Mount Baker On Skis, Or Perspective Is Everything

Snow is falling in Canada, which  made me think it was time to write up our ski ascent of Mount Baker in Washington State. Done as a day trip from the road, the elevation gain is significant, about 2200 metres, and, the elevation gain is about the same whether you take the west side route - the Coleman Demming Glacier - or the south side route - the Easton Glacier. The Easton Glacier route is about 6 kilometres longer and being on the south side of the mountain, one would expect the approach to melt out sooner.

Early morning near snow line

Right up until we headed south across the US border the day before our ski ascent we were debating which route to take. Both ascend the Roman Headwall, both would involve carrying our skis at the start and end of the day, and both have some crevasse hazard. The Coleman-Demming route also has some serac hazard, and some reports indicate the crevasses tend to be bigger.

I think this is the Picket Range

In the end, we opted for the Coleman-Demming route. When you have 2200 metres of elevation gain and almost 20 kilometres of distance to cover in a day, it makes sense to choose the shortest route. We also thought the west side route would offer more skiing and less walking making the day just that bit faster.

Seracs on the Coleman-Deming route

We parked our hashtag van in a very scenic location the night before, pretty much overlooking the route. This gave us plenty of time to worry about how well bridged the crevasses would be, an important consideration as we were going without a rope, harnesses or any method of extracting ourselves from a crevasse should we fall in.

Climbing volcanoes in the Pacific Northwest is a popular past time. In addition to private parties, there are guiding companies whose entire business is trundling people up and down glaciated volcanoes in the Pacific Northwest.

Van life with a view

Very late May must be low season guiding however as we did not see that many guided parties on our ascent on the last day of May. We left the parking lot wearing approach shoes with skis and boots on our day packs and started walking up the Heliotrope Ridge trail around 5.15 am, a time that many people would consider ridiculously late. Almost immediately we had a slight delay as Doug's ski strap fell off and he went back to look for it which meant I went back to look for him.

Morning light in the Pacific NW

Away again, we got to the only fork in the trail, left goes to Glacier Lookout over Mount Baker while right is the climbers track up to "the hogsback" which is the crest of a moraine and a campsite for many people climbing the route. At this junction we were able to walk west to a gully with sufficient snow cover for us to switch from shoes to ski boots and start skiing.

Small waterfall on the lower trail

At the top of the moraine we passed a number of climbers hanging around tents and got a view down the valley which was filled with early morning cloud. We had very good firm spring snow conditions which made for fast and easy travel and after the one slightly steep slope directly uphill from the Hogsback camp, it was easy skinning all the way up to the col to the east of Colfax Peak.

Morning valley fog

There is a pounded in yak track from all the climbers going up and down the peak and we stuck close to this to avoid crevasses, and although we skied across a couple of small cracks, everything was well bridged. There is also one section where we skied past some fallen seracs but compared to skiing up the Athabasca Glacier under the seracs of Snowdome to access the Columbia Icefields, the Coleman Glacier is a doddle.

Pounded in yak track

We passed a number of parties descending - on foot - all of whom appeared to be dead beat. Sadly for them, we passed one party twice as they descended, once as we were going up and then whizzing past them again on the way down.

Near Colfax Peak

Past Colfax Peak, we put ski crampons on for a short steep section that led to a ridge beside the Roman Wall. I kicked about 10 steps but Doug managed to ski all the way up, and then we had only to ski up the final steeper slope to the summit plateau which is known as the Roman Headwall. Apparently most people kick steps up but with ski crampons it was skiable all the way.

Doug with the Roman Wall behind

The inauspicious peak of Mount Baker is a little rounded snow bump on a big plateau and perhaps a kilometre away across the flat summit area. It was here that we really felt the altitude as we started skiing across at our normal "flat terrain" skiing pace and were soon gasping for breath.

Skiing across the summit plateau

The view is amazing. Mount Baker is the biggest peak around and the panorama of the Cascade Mountains is simply stunning. The weather was amazing, sunny and calm on top. Not warm, it is only May and we are at almost 3300 metres, but really pleasant for sitting around enjoying the view. All up, we were 7 hours to the summit, and, as it is only noon, we don't feel we need to rush.

Yep, views for ever

After an appropriate amount of time on the summit, we pant back across to the top of the Roman Headwall where we take skins off and tighten our boots for the 2200 metre descent. Well, not quite 2200 metres as we did have to walk the first bit through forest.

