Going Fast Part II: Lighten up?

Last ski season, I wanted to do a series of posts on traveling light and fast in the backcountry.  Here's one on waxing skins.  This post is on weight: the lighter your setup, the faster, higher, and longer you can go.  The tough question is, how fat? how thin? four buckles? no buckles? tail fix on skins or no? It's a tough question because there is a point of diminishing returns on both ends of the spectrum.  Too skinny and you won't be able to break trail or ski down fast.  Too fat and you won't be able go up as fast or cover as much ground.  Four buckles and it's going to add weight.  No buckles and there might not be enough support.  It's a trade-off that I've spent a lot of time obsessing about.

The other night, I pulled out my bathroom scale and weighed some gear.  Using a Sharpie, I wrote the weight on each piece.  The Insanes (the big fat ones) aren't mine, but I labeled them anyway . . . .

From December 23, 2009

Ski Weights:

164 Trab Duo Race w/ Low Techs: 2.1 lbs per ski, 64 mm at waist, race and fast touring.
160 Dynafit SR 11 w/Low Techs: 2.3 lbs per ski, 62 mm at waist, race and fast touring.
172 Dynafit ST 7 w/TLT Speeds: 3.6 lbs per ski, 74 mm at waist, fast touring, spring.
169 Dynafit Manaslu w/TLT Vertical: 3.8 lbs per ski, 95 mm at waist, touring, powder.
173 BD Havoc w/Dynafit Comforts: 4.7 lbs per ski, 88 mm at waist, rock skis.
183 Voile Insane w/TLT Speeds: 4.8 lbs per ski, 120 mm at waist, ????.

From December 23, 2009

Boot Weights:

Dynafit Zzero, four buckle, 3.6 lbs
Scarpa F1, 2 buckle, 2.8 lbs (I have modified F1s that I got down to 2 lbs)
Pierre Gignoux 444, 2 buckle, 1.4 lbs

From December 23, 2009

Skin Weights:

Pomoca Race for 160 cm skis: .2 lbs
Dynafit Speedskins for 160 cm skis: .3 lbs
BD Mohair Mix cut for Dynafit ST 7s: .6 lbs
BD Glidelite cut fo Havocs: .7 lbs
BD Ascension cut for Manaslu: .7 lbs

There are a lot of combinations with these skis, boots, and skins.  At the lightest end of the spectrum, the Trabs with PG 444s and Pomoca skins weigh 3.7 pounds per foot.  Contrast that with the Manaslus, Zzeros, and BD skins at 8.1 pounds per foot. That's a difference of 4.4 pounds per foot or 219 percent heavier -- huge, especially during a long tour.  If you think about it in pounds lifted per vertical foot, over a 10k vertical tour, that's a difference of 44,000 lbs!  I plan on using F1s with the Manaslus and will get some Dynafit Speedskins, which will bring the weight down to about 7 lbs per foot. 

One might suggest that the comparison above is misleading because my race setup is stupid light.  To a certain extent, I might agree, but the fact is, I tour a lot in that setup and have skied every condition imaginable in that setup.  Can I straightline Cardiac Bowl in that setup?  No.  Can I competently ski down Cardiac Bowl or a steep chute in that setup and have fun? Absolutely.  In fact, there are several ski mountaineers like Benedikt Bohm who have set speed records up and down 8000 meter peaks on similar setups.  That said, there are times when a race setup does not make sense, like on a big powder day.  Breaking trail on 65 mm waisted skis doesn't work that well.  And going down in 2 ft of fluff in that kind of setup is way too '80s and a bit irreverent.

Enter the Manaslus, or my "fat" setup.  Manaslus, F1s/Zzeros, and BD Ascensions are quite light.  There are very few, if any, 95 mm waisted skis out there that are as light as the Manaslu.  The Voile Insanes might come close.  I think Goode and DPS make some light carbon skis that have some girth.  Obviously, any setup that doesn't incorporate Dynafit bindings is more than a pound per foot heavier and, quite frankly, a waste of energy.  My guess is that most conventional backcountry setups are in the 9 to 12 lb range.  The Havocs, which are skinnier and which I used for years, are a full pound heavier. 

My friend Joey and I were laughing the other day about our touring setups in 2002.  I was on Scarpa T1s, Voile Mtn. Surfs/Rossis/Tuas, and Hammerhead bindings.  I think the Mtn Surfs and Hammerheads alone were over 8 pounds.  The T1s were probably another 5.  And that setup didn't even have a free pivot.  Uggh.

