Jackson Hole 2012
Sunday, January 29th
Not wasting any time, I went straight to the tram for a solo run on the Hobacks. Upon exiting the tram, I was simultaneously blown away by the beautiful view and let down by the windswept snow. It looked icy. But once I laid tracks on the Rendezvous Bowl - after snapping a dozen or so pictures, of course - I quickly realized that there was no ice! I could get an edge in easily, carve as hard as I want to... And it was a real joy to do so. Rendezvous Bowl is such a vast, barren moonscape and so steep, you feel like the world is flat and you're fleeing the edge. It’s so unlike anything... I was about to say, “unlike anything back home,” but the truth is it’s unlike anything out west I’ve done. It felt great to get out there and be unafraid.
The Hobacks are a wide open series of valleys that are sheltered from the wind, and it showed. The snow was soft and intact, but tracked up. Still, it was a joy to be out there. At one of my many rest breaks - you have to stop and rest, I don’t care how fit you are - I looked around and realized I was alone in a ski-able area roughly the size of Granite Peak with not a single sign, fence, or hint of man’s influence, barring tracks in the snow.
After two runs I was already getting gassed, and looking forward to meeting Dad for lunch. Lunch was at a three-or-four star restaurant at the top of the gondola where I had one of the best sandwiches I’ve ever had: a generous amount of cold smoked salmon with tomato, some kind of pickled red onion, Boursin spread, crispy bacon, and lettuce on lightly toasted rye. I have to try making that at home.
Monday, January 30th
Went straight to the tram again. Did I mention that the building we’re staying in is NEXT DOOR to the tram? My reaction on exiting the tram: crap. It’s a whiteout. Blowing snow. I scooted to the Rendezvous Bowl and found that the visibility was about twenty feet. I've survived worse, but I still kept near other skiers, signs, and trees… anything to prevent that falling-in-an-endless-void feeling that often comes when you lose sight of everything around you.
Halfway down Rendezvous, the whiteout lifted! This day won’t suck after all!
P.S. The photo on the left was taken at roughly the same viewpoint as the first photo... about halfway down Rendezvous.
Tuesday, January 31st
I’m resting in our hotel room at 12 noon, a perfect time to be out boarding, but I’m too exhausted. I’m worn out and slightly shaking because I just faced what was probably the most danger I have ever faced. And it was on marked catwalk. I once joked that Jackson Hole is so hard, they have a catwalk where if you fell off the edge of it, you might die. Two things: one, that’s no exaggeration; two, I almost fell from it.
I started my day hoping to do some hiking. There are inbounds areas only accessible with a climbing hike that I’ve never been to, and the ones I chose are best approached from a black diamond catwalk off the tram.
I turned on to the catwalk and got maybe halfway before I ran out of steam. I took some photos like I usually do, not afraid yet. I sized up the situation. I could either take one foot out of the binding and go the length of the catwalk with a long, difficult, sideways shuffle out, or I could take both feet out of the bindings and walk in the soft snow just overhead. I chose to take both feet out and walk... which was a huge, huge mistake.
I almost forgot to describe this catwalk. It had a steep grade sloping from the left down to the right, something like 45° (see picture on right), with nothing but a simple rope fence between you and a rocky cliff below. Catwalks are usually groomed and flat, but this pass was too narrow to allow a snow cat through to groom it. It was too steep to lay down on; you would slide into the fence.
The snow above me that I hoped to walk in was not soft. It was hard, windswept, and unyielding. With my board in hand, I tried walking on it, and soon slipped and fell face down. Unable to stop myself from sliding, I slid onto the fence. Somehow I managed to extend my left foot out and catch a fence pole, I might have slid under that rope fence if I hadn’t. Oh, and that “pole” was a simple bamboo rod shoved into the snow that gave a bit under my weight.