Looking down on everything

What a ripping run it is. The Roman Headwall is a bit challenging as it is pretty steep and I have to jump turn, but then it is spring corn all the way. We managed to ski all the way back to our approach shoes in one hour from the summit!

Colfax Peak

We snack and drink where the snow runs out, then change into approach shoes and strap our skis and boots to our pack and stroll happily down the track. Ten hours round trip and we feel great.

It's All About Mass, Muscle Mass

A couple of days ago, while out paddling with friends, someone asked me if I was still on "that low carb diet?" I had to think about that. In our modern culture, "diet" implies a short term change in regular eating patterns to achieve a desired outcome - generally weight loss (importantly, not fat loss). There is also some nuance of faddishness about a "low carbohydrate diet." Faddishness implies a way of eating that is not merely unsustainable but also unhealthy.

Ski hut bacon and eggs breakfast

Of course, the answer was yes. And after some thought, I realized that I had been on this "low carb diet" for a decade. Although if asked, I would describe my diet as avoiding grains, seeds and industrial seed oils. But it is true, I also avoid starchy vegetables and only eat a very little fruit. Insulin resistance in older women is a thing - look it up 

Bridge pull-up anyone?

But these days I am much more obsessed with strength and building muscle mass to reflect too much on the nuances of diet. We all know, or should by now, that you can't out exercise a bad diet, which is why you see so many amateur athletes with less than ideal body fatness. And certainly, being over-fat is not a good thing in terms of long term health outcomes, but, if you were to pinpoint one thing that leads to living not merely a long life, but a healthy and functional long life - i.e. staying out of the nursing home and continuing to do activities you enjoy - it would be muscle mass and overall strength.

Doug cranking pull-ups on a mountain

Which makes it all the more perplexing that strength training remains very much a fringe activity. Among my circle, which now spans two countries and is made up almost exclusively of people who enjoy exercise, virtually no-one strength trains with enough consistency, resistance or quality movements to be considered serious weight lifters. And yet, the older you get the more vital it is to protect and preserve muscle. By the time you reach the point where getting off the floor unaided is impossible, it may very well be too late.

It is a shame that strength training, which is itself relatively simple conceptually - pick up increasingly heavy objects and put them down - is so poorly understood. Not just among the general public but also among sports coaches, trainers, and exercise physiologists. Virtually no-one, outside the power or Olympic lifting scene programs for pure strength. A maxim that endurance coaches would do well to have branded on their chests is "there is no endurance without strength."

Doesn't everyone do overhead 

squats with their ski pack?

There are as many arcane and complicated workouts on the interwebs as there are varieties of donuts at a Timmy Ho's. Novices and experts alike are susceptible to the allure of esoteric programs featuring dozens of exercises. But, at the end of the day, programming for strength training is simple. Perform the four basic human movements: push, pull, hinge and squat. Throw in some loaded carries for all round utility. Do 15 to 25 repetitions, spread over 3 to 8 sets with a couple of minutes rest between repetitions and gradually increase the load.

That's it. It's not fancy, it's not particularly fun. It certainly isn't sexy or even 'gramme worthy but it works.

Sea Kayaking the Broughton Archipelago

Tom: "I have three dry bags." In a string of emails planning this short sea kayak trip on the east coast of Vancouver Island, this one catches my attention. How exactly does one paddle on the ocean with just 3 dry bags? I consider myself a minimalist yet, between Doug and I, we probably have 10 times 3 dry bags. Perhaps Tom has three enormous dry bags? One of each fills the bow, stern and central compartments of his massive Seaward Passat double kayak.

Doug and I are on an extended trip back to Canada, but we have not come equipped to kayak. Back when we lived in the land of snow and ice where summer came on a Tuesday and was gone by Wednesday; for a dozen years, we spent one week a year paddling somewhere on the west coast. We paddled a double Feathercraft, a skin and frame kayak made in Canada, and, at the time one of the best "folding boats" on the market. But, it was a wet boat. Not like a wet bar, where drinks with umbrellas and olives are readily available, but wet as in we sat in a pool of ice cold sea water the entire trip as the deck and spray skirts dripped steadily.

The Feathercraft in shallow water in the Palau Islands

In hindsight, there were perhaps some other weird email conversations surrounding gear for our upcoming trip: "I could find a whistle, if I had to," and "I have a bicycle light but it doesn't like sea water", and even, perhaps most concerning "I don't have a map." But what is a sea kayak trip without a little adventure?