Assuming the goal is going faster, higher, and longer (and not making turns with "soul"), I think the question that should dictate backcountry ski choice is: what can I get away with?  This is a loaded question because the answer depends on lots of things like conditions, partners, terrain, route, distance, time, skill, and binding choice.  But generally speaking, in my not-so-humble opinion, most of us American backcountry travelers can get away with a lot less than we have or think.  In my mind, the less you can get away with, the better -- you'll go faster, higher, and longer.

Wackcountry Tour

This week my training focus was on high volume.  I did two interval sessions, logged 15 hrs, about 19k vertical, and about 35 miles, which is a lot for a working, family guy.  Probably 10 of those hrs were at "endurance" pace, or under 140 bpm.

On Saturday, I logged 6 hrs and about 8k vertical doing the Wackcountry Tour, which starts at Snowbird, ascends to Hidden Peak, descends Mineral Basin, ascends the same to Alta, descends Alta, ascends Grizzly Gulch to Twin Lakes Pass, crosses Highway to Heaven to Solitude, descends into Brighton, ascends Guardsman's Pass, and descends into Park City.  Our route, if you include the forced detours, ended up being about 18 miles and 8k vertical, and not a whole lot of great powder skiing.  Still, it was safe, fun, and a bit wacky.

The Stats:
- Time: 6 hrs
- Distance: 18 miles
- Vert: 8k
- Put in:  Snowbird viz a viz UTA Bus
- Take out: Park City viz a viz Rosie (Thanks!)
- Accomplices: Bart and Alex -- Note to self: make sure you start skiing in October so that you can keep up with these guys.
- Equipment: Alex, Voile Insanes, Dynafit Speeds, F3s; Bart, Dynafit ST 7, Dynafit Speeds, F1s; Me, Trab Duo Race w/Low Techs and Pierre Gignoux 444s
- Equipment blowups: 1 -- see below
- Food Consumed: 2 peanut butter and honey sandwiches, 1 coke, and 1 bottle of water.  Very hungry at the end.
- Friendly Resorts: Snowbird, Brighton, Solitude
- Not Friendly Resorts: Alta, Park City
- Faceplants: 2 -- me=1, Bart=1
- Entertainment for the Day: Alex

Exhibit A:  (As we are skinning up Snowbird after Alex slid down on his back) "Man, I sure could have used some Whippets."

Exhibit B:  We're ducking below a ridge, just out of sight of the Alta lady with studs in her face who had just denied us entrance.  Our plan is to rip skins, run across the cat track, and disappear down the slope.  Time is of the essence because we are sure the Alta lady has called for backup.  The problem is that Alex has to first, take off his pack; second, put on his bright fluorescent green jacket; third, take out his special Montana skin savers; fourth, figure out how to rip skins with skis on; fifth, untangle skins that got wrapped around the perimeter rope and his neck; sixth, fold his skins using said special Montana skin savers.

Exhibit C: We are skinning up in the Brighton backcountry and some snowboarders chastise us for going the "wrong" direction.  As Alex, a former bro brah himself, tells them, "Duh, we're in the backcountry and I didn't see a sign," the first one stacks it up and the second one piles into him.  They are strapped into their boards in a ravine, faces buried in the snow.  Stuck.  The second one gets up and gives us the finger.  We laugh.

Some photos:

Can someone tell me how these binding things work?

From December 20, 2009

Bart skiing Mineral Basin.

From December 20, 2009

Three sets of tracks. Bart on the left, Alex in the middle, me on the right. Alex made a total of 3 turns.

From December 20, 2009

Our exit: a 100 meter skate through White Pine to Hotel Park City. Then walk to the corner and wait.

From December 20, 2009

Um guys, I think my binding broke. Hmmm. . . Ya think? Alex skied from Solitude to Park City free heel.

From December 20, 2009

Alex's Version here.

Cardiac Ridge Avalanche: Part 1

I'm going to present this in two parts.  Part 1 will be my best shot at presenting the objective facts -- 3rd person account, no wishing this or that, and no swear words.  Part 2, which might come later after I process it, will be my own subjective analysis.

A group of 4 skiers (Skier 1, Skier 2, Skier 3, and Skier 4) gathered the morning of December 12, 2009 in Big Cottonwood Canyon at Mill D.  They headed south, hoping to ski in the Cardiac Bowl/Ridge vicinity.

