White Lice Chute

Jeff said, "I checked out Wexler's blog the other day. He's skiing these huge, steep chutes near Canmore."

Wex and I expeditioned around Alaska on skis 4 years in a row. During that time Wex taught me the importance of descents. On our last trip together we incorporated the four highest summits in the Tordrillos. We're now doing our own thing: skiing chutes in our backyard with neighbors. 

And buddy, congrats on your IFMGA pin! Andrew, you are now a bonafide Furgerburger.

In the mindset of backyard chutes and neighbors; Andy Newton, Jeff Conaway and I cycled out Eklutna Reservoir for a night at the Mountaineering Club of Alaska's Pitcher's Perch. This is a doghouse-style hut with mice and no insulation. But it's proper-style Alaska. Any more and you might as well go to Eurodogland.

Jeff scoping his next packrafting objective on the approach up the West Fork of the Eklutna River.

Kettle pond from a melting remnant of the Eklutna Glacier. Our map shows the glacier being here in 1994. This was a lake when Jeff was last here in 2000. Now it's filled with sediment. The Eklutna Glacier supplies Anchorage's water and some power. 

Boys club at Pitchler's Perch after round I on the White Lice Chute. The 1,500-foot, 47-degree White Lice Chute is visible there, hanging from the clouds above the hut. The legendary Vin Hoeman first climbed 6,650-foot White Lice Mountain in the 1960's. Maybe he itched his way up the White Lice Chute to the summit. 

Booting the chute on round II. The day before we bailed 500 feet up as it discharged ice and rocks. The weekend before Cathy and I skied Flute Peak and the snow was still dry. This year the snow transitioned from dry to wet on north faces at 5-7,000 feet around May 20. Last year it was about May 26.

Nothing was falling down this time because it froze overnight into a sheen of breakable crust.

The breakable crust was actually fun skiing. We told the dangling cornice to sit and stay. We gave it a bone and it behaved. 

Cycling back around Eklutna Reservoir for Session beer and power rings (Andy-speak for donuts).

Rumble Chute

When she's elusive, I find three attempts usually works. With Brad, on my first attempt for Mount Rumble's Chute, we stopped at the Korohusk chutes. With Dave Bass, on attempt number two, we roasted in the spring heat, avoided avalanching slop and skied 7,500-feet without even touching the mountain. But on attempt number three, Cody, Tucker and I got lucky.

At 7,530 feet Mount Rumble is the fifth highest peak in Chugach State Park. Rumble is stashed at the head of Peters Creek, up river from the city of Eagle River. The uninitiated may try to access Rumble via the 24-mile Peters Creek Valley Trail. They soon learn what it's like to hike through 18 miles of moose-nibbled willows.

Tucker brought his new Hi5 188 La Sportiva skis rigged with 170 gram bindings (made by ATK I think). I had serious his-truck-is-bigger-than-mine syndrome. But that's okay. Tucker is my boss. Bosses should have bigger trucks.

8:30 am with 4,500 feet and half of the approach bagged. I forgot my camera battery so I poached some photos from Tuck. He later loaned me his camera to stop my complaining. 

Skiing 3,800 feet into the elusive Peters Creek. The crux of the day was climbing back up this hill.

In the zone below Rumble. Again, following Zach Shlosar's tracks.

Booting into the the top of the chute. We stashed our skis and climbed up an ice gully to find another 500 feet of powder leading to the summit. We went back and got our skis. 

Mount Rumble summit at 7,530 feet. Cody is holding his breath for bonus training since he lives in Bethel (117') while flying for Ute Air. Tucker is getting high and giggling on the thick O's since he just got down from the Alaska Range.

Tucker testing his new Sportiva rides on the impeccable summit slopes. The valley is 5,000 feet below. 

At the top of the chute, far above a gigantic kettle sinkhole on the derelict Wall Street Glacier. 

Tucker product testing.

Tucker likes the product.

Cody about to exit onto the apron. 

Wolverine tracks near treeline at 11pm. We returned to the car after 18 hours and over 13,000 feet of uphill. Don't laugh, but for like people us it's impossible to have more fun.

Korohusk Chutes with Brad

It chuting time in the Chugach. Brad Cosgrove left Hope at 3am, arriving at my house 45 minutes early. His time is limited and he's super-psyched. He's a new dad, and between ski and river guiding seasons.

We followed Zach Shlosar's tracks into the Western Chugach, toward Korohusk, on a hunch we'd find something fun. The Western Chugach Mountains are rugged peaks, better known for scrambling and hard technical climbing than skiing. By some counts there are 21 summits over 7,000 feet. These peaks are inaccessible, often requiring multiple days and horrendous bear-infested bushwacks. But if you wait until May, when days are long and snow is stable, then many become day tours. 

We found something fun. A pinner hidden in a buttress.

Brad brought huge Salomon skis and Salomon Dynafit-compatible boots. I thought he would like to trade gear at the top of the chute. He politely declined.

Starting down the first of two 1,400-foot, 45-degree chutes on the north side of Korohusk.

Brad in the pinner. 

Booting up for the second chute. 

Steep and stable: the Western Chugach season peaks in May.

Halfway down Brad switched from fast windshield whipers to open, near straightlining turns, floating ahead of his roaring slough.

Making zee free ride.

Brad exiting the chute onto 500 feet of apron. Ten hours car to car feels easy when the sun is blazing 16 hours a day. 

Ingram Creek

Wolverine is one of the prizes of Turnagain Pass. Brad, Henry and I didn't get the prize, but we skied yummy and stable powder.

Brad Cosgrove grew up in Moscow, Idaho, sixteen miles from my hometown of Albion, Washington. We learned to guide while working at Dave Peterson's yurts in McCully Basin in Oregon's Wallowa Mountains. Under Dave's example, we learned a laid-back guiding style, while having a blast with the customers and skiing Oregon's finest snow. We've both retained this guiding style. Henry Munter is from Ketchum, Idaho. With a name like Munter (re: Werner Munter, father of the Munter Hitch and 3x3 Reduction Method), you know Henry is destined for higher levels of snow nerdology. Brad and Henry river guide in summer and for Chugach Powder Guides in the spring. We come together midwinter to teach avalanche classes for the Alaska Avalanche School.

Aiming for Wolverine at Turnagain Pass, we skinned to the summit of Eddies. Instead we opted for sunny powder on Eddies south side.

On Eddies ridge, just beyond the summit. We skied the sunlit slopes just ahead. Henry knew a continuous line to Ingram Creek.

Brad dropping the south face of Eddies into Ingram Creek. Glide cracks, like yawning frowns 200 feet across, coated most of this face. Henry found this glide-free line several days earlier. Then we skinned several miles up valley and climbed a 1,900-foot chute on the north side of Kickstep.

Four PM at the notch above Kickstep's pocket glacier. Brad (right) kicked 1,700 steps (Henry counted) up the chute with hip hop on his iPhone speaker. As Henry says, "Brad's dealing with a lot of energy."

Henry cutting first tracks into the chute. Do you see the glide crack avalanche in the top left corner?

Full moon lighting Brad in the chute. We returned to the car at 7:30PM after creek jumping and forest thrashing. Our tour was about 12 miles and 5,000 feet. We'll save Wolverine for later.