This is the story of my last month in the North Cascades. Alone, I left Salt Lake for 64 days… no plans, no goals, and no idea what I was getting into. These images are the result of the blank canvas I created for myself. (First month trip report here)

“While the distance between experience and expression remains, it’s the intensity of effort to cross that gap that matters. And it’s purity of intention behind that attempt that determines whether you’re merely marketing a brand or truly forging a genuine narrative of human adventure – with all the fears, doubts and rare moments of transcendence of real people” – Michael Kennedy

Poor Man’s Alaska

“He climbed those mountains with two minds working at the same time. One was focused on the full-time job of mountaineering: finding the route, pushing hard for the summit, and watching out for the safety of his partners. At the same, his visual mind was always assessing the compositions he could see all around him, near and far, left and right, above and below. As he moved along the ridge, he saw everything through a constantly evolving sequence of invisible rectangles, superimposed on the landscape by his mind’s eye…” – Glen Denny

Cresting the ridge, I knew we were in the right place. I had been scoping this zone with my telephoto lens for weeks as some distant, dreamy place. Now I was really here! The Karakoram bros hooked me up with Russell Cunningham as a partner and I convinced him over the phone that this would be a worthy objective for the high pressure we were about to get. I didn’t know him and he didn’t know me but once we gained that col, a smile and a nod was all that was exchanged to solidify my choice.

Making ourselves right at home…

In our short 48 hour period of good weather, we rode our boards down a variety of dream lines with a constant look over the shoulder for not only avalanches but the single cloudburst that could move in unexpectedly and leave us stranded here like shipwrecked sailors in an endless ocean. With all of the featureless terrain surrounding us, even a small storm would make retracing our approach through numerous mountain passes impossible without a GPS. Against all odds, the unnatural blue skies persisted and so did our appetite for powder.

After creeping up to what seemed like the edge of the world, I saw it. The snow was perfect… I knew I’d only make a handful of turns. This was high speed shred conditions at their finest.

“And in the process, I created my own continuous and simple line – a range of the imagination” – MK

“Life and mountain climbing are not only about success or enjoyment, but about living true to one’s ambitions. I think that this line was the first time I fully lived these feelings. Although our route was not so hard, it was important to us that we found the line by ourselves, not in a guidebook” – Katsutaka Yokoyama

Then back to the Man Cave for more stormy day riding.

Even during constant snowfall, you could wait on top for these sucker holes that would give you a minute or less of good light to shred. Jon Richardson got this sequence of me riding out one of many that day.

Other days, when the weather got especially nasty, I retreated to my low elevation hide-out. I had a green place to sit by the river and read/edit photos… I even had my own personal out house!

From the coast…

Through the evergreen forest…

And into the alpine…  amongst castles of rock and ice. The contrast is beautiful.

“For once, I was completely connected to the present: the airy walls and buttresses, the impossibly hanging snowfields, the overflowing glaciation. That moment is still there, now, pristine inside of me” – Tony Riley

“All mountain landscapes hold stories: the ones we read, the ones we dream, and the ones we create.” – MK

“Something – the minute texture of a moss patch or the light of the sun on the snow – makes us pause, and truly, briefly see. But what we bring back from that other side of perception and how we choose to share it defines us as climbers, artists and human beings” – MK

On 4.20, I got to ride something especially awesome. It takes some rare conditions to form this spine… seeing that in the summer, it’s a 200 foot rock face. I tip toed to the edge so I could be sure where it was and to draw a giant arrow in the snow. I skinned back out a ways, transitioned and then looked back on the almost-flat slope that abruptly ended in a blind roll. Even though I had a skin track and a huge arrow to point me in the right direction, I couldn’t help but feel uncertain. A deep breath, some mellow turns and I was suddenly on the arrow about to pop off the lip onto the steepness below. As soon as everything came into view, confidence returned. I touched down on the spine slightly on my toe edge, two blower turns, then a blast off the old avalanche crown to a high speed pointer through the apron… just laughs and smiles as I popped huge ollies over the rollers below.

