UNTRAMMELED

 

My wife Tracey, dog Eva and I were looking to do some skiing last Saturday but knew our local resorts were unobtainable, so we went out to the Uinta’s to get away from it all.   While not exactly an alpine start we got to the Beaver Creek trailhead at 10:00 AM and parked right in front of the entrance gate trail map.  We skinned up and took a picture of the map, like savvy kids do, and we were off.  It was a sunny zero degrees with zero people around.  Perfect.

There was a long, flat approach upstream but downstream we found a zigzag up-track in less than a half a mile.  It was wicked steep, like an old misanthrope had cut it or some young and healthy, macho-millennial showing off to their friends or their date.  Predictably it flattened off after a while after cooler heads prevailed or someone got tired, and we settled into a sustainable groove with enough purchase for us and punch for Eva.

 The higher slopes opened into low angle meadows and dwarf, standing-dead trees.  Thirty degrees in the trees is usually our avalanche mantra for worry free fun in the sun, even on high hazard days.  The pucker brush and understory that populates these low elevation ridges was buried this year with the copious snowpack, leaving some exquisite rollie-pollie hummocks. 

We poked around for a while at the top of the openings and agreed on a shaded, north-facing gully, similar to the low angle Driveway slope at Canyons, and we de-skinned quickly so we wouldn’t catch a chill.  Tracey took the first line to the left in the meadow, skiing smoothly and more confidently as she descended.  When she stopped and whistled, from her island-of-safety, I released the hound.  Eva plowed downhill in Tracey’s tracks initially, but eventually centerpunched the deep untracked snow as she gained momentum and bravado. 

When it was my turn, I checked twice to make sure my boots were buckled and in ski mode and my heal lifters were fastened down.  I had not toured in three years, for various nefarious reasons, and I was unsure of myself and ability.  Starting slow, I hugged the left side of the gully, and I was surprised how good the snow was and how easy the turns came.  I gained speed and began reading the slope further ahead, always a good sign.  The pucker-brush hummocks turned into soft moguls to be seen and skied deliberately.  Before long I was launching dynamic Telemarks, hopping in the air between bumps to switch feet, aspect and angle.  At the bottom I dug in deep for the last turn and stopped completely before releasing my final, perfect pinky-toe carve. ‘Its like riding a bike’, I thought.  I was back.  Reborn.

We had to laugh and although we had planned to be one-and-done it was too good to leave.  So we ate, drank, stripped down, skinned up and did it again and again and again.  We uncharacteristically got separated for a while and out of synch on the hidden up-track, which added some drama to the day, but our trusty Healer – Border Collie found us both and connected the dolts by running back and forth until we merged. 

Eva’s feet were getting cold, as she hung-up one foot after another, so we eventually washed out the bottom and headed back to the car before we were tired or bored, hungry or cold.  There would be no alpenglow slog to the trailhead this time with headlamps, frozen toes or blisters.  Sometimes less is more. 

We loaded up and headed into Guero’s in Kamas for a late lunch where we ate ten-dollar burritos the size of footballs.  We made it back home easily in time for beers and popcorn on the couch in our Long-Johns and the evening football game.  We don’t need a crowded industrial ski resort to have a great day; just the gravity of the mountains, Bluebird skies, fresh powder and each other.