In the end, we did procure a map. And, by scrounging through our relatives recycling bins we managed to scrape together enough water containers to ensure we did not die of thirst while out on the water. British Columbia, despite being awash in water (rain) most of the time does not give up drinking water easily on the small islands kayakers usually visit. The plan,however, should a kayak paddle break was, and I quote Tom freely: "paddle with the non-broken half like in a canoe."

Flashback to kayak camp in Desolation Sound

The black blob is our 32 kg Labrador who came with us

Our destination was a group of closely packed islands known as the Broughton Archipelago on the protected east coast of Vancouver Island and on the edge of British Columbia's fjord country where deep inlets run east up towards some of British Columbia's highest and most remote mountains.

We drove north up Vancouver Island for hours crammed with a week's worth of kayaking gear in Tom's small car, occasionally stopping to reattach the kayaks to the car roof after various parts of the roof rack flew off and landed in the road ditch. Luckily, each time a piece of the roof rack was ejected there was a loud thud as it hit the car on the way past so we could pull over, retrieve it and reinstall the part back on the roof. The rain fell in sheets the entire time, but some how, miraculously cleared when we reached Alder Bay.

Alder Bay is a little further west than the better known Telegraph Cove which throngs with tourists during the short summer season, most of whom come to see the resident Orca Whales that summer in Johnstone Strait. The caravan park at Alder Bay charges a small launch fee and fee to park a car, but in exchange provides an easy kayak launch, drinking water, garbage facilities and showers after the trip.

Does this paddle make me look short?

We had no dry bags, Tom's three dry bags understandably being in use, so our system involved stuffing everything into plastic bin bags tied in knots then stored in Woolies-type reusable shopping bags. Somehow it worked, although this packing system made for an annoying week of continually opening and retying bin bags searching for the one item we needed right now from an array of indistinguishable bags.

Our kayak, kindly provided by Tom, was a monster of a boat. Nearly 3/4 of a metre wide and almost 7 metres long, the Seaward Passat certainly inspired confidence in its stability, although the marketing literature which described the boat as an "extremely fast racing tandem" did seem a bit hyperbolic. Doug and I were both equipped with 220 cm paddles, which necessitated a rather interesting paddle stroke much more like rowing a Viking long ship than paddling a sleek kayak.

It was late afternoon by the time we launched the boats and paddled out to Broughton Strait. Our current charts, which we were inexplicably organised enough to have (maybe as they were free), indicated we were starting out right at maximum flow through Weyton Passage, so we decided to make our destination for the night the Pearse Islands. Sometimes, I feel just getting away from the car on the first day of a trip is success enough.

First camp at the Pearse Islands

There was no wind, and, of course, no swell, but there was a tidal stream near the southwestern tip of the largest Pearse Islands, although once nearby, the current seemed to amount to little more than surface riffles. I've certainly been swept further off course when crossing to Montague Island from Narooma.

There are almost 10 little islands squashed together in a couple of square kilometres at the Pearse Islands and it was pleasant paddling through them. The current didn't seem to matter. If the tide was flowing the wrong way, we simply paddled in eddies along the shore line. We found a pretty little camp-site on a small peninsula and set up camp for the night.

Tom

Next morning, we got up early, 5.30 am, to catch slack current as we crossed Weyton Passage heading east. We managed to breakfast and pack in a lull between rain storms, and admittedly felt quite smug passing by another group of kayakers camped at the Plumper Islands and looking miserable in the steady rain.

We paddled perhaps 20 or 25 kilometres that day. After lunch the weather cleared and a watery sun came out. There were seals and sea eagles, tiny rocky islands covered with evergreen trees, bouldery bays, narrow passages. As we paddled north through Swanson Passage we entered into an ocean amphitheatre of small islands that had the most amazing echo. This kept us entertained for a full half hour as each cat-call was bounced back around half a dozen times, the volume gradually fading away with each bounce.

Misty Morning

Our camp that night was on Sedge Island tucked deep into a heavy dark cedar forest. It was a bit of a tough carry bringing the boats up from a dead low tide through slippery tidal rocks. There are no sandy beaches to land on when paddling the sheltered waterways of British Columbia. The bays, which Canadians call "beaches" are all rocky and hard on composite boats.

The weather next morning was gloomy with low cloud again. Somehow Tom managed to fall out of his boat and into the water when launching in the morning. It turned out that, despite his three monster dry bags, he only had one set of clothes, so he sat in wet clothes all day. We were heading south to Hanson Island area. Again, we paddled through passages and channels passing many small islands. Tom, who loves to chat, had discovered that we were perhaps too taciturn companions for him and engaged any and everyone we passed in long conversations. His opening gambits ranged from the common "Catching any fish?" to the desperate "That's a flat bottomed boat you have."