Nothin like a good ol fashioned grilled chee down by the rivur after a day in tha hills.

Rob Sourek on the Shuksan Arm. After the Baker Ski Resort closed for the season, we had all the slackcountry to ourselves. Maximum snowpack, sunny skies and all the high speed pow shred you could want… empty because nobody can take a lift to it anymore. After some goood vertical, Rob and Jarvis had to run off work in Bellingham but I was in no rush to get outta there… so before leaving our lunch spot for another line, I took out the mega lens for a look around. Finding a skin track high on Shuksan, I remembered I had parked next what I thought was Dan Helmstadter’s camper. I didn’t know him at the time, but he was something of a myth around these parts. He was known for regularly soloing serious lines in the Cascades. Nobody ever saw him… just the tracks he left behind.

That all changed this day. After sitting on my board for over an hour, eye glued to the viewfinder in the hopes of catching him make the first turns on the Northwest Couloir, it finally happened. I started snapping away as he came flying down the upper snowfeild. Before I knew it, he was cutting over to the Hanging Glacier route! A very bold 5,500 foot line to take on… especially by yourself. He had no idea I was miles away shooting photos. Nobody else knew he was up there, just a speck on this massive alpine face. He didn’t do it for the fame or recognition. Dan just loved to ski… nobody needed to know.

Being the most recognizable glacial formation on Shuksan (visible from anywhere at the resort)… and Shuksan being the most iconic non-volcanic mountain in the Cascades, its amazing the first descent of The Hanging Glacier was made just a year ago. It takes a HUGE snow year to fill in the exits.

Just for some scale… this was the view from my photo stance. Afterwards, I raced back to the trailhead to sit and wait for Dan. I expected to see some old wise mountain man with a huge beard coming down the road, but instead I saw a 20 something year-old  with a shit eatin grin on his face… you could tell he had just done something great. I approached him, “Hey did you just ski the Hanging Glacier?” He looked up and said, “Uhh yea, the snow is pretty good up there!” I was struck with disbelief… mostly because of the gold I knew was in my memory cards but also because of how humble and down to earth this guy was… not stupid or reckless, but a perfect example of courage, calculation and execution… highly inspiring. He was living in his camper at trailheads just like me… that made us neighbors. We ended up sharing some beers and stories then later ran into each other again on Shuk… But that part of the story comes later…

Mount Baker

On the day before my birthday, I met up with Jason Hummel, Kyle Miller and Adam Roberts to climb this ice-clad volcano. My fascination with the mountain started with my first tour in this range when I got this photo. With such an introduction, I could not escape it’s attraction.

With an early start, 4,000 feet of visibility rose and faded into the mist. From below the cloud canopy, It didn’t look like a summit day to me. The last thing I wanted to do was pop my glacier cherry by wandering out ropeless onto a slope riddled with crevasses in 2 foot visibility conditions. I thought i was going to blindly stumble off a cliff or into a bottomless hole. Somehow, I ended up trusting my life to these strangers by forming a single-file line and marching into the midst of these clouds. I had no idea what my surroundings looked like but we all stayed as close to Jason as possible… he had the GPS that was guiding us up through over 2,000 feet of blindness.

It is hotter than you could ever image down there. I was overheating but had to keep up to avoid getting lost in the mist. Just when I thought it would never end, we popped out above the clouds and it was like breathing for the first time. Cooling off, I watched as the clouds flowed over the rock bands like a waterfall… rising and falling like waves of the ocean… threatening to consume us once again. With no overnight gear or extra food, I was scared the sky would claim us and keep us in her grips… it could be weeks before the next clear day.

Seattle’s Mount Rainier in the distance.

Looking down on Shuksan. It turns out, Dan Helmstadter and Drew Tabke were over there at the same time doing another variation on the Hanging Glacier Route. You can barely make out their tracks on the upper plateau.

Drew was kind enough to give me this photo of him looking back at us on Baker.

Lunch time. Photo by Adam Roberts

Walking off the summit, I couldn’t help but feel like I was on the moon. 1,300 feet of ice was beneath our feet, filling in the enormous volcanic crater.

