Skiing Arapaho Lakes (Again)

Forty miles northwest of my house lies the East Portal of the Moffat Tunnel, a 6.2 mile long railroad and water tunnel through the Continental Divide. The railroad tunnel was "holed through" on July 7, 1927 and cost $15.6 million and 28 human lives to complete. The Union Pacific Railroad still uses the tunnel today, which is great for Front Range backcountry enthusiasts because the East Portal Road is plowed all the way to the tunnel all winter long, providing great winter access to the James Peak Wilderness.

I met Scott E., Nate, Scott J., and Otina at the trailhead at 9:00. Conditions were surprisingly pleasant - usually the temperature is in the single digits and the wind is howling but today it was relatively warm and perfectly calm. Conditions seemed perfect for our planned post-ski trailhead cookout.

Because of the mild conditions we were able to explore the above treeline terrain near "Radiobeacon Peak," but because of the avalanche danger (consistently "CONSIDERABLE" on north through east through south aspects near and above treeline for the last five days) we had to be careful not to travel on or under slopes measuring much above 30 degrees.

<BEGIN RANT>

Two days ago, an apparently significantly less risk averse group of backcountry skiers and snowboarders near Red Mountain Pass (in western Colorado) was skiing a slope that obviously should not have been skied on a CONSIDERABLE day. The below video was posted to the CAIC's Facebook page, which resulted in a heated debate about risk tolerance in the backcountry. To be clear, I find this type of behavior extremely irresponsible. This skier was lucky he landed - if he hadn't, he would have been buried and possibly killed (and also put his partners and any other skiers in the area at risk during the rescue). I'd like to think these skiers learned a valuable lesson, but based on their comments on Facebook I don't believe that to be the case, and that's unfortunate. As Tremper writes in Staying Alive in Avalanche Terrain, "take a giant step back from the 'stupid line' - the line between reasonable and unreasonable risk."

***EDIT: One of my fellow SMS instructors was skiing across the basin from these clowns, immediately dropped into the basin to help in the possible rescue, and was rudely told "we don't need your help." Classy gentlemen, these ones.

<END RANT>

We found good snow (almost) all the way back to the trailhead. We skied untracked powder up high and soft snow in the trees but had to make survival turns through a breakable suncrust on the final pitch back to the trucks. That last part sucked.

These powder turns below Frosty Bowl didn't suck

Luckily when we got back to the trailhead we ate and drank well. Scott E. fired up his grill and cooked hot sausages, bacon wrapped jalapeno peppers, and just plain bacon. I poured two flavors of homebrew - Hoppy Red and Centennial Blonde. It was a good day.

GPS track (7.4 miles, 2,500 vertical feet)

Questions/Comments? Leave them below!

Red Light, Green Light

Before I head into the backcountry, I check the Colorado Avalanche Information Center's avalanche forecast for the zone I will be skiing. Here's what today's CAIC Danger Rose for the Front Range Zone looked like:

The Danger Rose is a quick, visual representation of the backcountry avalanche danger. The rose represents slope aspect and elevation, and the colors represent the danger ratings for those slopes and elevations. Today's forecast was CONSIDERABLE (Level 3) near and above treeline on N-NE-E-SE aspects. Elsewhere the danger was MODERATE (Level 2)

We skied an E-NE aspect at treeline - in other words, a CONSIDERABLE slope. This means that dangerous avalanche conditions exist and that human triggered avalanches are likely. I'd like to explain my decision making process on today's tour and how I came to be comfortable skiing such a slope.

I tend to think of information and observations about terrain, snowpack, and weather as either green lights, yellow lights, or red lights. Taken together, I form an overall green light, yellow light, or red light opinion about avalanche danger.

Before I left the parking lot I knew a few things. Snowfall totals this season have been below average, which results in weak, rotten snow (known as depth hoar) buried at the bottom of the snowpack. This has been a persistent problem all winter and and will continue to be problematic until spring (yellow light). I knew the avalanche danger in the area I was skiing was CONSIDERABLE (yellow light). There was approximately four inches of new snow on the ground (yellow light) and the wind was blowing (yellow light). I was beginning to form an opinion before I even put on my skis.