From December 12, 2009

Snow Conditions
About 5 inches of snow had fallen during the night (the "New Snow").  Winds were blowing from the southwest and had done so throughout the night.  On Cardiac Ridge, the New Snow had fallen on a layer of hard windblown snow.  A very cold period of 2-3 days had created likely created a layer of facets on top of the windblown layer.  There was some wind loading on the east facing slopes.  The snowpack was relatively shallow.

The Avalanche
The avalanche was triggered near the top of Cardiac Ridge.  Cardiac Ridge runs north and south and connects Mt. Superior and Mr. Kessler.  The skiers were working their way up the north end of the east facing slopes along a rock band and less than 200 feet from the ridge top when the avalanche was triggered.  An illustration of the skiers relative positions follows:

From December 12, 2009

Skier 1 triggered the avalanche from the position shown in the picture above.  Skier 1 and Skier 2 heard a "whumpf" and felt a collapse.  Skier 1 felt a slab under him move a few inches and stop.  A few seconds later, a soft  slab above and to the climber's left pulled out and began sliding down the slope.  The soft slab consisted of wind blown and fallen New Snow.  The soft slab most likely failed on the thin December 8-11 facets and ran on a hard wind blown crust.

The soft slab was about 10-12 inches deep and 40 to 50 feet across.  The total area is unknown since it quickly turned into a big powdery sluff. Here is a picture of the crown:

From December 12, 2009

The avalanche ran approximately 300 to 400 feet.  Here is a picture taken 100 feet above the burial site.

From December 12, 2009

The Burial
Skiers 1, 2, and 3 were sheltered by the rock band above them and generally out of the way of the avalanche path.  Skier 4 was directly in the avalanche path and was swept away.  Skier 4 was carried approximately 200 to 300 feet.  A portion of the avalanche ran down a gully.  Another portion of the avalanche piled up before a roll over.  Skier 4 was deposited in a low spot before a roll over and buried perpendicular to slope. His head was about 2 feet under. He was lying face up. He lost one pole, but held on to the other one.  Both skis were on -- dynafit toe pieces locked.

Skier 4 was located within 1 minute after the burial.  By wiggling his one pole, the basket created a disturbance on the surface and then exposed the tip of the pole, which was observed by Skier 1.  Skier 1 used hands to dig down to expose Skier 4's face.  Skiers 2 and 3 used shovels to dig out Skier 4.  Skier 4's face was exposed within 3 to 4 minutes after the burial.  Skier 4 was fully conscious and took a big breath when airway was cleared.  Skier 4 was uninjured.

Below is a photo of the burial site:

From December 12, 2009

Grand Canyon: Rim to Rim

From October 30, 2009

On Friday, I ran (mostly) from the North Rim of the Grand Canyon to the South Rim of the Grand Canyon. Because I'm not really a runner (the collar of my team bike jersey says, "Running is for Criminals"), it felt like a long way and now my feet hurt. But it was worth it and was a great adventure -- definitely something I'll remember for a long time.

We left the Wasatch front on Thursday night, drove to Panguitch, had dinner at the Cowboy Smokehouse (great restaurant!), proceeded to Kanab, then to Jacob's Lake. We got to Jacob's Lake Lodge about 1 am in the morning and slept for a few hours. 4 guys, 2 beds -- I can handle it. We got up at 5:30 am and drove 1 hr to the North Rim. When we got to the trailhead, it was 7 degrees.

From October 30, 2009

For whatever reason, I've never been to the Grand Canyon. I guess I've kind of thought that it was too touristy or too mainstream. I've been missing out. I was pretty much stunned as we descended the North Rim. "Grand" barely describes the the landscape and strata laid out before and under us.

From October 30, 2009

The trail from the North Rim descends from a little over 8000 feet to a little over 2000 feet. The first 3 or 4 miles are quite steep, so we fast walked this portion.

From October 30, 2009

I would stop and take pictures, then run and catch up with the group. In the photo below, you can see the group descending on the trail just as the sun began to hit the cliffs. Magical.

From October 30, 2009

After Cottonwood Campground, we ran. We ran through the "Box," a narrow canyon section that follows Bright Angel creek, which eventually empties into the Colorado River.

From October 30, 2009

Bob, stretching out after running through the Box.

From October 30, 2009

Barry and Bradley running out of the Box.