The Roman Wall.

Our timing was perfect. We were able to sneak through small windows in the clouds for a fast shred… 8,000 feet of vertical from summit to car. And of course, cold beers waiting for us in my cooler.

Mount Shuksan

“At anxious last, I saw it: The face was terrifyingly beautiful. It had the elegance of a Halston dress and the aggressiveness of a metal-studded dog collar” – Mark Twight

“It’s time to return to the concept of mountaineering as discovery. To embody the willingness to explore, to accept the possibility of failure and the need for self-reliance, to commit to the unpredictability of big mountain landscapes, and to encounter the entirety of experience the wild has to offer.” – Blake Herrington

On the approach, it was clear this mountain was not messing around. Our objective was the Northwest Couloir. The obvious line left of the Hanging Glacier with the exposed bottle neck at the top.

What happened to all the trees?

Oh there they are.

Winds whipping… Within the complex terrain, some parts of the mountain were loading while others became scoured.

Atop the White Salmon Glacier… Traveling these mellow snowfields felt incredibly exposed with massive ice cliffs at the end of every slope .

Making the final traverse, we decided to rope up as this area is full of deep crevasses covered by shallow snow bridges… below are even bigger ones that are so big they never fill in completely, even with over 900 inches of snow. If your partner falls into one, it’s your responsibility to arrest the team’s fall before both of you are sucked in to the proverbial black hole. All of this is going through my mind… This was my first time roped up on a flowing river of ice. I was out of my comfort zone to say the least. Not to mention we are on a wind loaded convex rollover directly above a 1000 foot ice cliff.

Atop the north shoulder, I’ve never been so damn nervous about strapping into my snowboard. Once we commit to the bottle neck, the door is slamming shut. We are in it for keeps. At the bottom of the funnel is a short traverse above cliffs so both of us will have to do the “heel edge for life”… risking a 4,000 foot rag doll if you blow it. I cut out left of Russell and started making glorious pow turns down the first steep roll. It was perfect shallow pow and I was thinking to myself, “Wow, we are about to nail this in ideal conditions!” Feeling like I was about to jump down an elevator shaft, I made the first turns into the bottleneck. With no warning, pow gave way to white ice and i went sliding on my toe edge toward the rock wall. Coming to a stop with my axe buried in the ice, I knew that the exposed heel edge traverse would be the same and the risk too great. The wind must have ran through this corridor like a freight train, scouring all of the fresh snow. I unstrapped one foot (as to not lose my board) and kicked in shallow steps with one boot and the edge of my board…. The only solid purchase being my axe. When I climbed back up to take my board off (middle picture), I looked up to see Russell stuck on more steep ice (red arrow). I was now in a relatively safe spot… watching my partner struggle on the brink of death. His heel edge looked like it was barely attached to the mountain… a single slip and he would be dead before he came to a stop at the debris pile over 4,000 feet below.  Nerves fried, he traversed over to me as we shared horrifying glances. We roped up and prepared for retreat. (This summer Russell did a mixed route up the couloir and encountered 75 degree water ice at this spot)

“It’s a dark art, figuring out when to punch it and when to bail… I think the best climbs are the ones that barely succeed or barely fail.” – Kelly Cordes

“In this solitude, the wild is not just a word – it is a force” – KC

I’m looking down at my boots when I hear Russell scream, “CREVASSE!” He had fallen through this snow bridge and had arrested his fall by shooting out his arms… feet dangling above the dark abyss. It felt like looking into the open mouth of a monster… not a place for the living. At this point we realized the crevasse spanned the entire roll. and that there was nowhere “safe” to cross. We couldn’t go down and everything up was even worse. At this point the snow was getting much heavier and in turn, the wind slab was becoming more sensitive. If this slope avalanched, even in a small pocket, we could be pitched over the Hanging Glacier or swallowed by more open crevasses below… or both. We needed to get out of there before things got worse but we had to take the necessary time to bury pickets and belay each other over this gap so we could make it back to the White Salmon.