I realized that if my feet don’t sink into this snow, I would have to dig them in. I climbed back up to where I was by kicking toe-first at the snow until I dug decent foothold for one foot, kicking a foothold for the other foot, and so on, step by agonizing step. That was the only way to get out of there safely - getting my feet back in the bindings would have been impossible on this steep of an incline. Many irrational ideas crossed my mind: I should sprint up the hill, I should dive to the next fence pole, I should give up and slide under the fence and take whatever broken bones come with it. Broken bones aren’t that bad, right? I know a guy who continued to work despite broken legs. And I could retrieve my board later... I had to quell these irrational thoughts, and bury my only other rational thought: that I’m truly in danger.
I inched my way down the catwalk and to the right holding my board up against the snow above me, pounding my right toe in to the snow as far to the right as I could without overextending, moving my left foot from its foothold to the one my right foot was in, fixing that foothold as it always filled in a little, and scooting my board. It was unbearable.
A group of skied by, and the last skier stopped to offer words of encouragement: “That snow’s soft up there, and if you slip the fence will catch you! You’ll be fine!” I laughed and said alright, mostly to calm myself, because I knew he was wrong about the snow, and the fence might not catch me.
Further down, there was a sturdy-looking stick with a fence post next to it that looked like they could catch me when sliding down and support enough weight to get my board back on if I leaned on both the stick and the pole equally. Also, the fence started to turn away at that point, and the slope slightly less steep. After what felt like an eternity of inching along, I finally lined myself up with it. The plan was to climb or slide down, catch the post and stick, flip facing up, and get my board on, but I decided I ought to try getting my board on without the use of those posts. If I slipped, it would be a safety net... literally. So I punched and dug into the snow as much as I could to make a place to sit, and dug my footholds extra strong, and carefully flipped over to sit facing up, allowing me to at least attempt to get my feet into the bindings.
I was breathing so heavily I could taste blood.
On flat ground, you can set your board down to step into the bindings. On a slope as steep as this, you must hold your board against your boots with your hands, or it will slide downhill. Of course, my bindings were snow clogged: I was holding it with step-in bindings down against the snow as I inched along to gain some traction. Of course, my boot cleats were snow clogged too. But I got my boots into the bindings after precariously cleaning them, and holding the board against my foot.
Finally, I could stand up, and finally, I could turn my board downhill enough to move. Finally, it was over.
It’s humiliating, knowing that I got that stuck and that scared on a marked run, but I refused to let it beat me, even though I was completely worn out. Given the choice to take an easy way down or explore an advanced area that’s otherwise inaccessible, I chose to explore. I wound up being forced to take a half-assed trip through a short couloir (read: steep, scary, narrow gully on the side of a cliff) and then rode easy mode the rest of way down, but at least I did it. And then I collapsed in our room.
It wouldn’t be a trip to Jackson Hole if I didn’t get scared out of my mind.
P.S. I went back out later that day to do two exhausted, worn out runs down the Hobacks. That’s right, I go to a Jackson Hole-rated black diamond field with unmarked hazards to recuperate.
P.P.S. My right leg, the one that did most of the kicking to dig footholds, was so sore that for two days I would lift my leg with my arms to get in and out of shoes. And that’s after weeks of successfully strengthening that muscle at the gym.
Wednesday, February 1st
Riding the tram is quite an experience.
There’s always someone on board who wants to preserve his/her bubble of personal space. Not gonna happen. They cram up to 100 people into this box whose interior is maybe 20x10 feet. When on full trip, it is impossible to fall.
The tram rises up 4139 vertical feet, the biggest climb in North America. Compare that to Mount Bohemia - which has the greatest vertical in the Midwest last I checked - its vertical is 900 feet.
The tram disembarks on a metal lattice platform perched on top of the world complete with snow plastered to it by high winds. It can be scary, but people usually leave the cabin with joyful cheering, often in response to the tram operator’s required ride-ending speech. The tram operator that accompanies every trip serves as DJ as he or she is free to choose the songs that play over the tram’s speakers, using satellite radio or whatever mp3 player he or she brought with. The ride ends with the usual announcement: this lift services expert terrain only, you can ride back down, one will be there every 10 mins, guides are available at... et cetera. One time, the operator ended the speech by saying, “And there’s only one thing you can say about today..." He then hit play on “I Feel Good." Another time, the lift operator ended the speech saying, “This one goes out to my Mom I miss her," and queued up Aretha Franklin‘s “Repect."