From October 30, 2009

By the time we hit the Canyon floor, the temperature had risen significantly. People were perspiring. And I could smell some major BO. As I was running through the Box, I was thinking, man, someone stinks. I haven't smelled that smell since Day 4 of the Pierra Menta -- after everyone had been wearing the same skinsuits for 4 days. It was strong. When we hit the Colorado River, I paused on the bridge to take it all in.

From October 30, 2009

As I was standing on the bridge -- all by myself -- I was surprised to smell the BO again. And it got me thinking: I am the only one on the bridge, I smell BO, it's definitely BO . . . wait, could it be me? I smelled my shirt. Gag. It was me! But it couldn't be me I thought. I know what I smell like. I've been smelling myself for 35 years. So I smelled my left armpit. Gag again. It was me! But no, it couldn't be.

So, there I stood on the middle of the bridge over the Colorado River in the Grand Canyon smelling one armpit and then the other. Frantically. What was going on? What did I eat? How could be happening? And then I figured it out. Last week, in preparation for this run, I bought a fancy running hydration pack at the REI garage sale. I made a point to choose the cleanest looking, least-used pack, and the one that I settled on was a woman's model. It fit, so I bought it. I should have sniffed it.

It turned out that as my perspiration soaked into the pack, it was bringing to life some rank BO spores or some wild-living-bad-smelling thing. Not only had my shirt been contaminated. My body seemed like it was emanating that bad BO. Gross. I was wearing a pack that belonged to a woman with really really bad BO. And now the BO was on me. Here I am, wearing the BO pack, comtemplating jumping in to the Colorado to cleanse myself. Oh, and the shirt also happens to be a Smartwool woman's model as well.

From October 30, 2009

Once you hit the Colorado River, the trail starts heading up again. There are two options to the South Rim, the South Kaibab and the Bright Angel trail, which we chose. We thought this sign was amusing, but a little misplaced since it is at the bottom of the Canyon.

From October 30, 2009

Before heading up, I scrubbed my pack and washed my shirt in a stream. I didn't put my shirt back on, and instead ran topless from the bottom of the Canyon to the top of the South Rim. Here's a shot with 4 really steep miles to go. South Rim is on the top.

From October 30, 2009

Unfortunately, because I was out of breath and because my camera got a bit wet during the BO cleanse, I didn't get many pictures of the south side. And I have to admit that I was unable to run 100 percent of the last 7 miles. I ran the first 5 miles, but as I gained altitude and as fatigue set in, I couldn't keep the legs going. The last 2 miles I would run a few hundred yards, then walk, then do the same again. By the time I hit the South Rim, my legs, particularly my feet and ankles were pretty well spent. The full trip was about 25 miles. As I sat at the top of the South Rim waiting for my compadres, I thought of the crazies who do a Rim-to-Rim-to-Rim. That would really hurt.

The reward for crossing the Grand Canyon was a 4 seat Piper Arrow waiting for us on the South Rim. While Rim to Rim by foot is less than 30 miles, Rim to Rim by car is 225 miles. Stan, the orchestrator of the trip, arranged for a plane to fly us back from the South Rim to Provo.

From October 30, 2009

Bye Grand Canyon. I'll be back.

Anyone want a pack?

P2P: Falling Short

Samurais have lots of mottos. One of my mottos is: try it, you might surprise yourself (thanks Joey!). The ideal surprise is to discover that you have more potential than you thought, or perhaps that you can ride harder, or go faster than you thought possible. Sometimes, however, you get a dog-of-a-surprise. And you come up short, which can be a good thing in that weaknesses are identified. But sometimes you come up so short, that it's a bad thing. You fall so short of the mark that you begin to sincerely question whether you are even on the right planet. And if that happens then lots of soul-searching is required. Occasionally, therapy and some sort of self esteem boosting psychology is necessary. I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and gosh darn it . . . .

On Saturday, I lined up for my first ever marathon mountain bike race, the Park City Point to Point, a 75 mile, all technical singletrack, endurance race. No biggie, right? I've ridden the White Rim a number of times. I've completed my fair share of 100 mile road races. 10,000 foot ski days are manageable. I even raced a few local XC races this year. So I thought that an endurance mountain bike race would be a nice, fun way to wrap up the summer.

Somthing is Awry

After what I considered a fast start, I was happy to be in the company of a solid group -- Ashbridge, Mitchell, Eric Flynn, Chris Peters, Aaron Phillips, and Tanner Cottle. Unfortunately, that satisfaction was short-lived. At about 18 miles in, my rear tire went flat. I stopped and fixed it, and then tried to make up the lost time. After a hard effort for for 3-4 miles, I it began to seem like something was awry. I felt under powered and had a conversation with myself that went something like this:

Me: Um, Samurai, you're in trouble. You're about to cramp.