As if we hadn’t had enough madness for the day, we proceeded to trigger a huge wet slide that churned and twisted it’s way down the entire glacier as we narrowly escaped. Now the reality of our decision had set in. There was a good chance that if we continued with our intended route and survived the ice traverse crux, we would’ve triggered a similar avalanche on the Northwest Couloir. Except that face was much more sustained than the White Salmon and the consequences much more severe. On the way out, none other than Dan Helmstadter came skinning up behind us. He had been hiding out in a shallow snow cave (orange arrow below) for hours waiting for the snow to soften in the narrow couloir he booted up. He watched from above as our wet slide tore down the glacier.

Red: Our line of ascent and retreat (red dot is where Russell fell through the snow bridge)

Green: Dan’s Hanging Glacier Route

Blue: Dan and Drew’s Hanging Glacier Direct Route

Yellow: The Shuksan North Face Route

Purple: Yet another Shuksan route completed by Dan… except this one had two 200 foot rappels and he did it by moonlight.

Later on, I fell asleep next to a fire… grateful, exhausted and determined to try again. A line on the photo had become, for us, intangible and alluring… full of unresolved mysteries.

“For beyond the rapid proliferation of lines, numbers, lists, and elevations that predominates in so much of today’s world lies another, deeper, more essential history of our pursuit: the evolution of our imaginations: the ever-changing, creative synthesis of vision and act, of mountain and climber… Perhaps these adventures will filter into your dreams and spark your own journeys” – Michael Kennedy

Aug 18th, 2011. One year ago to the day, I stood back from Cirque of the Towers with a similar view and an impressionable gaze… inspired to start climbing, promising myself I’d return with a rope on my back.

It was now day 6 on my second trip to The Winds. With two major routes under our belt, we packed up camp at Lonesome Lake and headed for our final destination… Shadow Lake.

One more look… then up n outta there.

Texas pass behind us…

Then a series of chain lakes brought us to our first look at our last objective… I’d seen the peak on a computer screen and on the cover of the guide book but the initial view struck a great sense of fear and respect within me. I had heard from other climbers that the north/northwest face is a cold, steep wall with tricky route finding, high exposure, big runouts  and a nerve racking descent.

“Each time I heard those warnings, I felt even more drawn to the wall. I will face this mountain head on, I decided, and engage myself in everything it has to offer.” – Katsutaka Yokoyama

After meeting the locals…

And organizing the gear…

We settled in for an evening of  contemplation… catching rainbows with every cast and filling up our bellies in anticipation for a long day in the vertical realm.

The Shark’s Nose, 12,229′

“We decided to go for the highest, ripest piece of fruit we could see. In hindsight, the critical decision was that we would climb up into the tree in the first place” – Steve House

An early start with a cold breakfast… warming up with a bit of free soloing.

Climbing in the shadow of this great mountain was a constant reminder of your insignificance. The intimidating north aspect kept an ominous feel with a stout wind and dropping temperatures.

It is just as much mental as physical on these climbs. Looking up, there was a long path of uncertainty ahead. Could we do this? Would we fail or would we persevere and come up with a hand full of roses?

“I acknowledge risk as a necessary fuel that burns knowable fear, moving me beyond the banality of black and white.” – Steve House

This moment will be burned into my mind forever… The crux crack and the route finding error that took us from 5.fun to 5.scary. It looked easy enough and the logical way forward from below but as Mike began the steep moves, it was obvious we were no longer on route. He placed a small TCU and #2 Camalot above the belay and started up into the strenuous off width that had good jams deep within the crack but dangling and smearing feet for the hard moves.

I’ve climbed with Mike a lot this summer and I know when he’s about to fall… There was this moment where my hands were clenched tight on the ropes, puffy/shell fully zipped, hood up with the wind blowing loose grit and lichen into my eyes from Mike’s unstable footholds. My stare didn’t budge, ready for a catch when Mike’s hands blew out of the crack and he went sailing past me with 1,500 feet of air below our feet. For a few seconds there we were both dangling in space on either side of a single golden cam. All the dangers of alpine climbing were suddenly feeling very real… every placement of the body and gear  is made with intense focus. Nobody knew we were up here… we were on our own and a broken ankle changes the game to survival… a failure in the system is unacceptable.