Tom, in search of more loquacious paddling partners

As we were crossing Blackney Sound we come upon a pod of Humpback Whales and a separate pod of dolphins. The dolphins are smaller than we species we commonly see around NSW but they were just as frisky, following along beside our kayaks for a long time. Tom had not seen either whales or dolphins from his kayak before so it was a real treat for him.

Gratuitous shot of False Killer Whales really close 

to my kayak on the south coast of NSW

We found a delightful camp-site on Little Hanson Island sitting up on a promontory overlooking Johnstone Strait. It was our last chance to see the resident Orcas before finishing the trip and this was a good spot to watch from.

It was hard to get the boats up as we had to land in a gulch between two small islets that are connected at low tide. While we were carrying loads, we took our eyes off the boats and the Seaward Passat gently glided out into the channel on the rising tide and, once in the current began swiftly slipping away from us bound for the middle of Johnstone Strait.

Another gratuitous shot, this one taken a 

couple of kilometres from our local beach

My intention to be the heroine of the day by striding out into the water to save the boat was quickly quashed when I saw that I would have to swim after the boat, not merely wade. BC water is cold! So while Tom and I watched wistfully from the shore, Doug, looking like a pallid, albeit skinny, David Hasselhoff stripped off his shirt and plunged into the water after boat. Any resemblance to Baywatch quickly disappeared, however, when he emerged white with cold and shivering from the water, but, with the Passat in tow.

This was our best camp as the sun came out and we spent the evening sitting on logs watching Humpback Whales in the current in Blackney Passage.

Excellent camp on Little Hanson Island

Our last day, we paddled west along the south side of Hanson Island to look at the sea kayak glamping sites. These are run by commercial sea kayak tour groups and the camps are pretty nice, situated on rock platforms with rain shelters. Sea kayaking is a really big thing in Canada.

Finally, we crossed to the south side of Johnstone Strait, paddled a lap through busy Telegraph Cove and ended up back at Alder Bay, just before the next round of rain set in.

Cypress Ski Area to Lions Bay: St Marks Summit and Unnecessary Mountain

The day before we are to leave for a three day trip, I think an easy stroll is in order. I've been down in the valley for two whole days, missing mountain time, the entire while. Walking from Cypress ski area (elevation 1000 metres) to Lions Bay, where I can catch a bus back to West Vancouver should be easy, right? And it was, kind of.

The catch is, the North Shore Mountains, as this sub-range of the Coast Mountains is known are steep, perhaps unimaginably steep if you have not done much hiking, climbing or skiing in this area. While the summits don't reach much more than 1800 metres, the rise from sea level is abrupt and rapid. The western slopes of Unnecessary Mountain for example, rise over 1500 metres in just under three kilometres.

Nearby Black Mountain trail:

Typical North Shore mountain track

I don't have any pictures to illustrate the "trail" that descends from Unnecessary Mountain to Lions Bay. You can, however, take a gander at this selection of the relevant topographic map (the contour interval is 20 metres and blue UTM grid is 1 km) to get an idea of the terrain I descended. But, I am getting ahead of myself.

It was supposed to be a sunny day, at least that was the valley forecast. However, when Doug dropped me off at the base of Cypress ski area, it was foggy, damp, and destined to remain that way until I reached Lions Bay, way down at sea level. I suspect the mountains stayed socked in all day. That is the way of mountain weather.

From a previous trip, I knew a quick way to get to the Howe Sound Crest Trail which is what the rooty, muddy, scrambly foot pad that runs along the crest of the mountain ridge above Howe Sound is called. Apart from the trail moniker, it is an apt name.

West coast trail goodness

Perhaps 20 minutes from the ski hill where the trail is a broad and pleasantly graded walkway, an information booth is reached. I've been past this booth a few times now, both on skis and on foot, and, as I knew my way, I really did not need to stop. But, a new sign had appeared, courtesy of BC Parks. 

Well, OK, kids, don't try this at home as you will surely need hospitalization, possibly a coffin, for the subsequent water intoxication (aka hyponatreamia) which will surely result. I guess BC Parks does not realize, in their arse covering way, that there have been fatalities from water intoxication as a result of such imperatives. Yes, "people have died" (to quote the statin lunatics).  It's also not clear to me, given the average time to traverse the Howe Sound Crest is upwards of 12 hours, how people are supposed to carry 24 plus litres of water.  Governments can be inexplicable.  