Samurai: Ssh. No I'm not.

Me: Yes you are. You're barely even turning a 22 x 32. Plus, you're sweating lots of salt.

Samurai: So?

Me: You should be able to -- and actually have before -- ridden this in a 29 x 30. And when you sweat lots of salt, you're in trouble. Remember LOTOJA 2007?

Samurai: Why don't you stop doubting me and give me a little support? We're only 18 miles into the race. And we have a long ways to go.

Me: Right, we have a long way to go. Rah rah rah . . .

Samurai: I think if I just eat something and back off a bit, I'll feel better.

Me: Yeah, a gel and some hydration might be good, but you shouldn't feel hungry only 18 miles into the race.

Samurai: Maybe I can get some food at the aid station.

Me: You're going to need more than that.

Luckily, about that time in the conversation Matt Ohran saved me from myself. I was instantly amused as I observed him de-clothing in the middle of the trail. Apparently, he was having an allergy attack and we were able to commiserate as we soft pedaled up to Silver Lake. Matt abandoned at Silver Lake. I ate some bananas and pedaled on in my granny gear, hoping that things would get better.

Denial

Just out of sight of Fox who was handing out cash at Silver Lake, and after I had plucked a $1 bill out of his hand, I cramped. 25 miles and less than 3 hrs into the race my legs locked up. I got off and walked. I soon figured out that if I kept my HR below a certain threshold, I wouldn't cramp. Anything above that threshold, my legs seized. Unfortunately that threshold was about 8 watts. "Retarded" is the most fitting adjective that descibes my ride up the wet, rooty, rocky, technical trail from Silver Lake to the top of Bald Mountain. Given my self-image at the time (I say that because it has been drastically altered since then), I couldn't accept that I was only capable of 25 miles. I was in double denial: denial that I was cashed, and denial that I really wanted/ought to quit.

When I descended off of Bald Mountain to Bowhunter, I saw the Samurai straying to the right, towards Flagstaff Loop, and not toward the left where there were big bright orange course markers.

Me: Um, Samurai, why are your eyes straying?

Samurai: No reason. Just enjoying the view.

Me: You're not thinking of cutting the course are you?

Samurai: No. But now that you mention it Bowhunter isn't all that great a trail anyway. Plus, I hear that there was a new golf rule being applied in endurance mountain bike racing.

Me: What?

Samurai: Yeah. In golf, you get something called a handicap.

Me: I know what a handicap is.

Samurai: Well, same in mtb racing. You get a handicap. My handicap could be that I get to cut Bowhunter out.

Me: Nice try. You're not cutting the course. Do you want to be known as a golfer?

Samurai: On a normal day, if presented with the choice Be Called a Golfer v. Riding the Course, I would choose the latter 100 % of the time. However, on this day . . . .

Me: Quiet.

As anyone who rode Bowhunter found out, Bowhunter as a trail isn't that great. In fact, it was terrible. It was a path of semi-knocked down grass that traversed a steep sidehill. In some places, pedaling was impossible because of pedal strike on the sidehill. Grass and branches slapped against all parts of your body. Still, it was part of the course. And the Samurai rode it.

Going into the Flagstaff loop, I saw Chris Peters coming out. I hit the lap button at 3:14 to see how far I was behind him. I was pleasantly surprised when I exited at 3:20 -- 6 minutes back. Knowing that Chris would do well in the race, I began to harbor some hope. And I pushed a bit harder, over the cramp-effort-threshold, like 80 watts. And I cramped again. This time, it was only in my left leg. So, while my left leg dangled off to the side, I pedaled with my right leg. Retarded.

When I passed through Silver Lake for the second time, I had more or less accepted the fact that I was done racing. I ate a cookie, some bananas, and other stuff because I was still hungry. I laughed at Jeppsen who had just blown a 20+ minute lead on the downhill. Roadie. Then I went into survival mode: just finish the race.

My Retirement from All Things Endurance Related

When I am in race mode, it's easy to focus: get to the finish line fast. When I go into survival mode, however, things are different and I'm easily distracted. I become more chatty than usual and try to talk to the riders who are passing me. It became quit easy to identify riders who were still in race mode.