Today, the tram operator was playing “Sexual Healing," which was amusingly awkward, and then he was playing an Al Green song I didn’t recognize when it was time for his speech. As usual, he yelled for attention, but then he cupped his hand over a mic that I didn’t know was there, and in a deep, sultry voice said, “Thank you for riding the Soooul Tram. The Sooooul Tram services expert terrain only..." He did the whole speech in that shtick. “The Cabin is done making waffles but you can still get a glass of Courvosier." And when it was time to set us loose he played “Let’s Get It On." Hell. Yes. I love Jackson Hole. Later, I learned that Don Cornelius, the host and creator of Soul Train, shot himself today.
Thursday, February 2nd
It hurts to walk, but it doesn’t hurt to board.
Friday, February 3rd
Boarding the Hobacks again today, as I try do do everyday, I stumbled upon a snow fort. It was tucked behind a tree; overlooking a steep open field. It had low walls surrounding it made by packed snow igloo-style. It had three wooden benches, two coolers, a grill, a fire bowl, a saw, some fire wood, and an Elmo hung by its neck. I’ve been boarding the Hobacks the past six days and this is the first I’ve seen it! Plus, I have no idea how people got that stuff there, since it’s at least a five minute ride through moguls from the nearest lift. I mean, it’s hard to ride a snowmobile there!
That’s Jackson hole for ya: chill. There are big furry dogs loose and just kinda running around the base area. Several buildings are weathered, rustic, and enjoyably labyrinthine. I rode a chair while a girl riding with me smoked a bowl. When I bought a bomber of beer at a low-ceilinged basement cellar the clerk asked, “You need a bag? You need that opened?” And behind the building where we’re staying, they held a drinking competition... an organized and publicized drinking competition that was a qualifying round for a world drinking competition. They called it a “quaff.” I’m pretty sure there are laws against encouraging people to binge drink at bars back home, but at Jackson Hole they do it outside, right out in the open! But the best thing about Jackson Hole’s attitude is quite simple: people are glad when it snows. Not just the Resort employees but everyone is glad, from the town folk down the radio news deejays.
Saturday, February 4th
I’m gonna miss this place. I hope the spots on my camera’s lens didn’t ruin all the pictures. I hope some of the videos are good. And I hope that I can come back here again. Soon.
I happened to get a long distance shot of the area as we drove to the airport... and still failed to get the whole thing within the frame. Lol.
Jackson Hole airport is the coolest airport. Mountains in every direction, and it's so small you'd easily drive past it.
This is the plane we flew in on. In the background is Jackson Hole Mountain Resort... or at least the mountain range it's part of.
This is where I almost slid AND DIIIIED. This is where I had to go.
This is what I would've fell down if I slid under the fence.
This is looking back from where I came to a stop.
This is the placard you walk past on the way through the Tram maze. "Don't be stupid or you will die." I love it.
Oh perspective, you so crazy.
Yeah, the Hobacks are kinda steep.
That's what I would've maybe possibly thought about climbing up if I had any energy left on that Tuesday after STARING DEATH IN THE FAAAAAACE.
"Dad, stay right there while I take a picture. That's actually a decent pose for once."
I cloned my Dad to achieve this shot.
This is Corbet's Coulior, the hardest run at the hardest resort in North America (as rated by Ski Magazine).
This "run" is basically a notch in a hundred foot cliff where snow happens to collect. Depending on snow cover, the initial freefall varies from around 15-30 feet.
This is how you gaze at Corbet's: cautiously.
This is the closest dared get to get a shot looking down Corbet's.
It not very often you find yourself looking down at clouds.
