The incomparable Chugach, AKYesterday, I broke the number one rule in steep skiing – I fell. We talk a lot about no-fall skiing on blogs like this one. Defining a line as such requires a combination of pitch and snow characteristics. We rarely get to test the presumption. Doing so could cost you your life. Instead, we demand of ourselves utmost concentration and enough skill and judgment to ski the line without falling. Up until yesterday, I ‘ve been successful.
***** Peak Couloirs
Mat and I planned to finally get on a much-coveted line on a big peak in the Western Chugach near Anchorage. The weather’s been stable and clear this past week and we knew conditions on the north-facing couloir would be perfect.
The approach involves navigating some typically sketchy Alaska neighborhood roads where people don’t appreciate casual passer-bys. Too many stories about gun-toting territorialists confronting skiers on their way to the alpine. Mat knows the guy who maintains the road and he was cool with us walking by. I still hate the tension I feel moving through there.
A tasty chute on ****** Peak
****** Pass dead ahead. ******* massif dominating.Once passed the final home, the tree line ends and the alpine begins. The peaks up in this valley represent what I feel are the best that the Anchorage area has to offer. These are huge, rugged, sometimes glaciated Chugach peaks, often over 7,000 feet high. The area offers numerous steep skiing lines and **** harbors two of the sweetest.
The skinning is easy up the low angle valley. It took us 2.5 hours to get to the base of the first couloir. It’s narrow, steep and about 1,600 feet long. Average pitch is about 45 degrees with a couple of sections a few degrees steeper. The booting was good to great and the snow quality acceptable. It wasn’t blower but it’s what I’ve come to like in features like these - predictable edging with manageable slough.
***** Couloir #1
****** Couloir #2, bottom halfMat and I traded leads the whole way up. It was surprisingly cold and we each stopped numerous times to swing the blood back into our fingertips. Forty-five minutes later we were standing on top.
Mat liking what he sees
Would you want to fall here?
Get Your Head in the Game
Sport psychologists talk about optimal arousal states for sport performance. For some athletes, weight lifters, for instance, this level may involve banging one’s head on the bar and screaming prior to attempting a heavy squat. For others it may simply be taking a moment to quietly visualize the task at hand and then getting down to business. The point is that the optimal excitation level is different for everyone.
My partner, Mat, has a pre-run ritual involving checking and re-checking his gear, glasses, helmet, etc. and then doing a little ski slap shuffle routine that eventually has me taunting him with, “Are you ready yet?” or “What are you doing?” He, of course, blows me off with, “don’t rush me, man” and we eventually get down to the business of skiing. But what he’s really doing, whether he realizes it or not, is getting his arousal level to the point where he can ski the line effectively.
I’ve been competing and doing dangerous stuff most of my life. I’ve never been one to do anything noticeably ritualistic before a race, skiing a steep line or soloing a rock climb. I simply recognize the danger or the task and the rest fall into place. I’m not for a minute suggesting that this is a better way to prepare but simply offer that this is what works for me.
After yesterday’s tumble, I realize that I’ve let my guard down lately. I think that my success on various serious lines over that past couple of seasons has created a complacency and casualness that finally almost took my life. The event serves as a wake-up call for me to up my game when the time is appropriate.
Go Time
The top of the couloir is low angle and serves as a nice warm-up entry to the steeper business in the gut. 
Mellow beginningsMy first several turns went fine and Mat and I exchanged leads giving each other virgin snow. 
The start of the businessThe conditions were just a hint variable and I noticed my tips submarining under a two inch forgiving crust. Maybe this is what got me. But at a steep choke about one third of the way down, I hooked a tip and hip checked. It caught my attention just for a second. I stood right back up.
Mat keeping it upright
I should’ve known right then that something was up. Instead, I made another clean turn and then, as I jumped into another, everything went wrong. I high-sided and fell head first, landing on my pole and feeling it snap under my weight. My knee twisted and I felt the tension build up until the ski suddenly released. I accelerated. At this point, lots of shit goes through your head. I thought about how bad it could get. What impacting the walls at speed would feel like and how epic any sort of extrication/rescue was going to be. But the snow was soft and I wasn’t out of control yet. So, I got my one remaining ski under me, flattened my body out to increase surface area and dug everything in. My ski caught and I came to a stop. I looked down at my slough and there was my other ski starting its descent into the unknown.
I was embarrassed first. I was a little scared and my hands were shaking as I made a quick assessment of the situation. I reassured Mat I was okay and suggested he get on with skiing down in hopes of finding my ski. I was beginning to grasp what skiing out the **** Valley would be like with only one ski. I found the other half of my pole, donned my crampons and started down climbing.
A couple of minutes passed before Mat yelled up that he had my ski. I started thinking that there would be no epic and that I could even ski the second couloir on ***** as planned. Unfortunately, when I got to my ski and made the requisite inspection, I noticed that one of the wings of the front binding had snapped off. Not good. Further inspection revealed what looked to be evidence of the binding hitting the wall, likely causing the failure. I finished walking down.
"Houston, we have a problem"At the bottom, we took stock of the situation. I got out the repair kit and put on my MacGyver hat. I couldn’t for the life of me figure out how to secure my foot to the ski with what remained of the front binding without creating a serious liability. After a few minutes of pondering and futzing, I resigned myself to the mono ski out. This was going to suck.
One ski. Almost enough to make me cry.I suggested to Mat that he let me suffer alone and climb and ski the other couloir while I floundered out. We parted ways and I started. After a few missteps, I settled into a routine of alternating feet in the ski. I tried all kinds of things but I slowly lost altitude and gained ground. It was looking pretty good. The valley is relatively low angle and snow conditions good for such a struggle. I was cursing my little 167cm 75mm underfoot mountaineering skis. Not exactly a large platform for ballet skiing off piste. But before I knew it, I was post holing up to the road and happily walking down to the car. Incredibly, not a second after popping the hatch on my Subaru did I hear the scratch of Mat’s edges on the road behind me. Couldn’t have timed it better.
I learned a good lesson yesterday without much consequence to my partner or myself. I was lucky. It’s a sobering reminder of how quickly things can go sideways. I also learned that skiing on one ski sucks and is garanteed to make your legs hurt.