I also look for reasons (excuses) to stop. I was happy to stop and pick up a bottle of Squirt lube that had fallen in the trail. And then stop and lube my chain, twice. I was happy when I burped out my front wheel and had to stop to reinflate. I was happy when I heard a rider approaching from behind, because that meant I got to pull over to the side of the trail and stop. I was happy to see a half eaten package of Cliff Blocks in the middle of the trail because that meant I could stop to pick them up, and then stop again later to eat them. I was happy when my front brakes stopped working and I had to stop to squirt Ultragen on them in order to get them working again. I was happy to see a wadded up $1 bill on the ground while climbing out of Park City Mountain Resort. Of course, I stopped to pick that up too.

Between the stops, my mind wandered. I specifically recall two trains of thought: leaves and divorce. Regarding the first train of thought, the leaves in Park City are begining to change. There were parts of the trail that were nicely covered with red and orange scrub oak leaves. Other parts were covered with yellow aspen leaves. Riding over the fallen and colored leaves after a rainstorm was quite pleasant. In fact, it's one of the few cycling-related things that still appeals to me. Of course, something that is even better than that is floating down the Green River in the fall. And so I thought about that too. And from there, I started making a mental list of things that I would rather be doing rather than gritting it out on the P2P course -- eating, fishing, floating down the river, skiing, camping with my family, eating, sleeping, fishing. Leaves. I started get concerned when my thoughts went into loop mode.

The second train of thought had to do with divorce. Not divorcing my wife, but divorcing all my friends who were up the road, or the trail as it were. The very reason I lined up at the P2P was because they were doing it. The very reason I had raced so hard was so that I could compete with them. After I went into survival mode, the only reason I kept churning was so that I wouldn't lose face. After I completely lost face, and after I had watched most of them ride up the road, I was left to myself on the trail. I quickly determined that if my friends didn't exist, I wouldn't feel so bad physically and about myself. I resolved that the clear path to happiness and non-suffering was simple: divorce. I could no longer be friends with any of those guys up the trail. They were the source of too much pain, physical, and now mental.

I resolved that at the end of the true path to happiness were some nice fat flabby friends -- guys who enjoyed sitting on the couch on a Saturday, watching their flat screen. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

Pulling the Plug

About 45 miles into the race, I pulled the plug. Both of my achilles tendons started to ache. I was paranoid because the antibiotic I was taking came with a notice that said: WARNING, MAY CAUSE TENDON DAMAGE. The dull ache in my achilles was exactly the justification I needed. And I readily took it without feeling much guilt.

Gladiators

The guilt-attack came as I returned to the finish line to wait for Jeppsen who had ridden up with me. At the finish line, I was greeted by the Gladiators. They were all of a spindly build and clad in spandex. Their faces were caked with black dust and, in some cases, haggard. Some were nibbling on burgers. Others were staring at the ground or into space. Yuki said, "I'm not feeling so good," and went and got an i.v. All of them had just finished an incredible effort, had pushed themselves to the max, and ultimately had conquered the P2P. I was jealous. I wanted to be that haggard. I secretly wished that I deserved an i.v. I was also beweildered -- how in creation were they able to go that far that fast?

Consolation

I think that in the end, my bitter surprise and shortfall was a good thing. I think that the jealousy and the guilt that I am now beridden with is also a good thing. I haven't required a therapist just yet, and the surprise, the shortfall, the jealousy, and the guilt will keep me training -- and improving -- for next year, and maybe the year after that. I've even had the crazy idea of going back to the warzone and riding the whole P2P course by myself just to see if I can find the gladiator within. I know s/he's in there.

PS, for the record, I didn't follow through with the divorce. As a fellow racer put it: "I can't quit going to races. Otherwise, I wouldn't have any friends. That's the only reason I go to races." Here's to P2P 2010!

The Stuper Tour Digested

Noah has a great post on the Stuper Tour here. I thought I'd write about some high points of the trip.

Hey, do you have a headlamp in there?
It was still below freezing at Alta. I was slipping my boots on. Noah was chatting with Daryl who had just driven up in his vintage Volvo with a Yakima box and an army surplus missile container plastered with ski-climbo stickers bolted to the top. "Hey Daryl, why don't you join us . . . I've got an extra Gu packet for you."

Daryl politely declined, and then snickered.

"Are you bringing your puffy?" Noah asked.

I stuffed my trusty, stained Patagonia down sweater into my pack. "Yeah, I get cold easy."

"Do you have a headlamp in there?"

I snickered, "No." I thought Noah was joking, but maybe he wasn't.