While my ski partner and I (plus Rangerdog) skinned up the valley, we hunted for additional observations to help us paint a fuller picture of the avalanche danger around us. We saw a west-facing slope with recent natural avalanche debris (another yellow light).

An excellent potential ski mountaineering line

Further up the drainage we eyed our E-NE slope. Scott and I noticed avalanche debris in a gully on looker's left of the slope (yellow light). Scott measured the average slope angle in the high-20s, but the top of the slope was likely in the mid-30s. Mid-30s slopes are great ski slopes, but those slope angles are also prime avalanche terrain. This was unquestionably red light terrain.

The slope in question

We dug a snow pit to evaluate the snowpack and perform stability tests. Our initial compression test and extended column test results both showed the snowpack was not reactive. Scott and I read this as a  "not-red light." In other words, while our tests did not show instability, they also did not prove stability. The snowpack can vary tremendously over very short distances, and it only takes one pocket of instability to create an avalanche and kill you. We cautiously continued up the slope and constanted re-evaluated stability by probing the snow with our poles, attempting to get the snow to slide on test slopes, and digging hasty pits with our hands along the skin track. None of our observations indicated instability. In our minds, this meant we could continue up the slope and test the snowpack further.

Halfway up the slope we reached a rollover with a measured slope angle of 37 degrees. Thirty seven degrees just so happens to be the single slope angle responsible for the most avalanches. This was a major RED LIGHT. We both dug snow pits and performed stability tests. I performed an extended column test with a result of ECTP 21 Q2 @ 120cm. Scott's compression test showed no signs of instability. Green lights. We decided to continue on.

Above the roll the slope measured in the high-20s (green light). However, we were approaching treeline and the snowpack was noticeably wind affected (yellow light). We avoided another small rollover (36 degree slope angle - RED LIGHT), pulled skins, performed a beacon check, and discussed our strategy (Scott would ski first and stop before the 37 degree rollover, I would ski down to him, then he would ski the bottom pitch and I would follow).

Professional avalanche education, years of experience, a skilled partner, and the collection and synthesis of dozens of observations led Scott and me to believe that the slope we were about to ski was avalanche safe.

Part art, part science, and the best powder turns of the year!

Homebrewed IPA makes everything better

Questions? Ask in the Comments below.

snOMG!!! An Urban Skiing Adventure

The largest February snowstorm in 100 years dumped 17 inches of snow at my house in Northwest Denver. This obviously called for an urban skiing adventure.

I searched Craigslist for a cheap pair of cross-country skis and lucked upon some waxless Karhus for $20 less than two miles from my house. I took them home, geared up, and was out the door. Destination: Denver Beer Co.

Conditions were good but variable. I skied through over a foot of unconsolidated powder at times. Plowed streets and shoveled sidewalks with a few inches of fresh skied surprisingly well. Attempting to ski across the exposed asphalt on Federal Boulevard was not nearly as fun.

I turned south onto Tejon Street and passed the neighborhood speakeasy, the old Olinger Mortuary turned trendy restaurant named Linger, and the 90 year old fountain store turned tap room. The lengthy descent tested my skiing skills - floppy boots and skis lacking metal edges aren't the greatest tools for negotiating icy, snowpacked roads and vehicle traffic!

Safely down the hill, I crossed the Highland Bridge into downtown Denver. A few blocks of sidewalk skiing led me to the tap room at Denver Beer Co.

Highland Bridge and "National Velvet" by Denver artist John McEnroe

I ordered an IPA and verified with the bartender that I was, in fact, the first person ever to ski to Denver Beer Co. I ran into some friends, enjoyed a few more beers (including Graham Cracker Porter, a Great American Beer Festival Bronze Medal winner), geared up, and skied the three miles back home. Success!