“And in that instant, I felt it. The strange excitement emanating from the totality of this mountain that required all of my spirit, all of my physical and mental strength. This was the kind of climbing of which I’d always dreamed.” – Katsutaka Yokoyama

^^Looking down the crux crack^^

Farther up, we lost the route yet again. We faced another wide crack on the north face that looked 5.10 at best… our previous high point looking small from this height. After our unexpected 5.hard crux, we decided to down climb, move the belay and see what lied around the corner on the northwestern aspect.

“The routine is as familiar as it is inexact. An exploratory look around the corner, a pause to reflect, then another look. Questions assembling themselves in bundles. Am I on route? Is there gear? What happens if I fall? Assessments made in the full knowledge that even in the asking they are moot. The answer is, after all, the reason you came. Not to die. Not to fall. But to find out. To take that one deep resolving breath, shuffle your feet, arrange your hands, and then roll the dice for more than you can possibly afford to lose.” – Geof Childs

I walked out on this perfect ledge… the exposure invigorating. What lied ahead was the most brilliant climbing of the route. A perfect dihedral and splitter crack that rose 3 long pitches to the stunning apex of the Shark’s Nose.

“Climbing, when spoken about, is already dead. It lives only in the moment of action. It is alive in our observations, our judgments, our decisions, our movements, our successes and, more often, our failures.” – Steve House

With the wind blowing harder than ever, we thought about how lucky were were to avoid those rain clouds in the distance. Coming down from the peak, I noticed a tiny bumble bee hanging on for dear life as the incredible gusts continued. I wondered how far he would fly once he let go.

Now for the next challenge… An endless series of meandering rappels on pitons old enough to be my dad.

It was something else to commit your body weight to a pieces of steel that were probably made in Fred Beckey’s van during the 60′s… plenty of air between you and the snow and rocks below.

And just like any other great adventure, we got our ropes stuck on the descent. This time, it was the tail end of the yellow so I had to lead up on a single line, placing gear every half body length so that the rope could be whipped out from the crack squeeze and I could down climb/clean. I got up there in a good stance above a #3, just roaring out of frustration into the wind that was threatening to peel me off the face. My grip tightened… I knew better.

More of these and we were out of the danger zone. The hike back to camp was wired with positive energy. Hands raw, armed pumped and legs exhausted… satisfaction.

A full day of recovery was in order… sleeping in followed by copious amounts of fishing… casting out, I couldn’t stop staring at what we had done.

Then a looong strange trip through fields of wildflowers and blue lakes of the high country. 15 miles back to the nearest road.

“When you come back, what you remember will already be different from what happened. Perhaps a part of the experience will have become a part of you, for a lifetime or longer. But you will not be able to share your I with me any more than I can share my me with you. That mountain is a part of me now, just as indescribably and just as certainly as it is part of the other men who have climbed its north face.” – Steve House

This was our home for over 5 days… Bellies full of trout, we constantly stared at the looming tower above. After climbing the  The Wolf’s Head, our attention turned to this 11,884 foot center piece of The Cirque. The Pingora formation is flanked by impeccable granite on all sides with a number of classic lines that inspire. Mike and I had never climbed anything nearly this big before but our previous ascent gave us nothing but confidence.

The difference between night…

And day.

Our route.

Gearing up for battle just after sunrise.

We stood in silence on the lake of glass…cuttroat darting beneath our feet… looking up and studying the route one last time.

Leaving the ground, we decided to be as fast and efficient as possible. Each of us leading 200+ foot pitches… always running it out to save gear. Even with a rope, there was still plenty of no-fall zones with 50-60 foot whipper potential.

For hours we flowed up the mountain in a smooth rhythm, numb to the increasing exposure and completely occupied with the joy of movement on these cracks and corners. Follow up, grab the rack, lead through… repeat. The was no verbal communication with the distance and wind… a tug on the ropes meant you were on belay.

Eventually we ended up on this lounge style lunch ledge at the 2/3 point.

