guard on a cold powder day, the air temperature would have
to be cold enough to keep the snow from heating up without the
added radiation, but not so cold that the added radiation isn’t able
to heat it to melting. And it’s generally agreed upon that if the
setup occurs too early in the winter, the sun isn’t strong enough,
but if it occurs too late in the spring, the sun is too strong, and a
rapid warm-up occurs. Furthermore, how does it vary by latitude
and elevation? What has been your experience?
All of these “what ifs” and conditions may, in fact, have tied your
brain into knots. For that, we apologize. But it is interesting to
watch which combinations of conditions lead to these events. In
your home mountains, when does it happen? When doesn’t it?
Why? These things may be important to pay attention to, not just
in relation to turn quality, but also in relation to snow stability. Will
the increased heating contribute to destabilization through the day?
Regardless, if you decide that it is worth it to take the sick day and
go for the goods, you must also ask yourself, “How manky is too
manky for my taste?”
Leigh Pender Jones and Wendy Wagner share a love for backcountry
skiing and mountain weather. They are currently in graduate school
at the University of Utah in Salt Lake City where they are both
working toward their Master degrees in Meteorology under Dr. John
Horel.

Now - Off

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