Noah's Adventures

It was just past 5:00 am on the cool morning of June 19th when I picked up Kenny from his home in Aspen. Without much of a plan, we wound up the narrow, curving road towards Independence Pass. After eyeing up a few different options, we decided on skiing the snowfield that remained within the classic 4th of July Bowl.

The two of us threw on our packs on the side of the road and headed down the embankment and towards the hillside. The theme of the day was speed–for in precisely two-and-a-half hours, I needed to be a ways down the valley for work. For the first 200 yards, our only obstacles were small patches of brush. That was until we were faced with a river crossing–the head of the Roaring Fork to be exact.

Though it may have been midway through the first month of summer, the water was truly frigid. Without a viable way to skirt around the river, we decided to strip off our shoes and plunge straight through its icy waters. Before crossing, Kenny and I chucked our packs and shoes across to the other bank.

If my morning coffee hadn’t woken me up, this crossing surely did. Though the crossing was only partly bad, the lingering freeze we experienced in our feet on the other side was quite the shock. After some complaining, we switched into ski boots for the next ascent.

After the river crossing came a good stretch of bushwhacking, followed by a steep, rock-strewn section. Up ahead of us, a promising strip of snow beckoned us towards an easier path of ascent. New to the whole “ski mountaineering” thing, Kenny slapped on his skis and attempted to skin up the nearly 40 degree, still frozen slope. I chose to boot up. Needless to say, we were both booting before long.

The surface, which had frozen over the previous night, was something like styrofoam–dry and firm. And though the sun was beginning to bake the frozen snow crystals it was clear that we would not be skiing corn on the way down. Spurred on by the spirit of adventure, and the encroaching turn around deadline I’d set, we kept on.

As it came time to turn back, we hadn’t quite reached the top of the line. Regardless, we found a flat outcrop about 30 yards from the summit to transition. Around us stood the imposing peaks of the Sawatch Range, topped with narrow ribbons of spring snow. We clicked into our pin bindings, and threw on helmets.

The first couple turns were less than ideal… some would even say terrible. The sensation could be compared to sliding down a boulder field, with bumpy sun cups creating a pretty jostling ride. Within two turns, Kenny lost a ski, but managed to come to a stop and pick up the runaway equipment. Though the skiing was less than epic, the adventure was thrilling. Plus, the pictures made up for the “interesting” snow surface.

Our plan was to ski the line until it was impossible to keep going. We made our way down the upper bowl, and into a thin strip of a remaining avalanche slide. Finally, the snow ran out and we began the mad dash towards the car. With much haste and without much of a care, we splashed back across the stream in our ski boots.

That morning was my first taste of summer backcountry skiing in Colorado–I’m looking forward to the next.