In any event, about 30 seconds past this sign, I crossed the first of several creeks that were running with lovely clear mountain water. Thereafter, I sloshed through so much water for the rest of the hike that my shoes and clothes were soaked.

Water is everywhere in the BC mountains

After the information booth, the trail crosses several gullies that are avalanche prone in winter and soon arrives at a forested saddle between Montizambert and Lempke Creeks. This is the jumping off point for Christmas Gully, or, if you do that trip more sensibly reversing the route we did, the base of Christmas Gully. In summer, the gully is not appealing, full of head high wet greenery.

Christmas Gully in spring

After this, the track heads up to the Howe Sound Crest and pretty much stays right along the ridge top, the entire way. In the Olympic year (2010), some work was done on the trail making it an actual trail, but, this runs out soon after leaving the saddle and the track turns into the usual West Coast narrow foot-pad criss-crossed with tree roots and mud-holes.

At some point, I passed St Marks summit in the gloom. There were really no views, although on a clear day, the islands of Howe Sound glitter in the ocean. Continuing north I followed the foot-pad, trying to stay on the main one, but in the fog and with many braids in places, I kept leaving and joining various alternatives.

Looking down on Howe Sound from near St Marks

After about 3 hours, when I was quite turned around in the fog, I came to what seemed to be a summit, with an area clear of trees and falling off in all directions. What one normally considers a summit. Here I stopped for a quick bite to eat and checked my location on the map. I was not quite on Unnecessary Mountain, instead, on a little bump on the ridge perhaps a kilometre south.

So some more up and down, scrambling down some rocky sections, feeling my way along in the gloom. Unnecessary Mountain is marked by a wooden sign delineating the Howe Sound Crest trail continuing north and the Unnecessary trail descending to the west. I was about 4 hours into my "easy stroll" and thinking it was time to head down to the valley and catch the bus back home.

I should have had stunning views of the Lions, Howe Sound, and all the cliffs that bristle along the spine of the ridge, but instead I sat in a dank fog, ate my lunch and considered my options.

Howe Sound Crest in fog

On a previous trip to climb West Lion, we had walked up and down the trail that descends from the ridge between Unnecessary and West Lion so I knew that trail. It was steep at first, all the trails are steep, but then it had a lesser angle as it headed north to join old logging roads. However, I could remember that the logging road section was hard and stony underfoot and overall it is not a particularly scenic trail. So, I decided to head down Unnecessary trail.

There is no getting around this trail is steep, but I enjoyed it more than other trails in the area. The first part of the descent is on a spur ridge that points west. The ridge is narrow and to the south there are a series of cliffs and buttresses. Along the ridge itself there are small tarns and meadows. Walking down in fog, however, is an eerie feeling as the terrain ahead is so steep it feels as if you are about to walk off a cliff. It is too bad I have no photos of this section as it was quite impressive.

Where the spur ridge merges with the west slopes, the trail just goes straight down, and so did I. Glad of a hiking pole but also grabbing trees and branches, rocks and roots, anything to keep my descent under some kind of control. The foggy light filtered through evergreen trees was really pretty.

Unnecessary Mountain in spring

Near the bottom, when I was beginning to wonder if I would ever reach flat ground, I passed a young couple hiking up with overnight packs. They looked comparatively fresh and happy, but I couldn't help but wonder how they would feel higher up after a few hours of uphill struggle.

Eventually, I heard the noise of road equipment, saw light through the trees and emerged on a dirt road that quickly became paved. Still, it was two more kilometres to the bus stop and then another two kilometres at the other end of the bus ride. By the time I walked up the driveway, one of my knees had seized up and my feet and body were feeling battered about. So much for an "easy stroll."

Ski Touring Around Railroad Pass: Locomotive Mountain and Grouty Ridge

Every year, round about the May long weekend, the Hurley Road, a dirt road that runs over Railroad Pass from the Pemberton Valley to Bralorne and Gold Bridge is plowed out after a long winter of snow cover. Some years, there are metres of snow to plow, some years less, and some years, opening is delayed due to avalanche hazard.

Walking the freshly plowed Hurley Road

2019 was a lower snow year, so the Hurley Road was plowed out a couple of days before the long weekend. I desperately wanted two more ski days before calling the season done. All I could remember of our 2019 ski trips was an endless round of sunny days, mountain tops, smoothly covered glaciers, and long corn snow descents. I had completely forgotten the difficult bushy approaches, the frozen dirt covered snow under trees, hiking through dense forest with skis on my back, and long climbs with lots of elevation gain.