On my lead, I started up for another extra long pitch when I found myself at a crossroads. To my left was a steep off-width that kicked back to vertical before disappearing over a small roof. I didn’t have enough big gear so I kept traversing right, taking another look around the corner.

After passing up some hard looking thin hands, I found this beautiful dihedral… it reminded me of Pentapitch back home so I went for it despite the lack of belay ledges for 200 feet. This was my hardest lead yet as a climber and it was 1500 feet off the ground. A mix of running it out and difficult route finding, stemming from crack to crack, adjusting to my dwindling rack.

“On a wall this big, where speed is necessary, you still find moments that demand absolute concentration. The decision to modulate between different modes of climbing – swift and slow – must be made in an instant. I told myself to stay calm, to focus on this one crux, to forget for now the immensity of this entire mountain” – Katsutaka Yokoyama

“A wealth of potential knowledge exists within the unknown. Up there, we are forced to test our creativity, adaptability, and psychological stamina – to learn more about ourselves through our reactions. The question ‘What now?’ heightens our attentiveness to every detail… to refine our connection with the mountain.” – Blake Herrington

Above… the ultra classic K Cracks.

Summit! Our fear of the unknown disappeared on top… so did the dark clouds so we kicked it for a good hour… Lots of high fives.

Now for the descent… a sequential series of slung boulders and flakes

Walking backwards off a huge cliff never loses it’s spice.

Basking in the glory of a great day in the hills.

Next up… The Shark’s Nose.

I have made my way to the top of  many alpine summits in the past but always by way of splitboard/axe n crampons… always thinking that the gateway to high-end alpinism would be to combine those winter climbing skills and endurance with technical rock prowess. This is me working on the rock part.

Exactly one year later… here I am. Cirque of the Towers.

After the long approach, we experienced the many moods of these walls… patiently waiting for our time.

The Wolf’s Head 12,165′. Our first objective.

From the snowfeild, a scramble/free-solo up slippery ramps leads you to the first pitch. Easy but enough to grab your attention… and hold it.

Mike Ewanowski and Mark Hammond.

On lead, I traversed these amazing knife-edge ridgelines… looking down on either side and laughing in disbelief. During the very best moments, it was impossible to reach my camera. Those images will remain in my brain.

Hey Mom look! No hands!

A number of fortuitous cracks broke up the face and were great for your hands or feet… not both. No protection means huge pendulums into a wall if you fall. Beautiful exposure.

“The speed of the ascent and the grade of the climb don’t tell a story. The core of the experience lies elsewhere.” – Katsutaka Yokoyama

Mark snapped this one of me on his iPhone.

On some of the final pitches, I started to become keenly aware about our exposure to lightning. We heard big rumbles of rock and ice fall… No thunder but it planted the idea in my head. Big dark clouds rolled in overhead and the wind started to pick up. Mike told me not to worry and that it was going to rain Skittles. We were traversing lightning rods covered in metal… I was gripped.

Ran up and got a quick summit photo… then ran away.

We rappelled the west face on slung boulders and flakes/horns.

Sucked it in…

And descended to the bottom of this massive chimney system on our 6th rap. With two 70m ropes, we could drop 230 feet at a time. The best part was coming over the top of this roof into a free-hanging, spinning rappel that deposits you into a snow cave.

One good pull and the ropes were hopelessly stuck… so were we. We talked of cutting what little we had left and extending/connecting all of our draws to make it out of there.  That was not acceptable… Mike rigged a prussik ascender and jugged back up 200 feet to make shorter single-rope raps on more anchors.

Mark n I waited and shivered as the sun went down and the backdrop of granite turned dark red. Luckily, Mike came flying down and hour or so later with both ropes in tact. One more long rap down the steep snow and we were outta there and back to camp.

Next up… Pingora.

This is the coolest guy in the Cascades. I keep seeing him on scenic stretches of highway… this time in the middle of nowhere over 100 miles from the last time I saw em. If he was thumbin I’d give em a ride but he just waves and smiles.

Travel through fern gully…

And just like that… a 300 inch base.

