Sunny day in Mid-November
by David Huebner

Strolling around my cabin, listening to music, feeling the soreness in my legs from the day's ski, I end up in front of the old map I got from my parents that covers a huge area including my cabin in the bottom left corner, with 200 ft. contour intervals. Staring into it I start analyzing the terrain to the west of the cabin. Up a long low angle forested slope to a couple small peaks, one with a nice 700 to 1,000 vertical foot cirque. The other is forested, a few hundred feet lower and has lots of northerly treed slopes in all directions pouring off of it. I look closer and then again at the beginning of the route, it's not far from the cabin to good snow and easy skinning terrain, even if there's patchy snow the first few hundred feet. It'll be bigger than today, I think, but refocusing on the north facing terrain that I could reach, I start adding contour lines...1,000 foot long potentially good powder lines...

Up early, I don't get going till late morning ‹ writing, chewin' the fat on the phone, and boiling water on a wood stove. Between ten and eleven, I start hiking across the river valley into the dense forested slopes on the other side. Not far above a meadow where the river cuts through, I get into some patchy snow. Heading too much to the left and straight up the slope, I break into clearings and bands of small granite cliffs. The incredibly thin snowpack of a few inches in patches is barely providing access and I'm beginning to realize that I've gotten off track. I don't have a detailed map to look at, just going on mental memory of the large scale map in the cabin, I figure on continuing up if possible and eventually heading more north to the easier lower angle treed slope which I've somehow missed. Seemingly "topping out" on a granite bluff I realize the consequences of my error in route finding, and have to essentially dump most of the vertical I've gained and head down and north into the small valley where the easy travel in low angle trees is the only way to negotiate the slightly deeper 6-12 inch patchy snowpack. North facing slopes are an exciting crust on dust on firm base conglomeration that is even more pleasent with skins on.

Down in the valley the travel is easier but still convoluted, with steep rolls and plenty of creeks and rock outcroppings to deal with on a pretty thin base. At a point around 8,800 - 9,000 feet I run into noticeably more snow, and soon the touring is easy, and the snow pack is running between 18 and 24 inches deep. Now the skis don't feel like such a limitation, or a stupid thing to be doing on a sunny day in mid-November; now the skis feel smooth and fast and powerful. Climbing higher through the forest it's not long before I see the bigger peak of the two, and it's northerly cirque. Veering right I glide into wider and wider spaced lodgepole, western white, and white bark pines, as well as hemlocks, eventually spying the ridge of the lower northerly treed summit that I'm aiming for.

Wow! Suddenly the views open up dramatically and I turn around and look back and the range is big and jagged to the south with big river valleys cutting toward me, the young volcano rising straight across from me, and these really sweet smaller peaks that I'm skinning up to. Soon I reach the ridge of the smaller peak and the sawblade crest of the next ridge greets me imposingly across the next valley. I look around at the nearby north facing terrain and am equally blown away by its amazing features: cliffs, chutes, trees, gulleys, bowls, each line has it all. Not to mention it is completely hidden from the shine of the sun for several months out of each winter.

The bigger lines look to be a bit farther away than I intend to go with this short mid-november day, so I summit the smaller treed summit and look down it's north face. One of the steepest, wildest gulleys I've ever seen drops below me down to a small creek drainage. Well, ok, this looks just fine. I decide. Sitting down for some lunch the view wraps around me in a powerful mind bending 360 degree vision. Alone on a mountain top, in the middle of nowhere, exploring the backcountry, surrounded by an absolute heaven of mountains. It's clear and sunny, and not too cold.

Buckling my boots and pulling skins from skis, stepping into bindings, adjusting goggles and grabbing my poles; I look down the face, smiling, yeah! The snow looks good, and I slide to the top of the chute and drop in making swift, short jump turns on the carvable firm texture for a hundred feet or so before swinging right and pulling up to another short narrow chute. More jump turns take me into a mellow short open bowl that holds a mixture of powder and firm or breakable crust. All fairly manageable, the turns are excellent and fun and soon I'm on top of the steep roll into the gully I could see from the top. Narrow, the snow has been loaded into it and firmed up to a carvable surface. Following the gully hoping to find the best snow, I continue to make quick turns until I get to another steep roll and see a steep open shoulder to the left of the gully. Assessing the situation, I decide to head left and explore the snow quality on the steep shoulder. It turns out to be excellent dry, boot deep fluff. Crossing the steepest rockiest section I get to a nice open steep face and drop in making fast hissing powder turns. Very dry, the skiing is effortlessly fast, and avoiding possible rocks or trees is the main concern. The base is incredibly solid though, and I don't hit a thing, passing through a short band of trees I reach another open section and fly through the wonderful dry old powder.

Getting to the bottom of the good skiing I start traverseing right and eventually am looking down at the creek drainage faced with a decision. Either head down the valley or traverse on skins across the northerly forested terrain back to the uptrack. Deciding to traverse, I skin up and start out. After awhile I start thinking that I've gotten far enough to pull the skins and keep traversing less agressively as I start skiing down. Unfortunately, I am wrong, and soon the terrain begins to pull me toward the valley I was traverseing away from and I begin to traverse hard right now skin-less. Convoluted terrain features, small cliffs, and steep rolls make traverseing a chore. The sun is setting orange across the valley and the shadows are rising toward the faces of the peaks. The day is gettin' on, and so I keep steadily truckin' on through the wild forest with not quite enough snow depth to make things easy, hoping to get back to the cabin or at least the road before complete darkness sets in.

After maybe an hour of difficult traversing I realize that I'm finally getting out of the convoluted terrain that was pulling me the wrong direction. Relieved I begin skiing more down than across and before long I cross my uptrack. Navigating the thin snowpack through the forest is easier going down than coming up but it still is a game of deciding on the fly which way will be holding the most snow; over the knoll, or around it? Trying to avoid the rocky creeks that pour down the slope I manage to link snow patches covered with pine needles all the way to the meadow near the river crossing and the trail back to the cabin. It is dusk, and a purple serene twilight paints the summits, clear and shimmering. With patches of snow dotting the brown grass of the meadow, and the bubbling of the low, winter-slowed river, I think how damn lucky I am to be able to sling skis over shoulder and hike to my cabin after skiing in this incredible setting. To think of this valley as home is truly remarkable. A very natural, wild energy fills me with each step, a sense of peace is overwhelming and I tromp back to my warm cabin trying to decide what to do tomorrow.