Where are you going?
Thinking about it now, I can't even remember the approach to Sugarloaf. Soon enough, we had bagged Baldy, traversed out of Alta, and ascended Hidden Peak. A few skiiers exited the Tram along with a bunch of Snowbird ski patrollers. One of the patrollers informed us that the resort was open and that we needed to sign something in the hut.

It was a waiver of sorts in which Snowbird represented that the backcountry is "very dangerous and life threatening." We signed, agreeing that Snowbird was not responsible for what happened to us after we exited their gates. Even so, the waiver asked that we disclose our destination. Noah wrote that he was headed to Lone Peak. In a bout of one-upmanship I jotted down, "Salt Lake." Ha!



Parlez Vou Francais?
At the top of the Twins, we encountered a touring party. They had toured up from Snowbird and were heading to White Pine. They had normal alpine gear and simply shouldered their skis and hiked in their alpine boots.

Dan asked, "Where you headed?"

"Salt Lake."

"No, I asked, where are you going?"

"Salt Lake."

"Huh?"

"Yeah, were trying to tour to Salt Lake. And hit some peaks on the way."

"Oh, what a wonderful adventure."

One of the guys had a La Grave sticker on his ski and asked him about it. He spoke with a french accent. Noah took over from there and started speaking to him in french. Then we skiied to Red Stack.

Noah in Tibet . . . err, on Red Stack


Being Zen
I have a credibility problem with most of my ski partners. My regular partners -- the ones that I can convince to ski with me again -- no longer ask me questions like "Are we there yet?" or "How far is it?" or "When will we be back?" I fear I may have let them down too many times.

Going into the Stuper Tour, I underestimated. Actually, WE underestimated since we had both been independently scheming about the Stuper Tour and fortuitously partnered up to execute our scheme. (It turns out that Andrew planted the seed in both of our heads.) We underestimated the length, the difficulty of getting up the various peaks, the technical aspect of the traverses, the amount of water and time that we would need.

Maybe we over-estimated ourselves. That would be scary, except that at the same time, everything worked out. Our traverses magically linked up. We managed to find firm snow on near-vertical terrain that allowed us to ascend. When the snow mushed up, we were able to use rock spines and ridges to further our progress. When our descents cliffed out, we found a way around, or in some cases, over.

I found Noah's philosophy of the Stuper Tour, to skiing, and maybe to life, was quite refreshing: carry over and on. Kind of Zennish. It's not a reckless, conquer it kind of attitude. It's more of an unassuming work with it, we'll get through it approach.

And we zennishly got through several tough spots, including:

Running a booter up Red Baldy's north east face.



Kicking steps in on the White Baldy's steep north face.



A little rock and ice on White Baldy.


But there was a lot more to come.

The Crux(es)
When we got to the top of White Baldy, I said something like, "Ok, that was the crux. . . . It's a straight shot to Lone Peak from here." As I sit here now, I struggle to see how I thought that Lone Peak was a straight shot given that the Pfeif, Chipman, and Bighorn rose up between me and Lone Peak.

Between the two of us, we had been to the base of the Pfeif six times this year. But our confidence eroded when we sunk to our waist making our first steps up the ridge. Yet another "crux." Sorry no pics.

Then, as we were scrambling up Chipman, we were quite sure that we were conquering the Real Crux. In short order, it only became known as Crux #3 -- one of several.





And then as we climbed Bighorn, we couldn't believe that there would be a tougher pitch. Here is Noah putting moves on some Bighorn granite -- Crux # 4:



It got tougher though. Here is Noah cliffed out, with nowhere to go.



I suppose if we were using the term correctly, there could only be one crux. But truly believing that the grass was greener/snow was better on the other side turned out to be an effective coping mechanism.

If I had to choose, I would say that the real true crux was getting around and off of Bighorn. In the picture below, you can see where we cliffed out, and our tracks through Bighorn's steep westish face.



Reward: I'm not complaining about the Cruxes.
I think that the reason I remember the Cruxes so vividly is because of the feelings of relief, gratitude, and exhilaration that came as we solved those problems. Noah and I had not ever followed the Stuper Tour route, and we weren't quite sure what to expect -- or whether we'd make it. It was the uncertainty and the Cruxes that made the Stuper Tour memorable. And I'm a bit saddened that the element of uncertainty will be missing when, actually if, I do it again.