My home.

With the occasional occupation of snowcaves… this spacious 3 bedroom apartment was our best effort. A great place for retreat after all the relentless goose feather storm riding.

The beginning of my experience started with this photo. On my first day touring, I skinned up solo in a blinding storm, just trying to find some powdah in the trees. As the clouds slowly let up and I gained my first alpine ridge, I tried to orient myself, looking through the patchy clouds, trying to locate the massive ice-clad volcano I’ve heard so much about. All of the surrounding ridges and alpine peaks appeared to be at eye level until this small window of sun let me get a view into the lower glaciated slopes of Mt Baker. I never imagined it to be towering so high above all else.

… then the peak came into view. The actual summit is a 35-acre nearly level mound that hides the 1,300 ft ice-filled summit crater.

To the Lummi tribe of Puget Sound, the volcano was Koma Kulshan meaning “Great White Watcher.” When haze, clouds or smoke shrouded the lower levels, Mt. Baker was likened to a colossal island of ice and snow floating on denser air.

“I look up, knowing that I do not know a fraction of what there is to know about myself. In the long silence in between avalanches I wonder whether my unknown interior contains bravery or cowardice, strength or weakness… I am sure that alpinism can reveal everything I need to know as a human being.” – Steve House

“Such a wild, inhospitable place, a place where long term survival is impossible. Even our temporary residence is an extreme gamble.” – Steve House

“The line between waking and dreaming flickered.” – Jefferson Ives

“Even the shadows seemed to stretch their arms around me, and all my weariness dissolved in a sense of solace, a sense of awe” – Jefferson Ives

Josh Jarvis makin one last adjustment to the gogs.

Timmy Albright.

Chris Tretwold.

Can’t forget to warm the bones with a beachside climbing session for sunset.

Pouch on the ups.

Ultra endurance formula.

Had my eye on this beast for a whiiile now… one day it will happen.

Peak #1. A crispy turn or two off the high ridgelines but the goods are always lurking below…

Stoked! 2 more to go…

Up through the stoney trees…

And into the cold smoke hovering above the city.

The Flying Zucchini.

Peak #2

Headed to peak #3

This is the only shot I took on the last and final chute but as you can see from the first photo, its a long, steep and narrow couloir with technical moves all the way down. It starts out in a 40-45 degree hanging bowl that quickly funnels into the main attraction. It’ll teach you to make heavy slough calls and ends in this here cliff choke… constantly pummelled with spindrift. You can skirt around it but it’s definitely not the place to go for a slide.

Sun up to sun down… fuckin mountains man.

This peak was a damn good time… The photo was shot 4 hours into a 5.5 hour continuous ascent. Crampons n axe on an ice glazed summit ridge led to an exciting couloir section followed by settled pow for miles. I only got a handful of shots because it was all i could do to keep up with Rick Black and Jeremy Jolley. Rick is 30 years older than I am and was always a solid 200 yards in front of me… schoolin all us kids with a shocking pace. He built his own prop plane so he can fly over the mountains and go… hey that looks fun… then ski it the next day. When he’s not doing that, he’s a paramedic for the Life Flight Rescue Heli… doin it big.

5,100 feet of vert from peak to road… every bit of it was glorious.

The Heli Turds like to fly back here but they never touch the good stuff.

Good ol southern hospitality.

On other days, its nice to cheat a little bit. UAC avalanche forecaster Brett Kobernick backin out the pony.

The Cowboy has all kinds of crazy innovations. He calls this one the Hubble Telescope with a custom-made IPhone attachment for getting the proper shot on his feild days. Others include his pole-saw and that sweet truck he rigged up for his sled and dirt bike… complete with sleeping arrangements and speaker system.

Ice runnels… this is a new one for me. During the MLK rain event, some of the water made its way through many different layers of the snowpack. We dug atleast 10 pits throughout the day. I was just trying to learn as much as I could from a master.

All in a day’s work.

The 3 temptations.

On this day, this was the only photo I took.

And this was the line… an all time favorite and one of my first tours ever. Did this one on snowshoes a few years back then somehow managed to snap my splitboard another time.

