Day 81: I said that I was done.
I said it, and I meant it. I'd put all of my ski gear away for the summer, content with wrapping things up with Day 80 on Memorial Day. It's June, which means for me at least that it's time to move on to other things.
But last night we sat around having our usual Friday night sushi and figuring out what we were doing this weekend. Bobby Danger was playing golf. AmyZ wanted to ski. I didn't want to ski, instead I wanted to take my dog Jake for a hike. It didn't take long to figure out that we could combine both hiking with the dog and skiing, although there was no way to include Bobby's golf. What the hell, I've lived here for nearly 10 years and had yet to make a single turn in the Uintas. Others like schubwa get to bring their dogs along skiing all the time; with our prime ski terrain all located within watershed, where dogs are prohibited, I don't often get that luxury, especially because there's no plowed road into the Uintas until Memorial Day (or often later).
So I found myself today in the Uinta Mountains with skis on my back.
Our plan was to ski the north face of Murdock Mountain, elevation 11,212 feet. We'd park one vehicle at 10,693-foot Bald Mountain Pass, and spot the other at the bottom of the run, shaving off a couple of hundred feet of climbing. I figured that with Murdock's high elevation, easy road access, and a windswept summit that gets buffeted all winter by southerly winds that deposit snow on the north-facing aspect, we'd find ample remaining snowpack and easy skiing.
There wasn't quite as much left as I'd hoped for, but it was still nothing to sneeze at.
We decided to ski the centermost of the three lines at the center of that photo. We left my truck at the bottom and drove AmyZ's Subaru to Bald Mountain Pass. Skinning wouldn't be an option, for there was no continuous snow to reach that line. We'd have to pack in.
Walking on solid ground was at first actually much easier than on snow, for the snow along the sun-exposed ridgeline was downright rotten. Every few steps you'd unexpectedly punch through up to your crotch, and then you'd have to dig yourself out. It was slow going, with ample rest stops along the way.
Eventually, however, we had no choice but to cross a massive field of scree that left me wistfully wishing for snow up to my crotch instead. Our snail's pace slowed even further. Ski tails would catch on massive boulders as you crossed your fingers and swung from the top of one wobbly rock to another. Even with the Vibram soles of my Garmonts, ski boots weren't the footwear of choice.
We nevertheless managed to keep the Vibram side down and made it unscathed, arriving atop a 40-degree line of relatively smooth corn, lacking the sun cups that covered all snow on flatter terrain. We hung out for a while at the top, enjoying a spectacular day in the High Uintas before shoving off. I kicked out a small platform on which we could stand and for clicking in. You could tell that Jake was wondering, "What the *^&% are we doing sitting and just hanging out in snow this steep?" Once we got skiing, however, Jake was a real champ -- he lunged down that 40-degree chute as fast as we were skiing it.
We arrived back at the truck for lunch: smoked turkey sandwiches from Samak Smokehouse, washed down with a Sierra Nevada. While we sat there four guys drove by in a Jeep convertible, all shouting and hollering their approval at the fact that we'd been skiing. :mrgreen:
After lunch we drove the truck up to the pass, parked next to AmyZ's car and headed up for a second run. This time we'd avoid the scree and skin to the top of the trees visible on the far right of the Murdock Mountain photo above.
By this time (now nearly 4 p.m.) the snow was getting manky, and the run was nowhere near the quality of the first one. But it was fun nonetheless. Once we arrived at the flats we donned skins once again and headed up to the pass to our waiting vehicles.
The lower western Uintas are right now as green as I've ever seen them. There's an enormous amount of water still flowing out of those mountains, so en route home we stopped by Provo River Falls to get a look at what they look like during spring runoff.
Now, I've said it before, but this time I really mean it: I'm done. 81 days spread over 8 months is as much of a ski season as a guy could want.
I said it, and I meant it. I'd put all of my ski gear away for the summer, content with wrapping things up with Day 80 on Memorial Day. It's June, which means for me at least that it's time to move on to other things.
But last night we sat around having our usual Friday night sushi and figuring out what we were doing this weekend. Bobby Danger was playing golf. AmyZ wanted to ski. I didn't want to ski, instead I wanted to take my dog Jake for a hike. It didn't take long to figure out that we could combine both hiking with the dog and skiing, although there was no way to include Bobby's golf. What the hell, I've lived here for nearly 10 years and had yet to make a single turn in the Uintas. Others like schubwa get to bring their dogs along skiing all the time; with our prime ski terrain all located within watershed, where dogs are prohibited, I don't often get that luxury, especially because there's no plowed road into the Uintas until Memorial Day (or often later).
So I found myself today in the Uinta Mountains with skis on my back.
Our plan was to ski the north face of Murdock Mountain, elevation 11,212 feet. We'd park one vehicle at 10,693-foot Bald Mountain Pass, and spot the other at the bottom of the run, shaving off a couple of hundred feet of climbing. I figured that with Murdock's high elevation, easy road access, and a windswept summit that gets buffeted all winter by southerly winds that deposit snow on the north-facing aspect, we'd find ample remaining snowpack and easy skiing.
There wasn't quite as much left as I'd hoped for, but it was still nothing to sneeze at.
We decided to ski the centermost of the three lines at the center of that photo. We left my truck at the bottom and drove AmyZ's Subaru to Bald Mountain Pass. Skinning wouldn't be an option, for there was no continuous snow to reach that line. We'd have to pack in.
Walking on solid ground was at first actually much easier than on snow, for the snow along the sun-exposed ridgeline was downright rotten. Every few steps you'd unexpectedly punch through up to your crotch, and then you'd have to dig yourself out. It was slow going, with ample rest stops along the way.
Eventually, however, we had no choice but to cross a massive field of scree that left me wistfully wishing for snow up to my crotch instead. Our snail's pace slowed even further. Ski tails would catch on massive boulders as you crossed your fingers and swung from the top of one wobbly rock to another. Even with the Vibram soles of my Garmonts, ski boots weren't the footwear of choice.
We nevertheless managed to keep the Vibram side down and made it unscathed, arriving atop a 40-degree line of relatively smooth corn, lacking the sun cups that covered all snow on flatter terrain. We hung out for a while at the top, enjoying a spectacular day in the High Uintas before shoving off. I kicked out a small platform on which we could stand and for clicking in. You could tell that Jake was wondering, "What the *^&% are we doing sitting and just hanging out in snow this steep?" Once we got skiing, however, Jake was a real champ -- he lunged down that 40-degree chute as fast as we were skiing it.
We arrived back at the truck for lunch: smoked turkey sandwiches from Samak Smokehouse, washed down with a Sierra Nevada. While we sat there four guys drove by in a Jeep convertible, all shouting and hollering their approval at the fact that we'd been skiing. :mrgreen:
After lunch we drove the truck up to the pass, parked next to AmyZ's car and headed up for a second run. This time we'd avoid the scree and skin to the top of the trees visible on the far right of the Murdock Mountain photo above.
By this time (now nearly 4 p.m.) the snow was getting manky, and the run was nowhere near the quality of the first one. But it was fun nonetheless. Once we arrived at the flats we donned skins once again and headed up to the pass to our waiting vehicles.
The lower western Uintas are right now as green as I've ever seen them. There's an enormous amount of water still flowing out of those mountains, so en route home we stopped by Provo River Falls to get a look at what they look like during spring runoff.
Now, I've said it before, but this time I really mean it: I'm done. 81 days spread over 8 months is as much of a ski season as a guy could want.