Although the Hurley Road was plowed, the last several kilometres over Railroad Pass required 4 wheel drive or at least decent tires, neither of which our #van had. We ended up parked about a kilometre below the pass, which, given all the other walking with skis, we had done was super easy.

Semaphore Lakes

Once we had climbed over the snow banks, we found a decent snow bridge across Railroad Creek (which drains Semaphore Lakes) and roughly followed the summer route up to Semaphore Lakes. It was easy travel, surprisingly easy. Continuous snow, fairly reasonable angle, not too icy. It was going to be a good day.

From L to R, Locomotive, Tender, Caboose, 

Face from Sempahore Lakes

From Semaphore Lakes we followed a ridge to the east of Donnelly Creek, avoiding as much as possible getting under cornices which were obviously failing. There are all sorts of terrain choices here, we chose the easiest safest route which always seems a good default position.

Avoiding cornice falls

Up on the ridge near Locomotive Mountain, we had lunch on bare rocks and watched a group of three descend a steep colouir off the east face of Locomotive. Then, it was a relatively easy ski, with a few steep switchbacks up to the summit. Doug had been here before, when we skied the Hurley River horseshoe route, but I had been sick and had waited at camp.

Skiing up to Locomotive Mountain

Of course, I had a grand plan of doing a big circuit skiing up all the peaks around the Train Glacier, culminating with Face Mountain, which is a 140 metres higher than Locomotive, but time had moved along much faster than we had.

We skied down into the col between Locomotive and Tender Mountains with the idea of skiing up Tender Mountain but the snow was so mushy on the ascent route that it did not seem all that safe. Besides, which we were starting to tire. We had a great corn snow descent from the Locomotive-Tender col to the flats below, then a long slowly rising traverse took us back to our lunch spot.

Face on the right, Faceless on the left from Locomotive

Doug is a good ski route finder and he managed to finagle a route whereby we kept our skins off and our heels locked all the way down to Railroad Creek with minimal shuffling along flats.

Ski skating on descent

Next day we once again walked up the road towards the pass, but this time we headed east from the pass up steep treed slopes that lead to Grouty Ridge. Now, it is entirely possible we picked a very bad spot to head up the ridge, but looking at Grouty Ridge from Locomotive Mountain the day before, I am not sure anywhere is that good.

Having fun on the route to Grouty Ridge

The slope up to the ridge is really steep and studded with small bluffs and cliff bands. You need to ascend from about 4,200 feet to 6,000 feet before the terrain flattens out on Grouty Ridge. I walked, carrying my skis on my pack, Doug skied, mostly. There are unavoidable sections where you need to take skis off and kick steps up steep slopes through trees and bluffs.

Skiing along Grouty Ridge

Eventually, we both reached the ridge near a couple of small tarns. What a relief, although I was dreading getting down. It's almost unbelievable but I have skied up this ridge before, back when we attempted the Tenquille-Owl traverse and I broke a ski in half.

Skiing along the ridge was really pleasant. You could go right along the ridge crest with some ups and downs or do as we did which was follow benches and old snowcat roads along the west side of the ridge. There was one problem with skiing up Grouty Peak, however, and that was it had no snow.

Lunch time views

We skinned up the ridge to a point about 3 kilometres south of Grouty Peak and decided that was far enough. Back in the day, I would have been gunning for the peak, but older age and a weaker body has changed my philosophy and I am now just out to enjoy the day and journey, tagging peaks is nice but not necessary any more for me to consider the day/journey a success.

Grey skies over Grouty Ridge

The weather was not bluebird clear, with low cloud and scattered showers hanging about, but the scenery was fine and it was good to look out over the mountains that we had done many previous trips along.

When it came time to descend, Doug again managed to string together enough descending that we made it back to where we gained the ridge without skins. The descent started well enough, we thought that veering skiers left a little would take us around a troublesome bluff we ran into on the way up. It didn't. Veering left took us right to the top of the bluff where traversing in either direction to get around the bluff was difficult if not a bit dangerous.

Looking over the Locomotive Group

As it started to spit rain, we had to take our skis off and kick steps back up the steep slope we had descended to traverse to skiers right (north). Once we found a likely spot to descend, we put our skis back on and started skiing down. I had to take my skis off one more time at a particularly steep descent, but otherwise, we slowly picked our way down and the terrain gradually got easier and easier and we could see the Hurley Road. I made a mental note never to ski up Grouty Ridge again. Twice is enough, three times would be tempting disaster.