You can't get lost if you don't know where you're going

So why is it that I know where I'm going and I still get lost...?! I think that is a question I will always ask myself.

Conehead Hill on a hot & sunny Sunday

Ventured out on a solo ski today. I missed yesterday's "powder day" so was itching to get out (a powder day these days is anything over 4" of snow). I didn't leave the house until 10:30am and I knew that the Tunnel would be crowded and the snow on most aspects would be shite because of two back-to-back 50 degree days, but the rule of thumb is go high and go North when in doubt (higher elevation north-facing slopes, that is).

It felt like a day in the Sierras, or a Colorado day in late April with more snow on the ground. The forecast said there was potential for rain (yes, I said rain) but there was hardly a cloud in the sky. The main trail was hardpacked slush, the south-facing aspects were either partially sun-crusted or complete mashed potatoes, and I was wishing I had found my Globstopper wax for my skins as I was carrying an extra few pounds of snow clumped to the base of my skins. It's definitely all about the UP, but the up is hard some days!!

But like most days up here, the UP pays off in ways that can't be described in words. (It reminds me of watching surf flicks and how all the surfers they interview say the same thing, something like "it's rad, i can't describe it, it's just like...amazing," etc., etc.

After thinking I was on the right track, and of course that not being the case, I bushwhacked a bit to get up to my final destination an hour and a half and 2,000 feet vertical later. Sitting eating lunch atop a rock overlooking Prospector Glades without a breath of wind at almost 12,000 feet...well it's just a good thing.

Other than a coyote tracking a snowshoe hare, no one else had been here even after a full on powder day Saturday. I love it when the only tracks I have to compete with are those of wildlife, and of the rollerballs that form from the saturated snow.

These two completely different and unique "lines" from rollerballs were within 5 feet of each other. Now, let's compare them to mine below. Preferences? Mine are pretty cool, if I do say so myself, but I like the rollerball's better.

Upper Prospector and...

...lower Prospector Gullys

In this picture, you can see my tracks in the snow on the right-hand side on that open face but what is pretty amazing here is if you look to the left. There's a massive avalanche path just below the divide where the crown (upper start line of the avy) looks to be at least 10 feet deep as the walls cast quite a shadow from this distance. It looks like a natural avy as I didn't see any tracks in the area and the trigger must have been a cornice break from above.

Instead of heading down after two runs on Prospector, I headed up the back of Conehead Hill and took my first run on Frogger of the year. The snowpack is definitely feeling more solid from this warm weather so I decided I could make this my last run of the day. It's a short skin to the cliff band that separates upper Conehead from the lower glades. Upper Conehead can wait till later in the spring when the snowpack is safer and when I have a buddy. The slope is around 35 degrees and ends in said cliff band. Some would be fine hucking these rocks, but for me they're more of a terrain trap. Frogger is what I call the lower treed lines and each time I head here I do something different. Frogger, as the name implies, entails "Frogger-ing" (as in the video game) around a bunch, but wow, what a dramatic and beautiful run! A maze of open glades that close off in trees only to open up again further down. Safe navigation is key here. There are lots of rocks for the huckers but you wouldn't want to go off one unintentionally!

Down and back at the car at 3pm where there were still at least 30 cars in the lot and somehow I saw only 6 people, all on the main trail. People heckle this place but if you like the UP, and don't mind getting lost, it's a great ski stash.