It’s crazy how sometimes it’s the smaller lines and peaks that have you scared to death and wondering if this will be the day that takes you down. This was the case yesterday, when Reed Finlay and I were skiing on Two Elk Peak.
This relatively benign line on Two Elk Peak had me fearing for my life yesterday.
Click all photos for larger images.
Two Elk Peak sits at the head of Open Canyon and sometimes it is confused with Murphy Peak in the guidebooks. It is relatively unknown to most skiers, since its name isn’t on most maps and the long approach into Open Canyon keeps most away. Its east face holds some steep lines that can sometimes be in good shape for those willing to make the trek, but are not to be taken lightly. Case in point:
A hard freeze yesterday morning and sunny skies greeted Reed and me, and we hammered the approach, reaching the snowline in Open Canyon in just over an hour’s time. Once we had the skis off our backs, we skinned towards Two Elk Peak and made the summit in about 4 hours. On the approach, I had been eying a super tight line on the northern edge of the face, but upon looking at it from the top, it looked to be too narrow and both Reed and I decided to hit a shot a bit more to the skier’s right.
Skinning towards Two Elk Peak in Open Canyon.
The line we were about to ski looked decent, a little rocky in the middle section, but we figured we would be okay with it and got ready to drop in. By this time, clouds had rolled in and the snow was still quite firm. We both slid in under some cornices and traversed to the skier right, then perched ourselves directly above the chute. The snow was rock solid, but we figured we could manage things and I began the descent by making a few tentative turns.
Randosteve drops onto the East Face of Two Elk Peak.
It wasn’t long before the snow got even firmer and was mixed with patches of ice, and trying to negotiate more turns would have been suicide. Needless to say, I began side-stepping. My whippet became my best friend at this point, stabbing it into the snow and ice, and then taking a step or two. The snow (or ice) conditions continually got even sketchier, with a skiff of powder hiding ice bulges over a few rocky steps. The pitch seemed to get steeper too as I got lower in the chute and was easily, if not over, 50 degrees.
Now in the meat of the chute, I really started to get gripped and yelled up to Reed that he didn’t want to ski this thing and should think about starting to search for an escape route. As I slowly continued side-steeping downward, conditions got even gnarlier and the white ice transformed into full-on water ice over some rocks. I didn’t think my ski edges would be able to bite into the ice any longer and I decided that I would have to straight-line my way out of the chute. How did I get myself into this mess?!
I was gripped to say the least and I could see the ice and rocks poking up through the inch or two of powder snow that had sloughed down from above. I tried to keep my cool and side-stepped down as far as I could, until my skis scraped on the rock solid ice and got my heart pumping even faster. I was still about 30-40 feet from the bottom of the chute and the more open slopes of the apron below, but I couldn’t sidestep any further and there was no way I was going to try to remove my skis and put my crampons on to down-climb.
Breakdown of how it went down.
It was now or never, and I counted down in my head. 3…2…1…, I turned my skis parallel to the slope and was instantly going mach speed over the ice and rocks. I rocketed out of the chute and turned to the skier’s left. I tried to stay in the front seat to remain in control, but the firm conditions, steepness of the slope and high speed made it difficult. I tumbled backward as my skis began to carve uphill, and instantly thought of the rocky cliffs below, focusing my attention on trying to self-arrest with the whippet. Luckily, I rolled from my back right onto my skis again and was able to regain control, and avoided a potentially injury producing tumble down to the bottom of the bowl. Reed cut across the top of the line and skied down a more open slope to the skier’s right.
Needless to say, I feel pretty stupid for making such a poor decision and thinking the chute was in good enough shape to ski in it’s current condition. Times like this are good to keep in the back of your head, so you can make better judgments in the future and…Live to Ski!!!
Dude (Steve), I’ve been in that exact situation and it always sucks. Unfortunately for me it’s happened more than once. What really got me was when you wrote 3,2,1 and pointed the skis. That made me BURST out laughing sitting here at home ‘cuz I remember those coupla’ times when I did that exact same thing. It’s like ” ok, point it, pray and go !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Yeah, the moments are enlightening with a fairly hefty(sketchy)price. Laters brah, Doug
Steve, oh yeah, my experiences were not on that peak. Laters, Doug
Glad To Hear Both Of You Made It Down In One Piece. Death Slides Are Scary Things, Also Very Humbling. Every Once In Awhile Mother Nature Likes To Remind Us Who The Boss Is. Live To Ski.
yikes!!! glad you didnt pull a fred syversen! ps got the visor and rockin it proudly.
yeah right! luckily there was no video camera and heli.
Sounds familiar. I’ve been in similar situations. The last time was at Squaw on tele skis, and I shattered my tib-fib due to the invisible cat track in my runout. 🙁
Reminds me of I’m some climbing situations I’ve been in too.
Glad it ended well, Steve.
Once you figured out conditions were firm in the chute, why didn’t you just climb out of the chute and ski a safer line ???
good question i guess, but i’ve side-stepped down lots of steep, icy and tight lines before and i didn’t really think this one would be much different. that changed once it got uber-gnarly, but by then it was too late and would have been very tricky removing my skis and doing a transition.
That happend to me in Mt Waddington once weeks from any help,then my brother sanbagged me in South America anouther time, saying the slope was good to go….
Fun sport, but can get dangerous in a hurry!
Stay fit have fun…..
Steve, I really apprecaite your candor in sharing this post. I’ve been beating myself up all week for a mistake I made last Sunday, feeling pretty stupid about it too. It doesn’t make me feel better that you got stuck in a bad spot, I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. It does help to know that we’re all human though, and despite experience we all make mistakes. Thanks again.
Glad too see you came out all good. How was woodring on the 21st? We saw you at the string lake parking lot (we had to poo). Seems like the conditions changed dramatically in just a day. Keep up the good work man!
dave..we had bad timing. when we got to holly lake, the weather moved in and it was snowing sideways. we hung out for a bit and checked out a fire-ring that some snowshoeist campers had made (which i think is illegal in that zone) hoping it would improve…which it didn’t. good skiing down from there though. about a half hour of walking before skinning.
I think if you are a ski mountaineer long enough, you’ll find yourself in situations like this. Way to pull out of it safely. We almost found ourselves in this situation yesterday, but we were ascending our exact route. We came upon vertical ice, which we knew we could get up, but were less sure that we could get down. So, we ended up bailing on the line. Still, we had a lot of ice to downclimb below (not-so vertical), which we had already ascended. I hate downclimbing ice! I’d rather just have my skis on 🙂
“As I slowly continued side-steeping downward, conditions got even gnarlier and the white ice transformed into full-on water ice over some rocks.”
yikes!
did you have an axe with you too?
d-nice…no ice axe, but crampons and a whippet. the whippet was a life saver!!!
Potentaily an agruement for logging more days at the resort eh? I know I feel stronger and more condifent straight lining stuff after I have had 20+ days at the resort…nothing gets the legs in ski shape like riding the wire.