Met up with the Provo Bros for this bitterly cold bluebird day with 14 inches of blower.

Predictable.

Mystical.

Frame grab from Canon 7D video.

The coldest of cold smoke.

This is where I felt the only bit of warmth all day. Good thing i was wearing my solar bowling shoes. From here, we skinned up and were the first tracks down The Soup south face by 430 pm. -40 degrees with wind chill… Frozen solid, but feelin lucky.

A journey through an ancient forest…

Into The Fuzzy Naval.

And out.

Plenty of pillows for the poppin. Alister got this shot of me mid back 80. The reason this place is so attractive to me is because you get to link up a series of 3 super fun a varied lines ina zone that isn’t easy to navigate. You can go there over n over yet never take the same line and always run into fun little features to session.

It was so good I went right back with another powdah refresha.

TB afterburn.

Frame grab from Canon 7D video.

Now for the ender.

Conditions were ideal… and I wanted more so I climbed up the other side of the road for a good look at our tracks and another 1500 feet in blowerville.

Utah is killing it.

Sunrise is best spent in the aspens.

Fresh snow trauma all around. Stripped bark and trees piled on trees is a clear sign from Mother Nature… I like to call this area the War Zone. You can’t really go anywhere without being right at the bottom of some huge slide path so choosing the right time for passage is key. Just wait till spring, you’ll find 40 foot piles of debris from the glide slides.

Fellow photog Andrew Miller dropping…

Coulter climbs trees to get to his lines.

If this isn’t surfing the mountain, I don’t know what is… And in proper style leaving clean slashes for the rest of us.

Frame grab from Canon 7D video.

I dont think that was a rock he landed on… more like a hole.

Our alpine playground.

Keeping things interesting on the 4 mile exit… A bomb hole or two had running water under it. Powder for days whheeww!

A great day in the hills.

Quite the drought we’ve had here lately. No snow but the cold temps are keeping that pow nice and smooth for us.

Now here’s something I absolutely love about splitboarding… gettin up onto a high ridgeline and gazing into the alpine with morning light. No shred photos this day… Just great views and gang shred through shaded mini ramp pow pipe for thousands with the homies.

There’s something about seeing a line you’ve ridden with dramatic perspective. It brings back all those intense feelings of fear, joy and accomplishment that you always get during a great day of shred mountaineering.

Here’s a couple flashback photos from that day last spring…

Ian Provo

Good times.

Now back to this year…

A little filming mission was in order on this noice bluebird day. Conditions weren’t “ideal” but we’ll take what we can get and we’ll love it!

Randall is in from Colorado and looking to jump off shit. He proceeded to boost this cliff, charge the chute and end it with a mach 7 tail wheelie out the apron. Solid.

A few frame grabs from the Canon 7D video…

Neil Provo leading the way up the summit ridge.

Tony Pavlantos and Chris Coulter.

Tony

Chris

Then back up the ridge with the crew.

Dreaming of lines in the distance.

Chris and Neil

Then down the NE face and out the 3,000 feet of rolling terrain and yet another powder-filled halpipe gully. Notice the water ice patches? Gotta keep an eye out for those suckas… they’re everywhere and lining the high ridges. I went for a ride on one of em farther down the mountain and got a serious ass massage… ouch.

Cross the crik n outta there.

In the approach gully, I realized I had forgotten my camera batteries… I flipped a bitch and rode back to the truck to grab em and didn’t catch up to the fellas till the summit ridge. Sure glad I remembered…

Coulter walkin on the moon.

Menacing.

Beautiful.

Ideal…  Mr. Harris dropping in.

Here’s a few through his eyes…

See more @ Perpetual Weekend

Mark and the mountain. 1000 feet down the east face…

And back to the top for our home run.

Poppin n spinnin 4,527.56 feet to the valley floor.

Absolutely bottomless. See the POV footy @ Chris’ Blog

The line. Wind lipped ridges, couloirs, open face, meadows and endless powder pipe stacked with 12-14 of fluff… this one has it all.

And this one is next…