I acknowledge that it's a bit silly thinking that big adventure is in the direct line of sight of Salt Lake City. In another way, it's quite amazing that you can truly feel like Marco Polo and hear Kennecot Copper Mine at the same time.

Needless to say, reaching the south summit of Lone Peak was rewarding. I was surprised that 13 hours had passed.



The views further heightened our reward.


I Give.
From the south summit of Lone Peak, we made bid for the north summit, but ultimately called it off. In somewhat of a schizophrenic moment, I had a conversation with myself that went something like this:

"It's really steep, icy, and sketchy. What are you doing?"

"I'm going to climb to the top of Lone Peak. I came all this way after all."

"You're willing to take a big risk? For what? It's getting dark."

"I want to make it to the top."

"Why?"

"To say I did."

"You're vain. It's not worth it." I could see Hiro's big black eyes in my mind. Hiro is my 8 month old son.

"You're right." At which point, I turned around to tell Noah that I was calling it. About that time, I heard him say something like, "F it." He must have been talking with himself too.

We skiied off the east face of Lone Peak.





Hell's Bells
Maybe the mark of adventure is that it keeps going and going and going even though you really really really want it to end.

Noah and I took a few moments to look at our line off Lone Peak.


We laughed, clanged poles, and rode off into the sunset. This photo is at the top of Bells Canyon looking over Salt Lake.


We skiied to the end of the snow line, which was probably about 7000 feet and several steep rocky miles from Wasatch Blvd, where the PW-mobile was waiting. It got dark long before we got there. And neither one of us had a headlamp.

The last 2.5 hrs out Bells was a exercise in endurance. Luckily, Noah found the trail and guided me out. Noah used his cell phone LCD at times to find the trail. I pretended I was Hansel, and at times, Gretel, following the white rocks down the trail, trying not to break my ankle. And luckily about an hour from the trailhead, a nice couple on their first date, and more importantly, with 3 lights caught up to us. They guided us down the mountain. It was 11 p.m.

The Stuper Tour: Alta to SLC

I'm still trying to digest the Stuper Tour, and I'll put up a more detailed post after it's digested, and after I recover, and after I stop shaking (from fatigue, fear, and giddiness).

The Stuper Tour is the official name given (by Noah Howell) to a tour that begins in the Alta parking lot and tags several high points, most of which are over 11k, including, but not necessarily limited to, the following:

Sugarloaf
Baldy
Hidden Peak
Twin Peaks
Red Stack
Red Baldy
White Baldy
Pfeiferhorn
Chipman Peak
Bighorn Peak
Lone Peak

The Stuper tour exits out Bells Canyon and ends on Wasatch Blvd. The Stuper Tour is somewhat of a play on the "Super Tour" as discussed in Wasatch Tours aka the Wasatch BC Skiing Bible by Hanscom and Kelner. The name was born as Noah and I were sprawled out on a rock at noon -- in a stupor -- after just having summited 6 peaks, with several peaks between us and SLC. The name is a nice melding of Super, Stupor, and come to think of it, Stupid.

Photo Above: Noah Howell with Bighorn Peak in the background, ascending Lone Peak, the last pitch of the Stuper Tour.

Photo Above: Noah Howell doing what he does in a couloir on Lone Peak's east face.

More later.

Stupor Tour

I'm still trying to digest the Stuper Tour, and I'll put up a more detailed post after it's digested, and after I recover, and after I stop shaking (from fatigue, fear, and giddiness).

The Stuper Tour is the official name given (by Noah Howell) to a tour that begins in the Alta parking lot and tags several high points, most of which are over 11k, including, but not necessarily limited to, the following:

Sugarloaf
Baldy
Hidden Peak
Twin Peaks
Red Stack
Red Baldy
White Baldy
Pfeiferhorn
Chipman Peak
Bighorn Peak
Lone Peak

The Stuper tour exits out Bells Canyon and ends on Wasatch Blvd. The Stuper Tour is somewhat of a play on the "Super Tour" as discussed in Wasatch Tours aka the Wasatch BC Skiing Bible by Hanscom and Kelner. The name was born as Noah and I were sprawled out on a rock at noon -- in a stupor -- after just having summited 6 peaks, with several peaks between us and SLC. The name is a nice melding of Super, Stupor, and come to think of it, Stupid.

Photo Above: Noah Howell with Bighorn Peak in the background, ascending Lone Peak, the last pitch of the Stuper Tour.

Photo Above: Noah Howell doing what he does in a couloir on Lone Peak's east face.

More later.

Nebo: The North Basin

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