We start up the Waterfall skin track with some flakes sifting down on the 2 inches or so that have already fallen overnight. I like this route because it feels like a tour, an expedition, not just a slog up a skin track to do a run back to the bottom. It is deliciously quiet, just becoming full light, and we are breaking trail on the way up. I say "we" in the same sense that I say "we pulled all the winter gear out of the crawl space," or "we rotated the tires on the Forester". It actually means only one of us.
We keep our hoods on most of the way, as the snow continues its soft descent on us, even after some moments of sun when I think it is time for sunglasses, when it is not. I develop a new technique (!) after the aspen grove while skinning through the mining road that is flanked by dwarf- and human-sized spruce trees. I announce it (of course) as the Pre-emptive Strike! It is a simple act of me striking the fronds of the spruce branches prior to brushing past them, to dislodge snow and, worse, needles, both of which can invade the open zips on the sides of your legs. The snow sucks for obvious reasons but apparently (this has yet to happen to me) the needles pose a far more serious threat because they can work their needly way down into your ski boots for the duration of your tour.
Anywho, the Pre-emptive Strikes keep me entertained for a stretch and as we ascend up to treelike, it is dawning on me that not only has it snowed the whole time we have been skinning, but there is also more snow up there than I was expecting. A lot more. Which calls for a change in our planned route, as our first objective is no longer as safe as we would like, considering the fact that we are standing at the top of the ridge with 8 or 9 inches of snow around our feet.
Some early bird had wormed their way down, and their tracks had filled in a little with the morning snow, but aside from that, we were the only humans around. Odd? Yes, considering that it was relatively late on a Saturday morning, and there was a lot of snow. So we re-route ourselves with a new plan, and set off on a run highlighted by perfect snow and dreamy turns… the whole way down. The cool thing about the snow is that people skied the shit out of that area in the early season, which means the underlying snow got a lot of action and compression. Then to have the new snow on top meant that we were just skiing the new snow that had fallen overnight. Which was nothing short of delightful. As you can see.
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| Closer... |
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| Closer.. |
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| Power turn for the grand finale! |
When we get to the bottom JC casually asks if I want to do another lap, already mentally calculating how I could return to pick him up, if didn't want to, but of course I do! We shush over to where the skin track goes up the regular way, kind of to the right in the photo above, in the trees, and start marching up.
Part way up I learn a valuable lesson: try to keep your skis free of snow and ice. Because when you don't, and the sticky sides get a lot of snow and ice and moisture on them, they don't work so great, meaning: they don't stick to your skis when you are going uphill for another run of snow that is "as good as it gets", and your husband rescues you by switching the one troublesome ski for one of his while he navigates uphill until he remembers he has duct tape (!!!) in his pack, and tapes the errant skin onto my ski while I wait in the snowy forest above with one of my skis and one of his skis on:
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| Look at that lovely skin track beckoning us on... |
We arrive back up at the top and still… no other people. Except for the new young avalanche forecaster from the Front Range who asked us some questions about the terrain. And off we go for another blissful run, just as good as the first.
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