A
Anonymous
Guest
Trip Report: April 19th, 2002
A Bluebird Day in the Gulf of Slides
Dedicated to:
My Father, whose interest in hiking and photography has inspired me to seek out natures beautiful places and capture them on film. I look forward to teaching my daughters, Abigail and Audrey, the valuable lessons of the outdoors that I learned from my dad, namely a good time is about being smart, safe, knowing your limits, and only pushing beyond your limits when you taken the right safety precautions.
A very special thanks to my wife who so deserved a day to herself, but instead encouraged me to go, leaving her with Abigail our 2 ½ year old and Audrey our 2 month old.
Friday April 19th
As I arrived home from work at 5:00 and Abigail our two and a half-year-old greeted me. She ran across the kitchen with her arms spread like a 747 coming in for a landing yelling “Daddy’s home” as walked through the door. Then, up into my arms she leaped smothering me with kisses and summoning enough strength to nearly take my breadth away as she squeezed me. My first thoughts were how could I leave her, Audrey our second daughter now two months old and Kellie my wife to go dangerous and remote area on Mount Washington. The thought was nearly enough to cancel my plans as I felt I could not put myself in harms way. My instinct has taught me to manage the risks as I do daily in the business world.
After I packed up the cars and said my good-byes I hit the road at about 6:00. Just after I pulled out of the driveway I realized I forgot something, my trail map. So, I turned around and pulled back in and grabbed my map sitting on the counter just inside the kitchen door. Before leaving for the second time I kissed every one for the second time and assured Kellie that I would be safe and would come home in one piece.
The two-hour drive went by quick. I stopped quick, nearly throwing the car into a skid at Chocoura Lake as the sun was setting. The sky was a beautiful shade of pink and I just had to take some photographs, I nearly missed the turn, thank God there were no oncoming cars. After a brief rest, and a half a role a film shot I jumped back into the car. As I completed the drive to Pinkham Notch I reflected on a child hood trip to Mount Chocoura done with my family and cousins. It goes down as one my fondest hikes and best vacations. It made me stop for a minute, and wonder if maybe I should instead turn around and go for summit hike instead. “Nah, I can do that any time,” I thought. I’d rather be skiing.
After pulling into Pinkham Notch, I parked the car and headed into the store. I sought out Mike at the counter, as he seems to be the most knowledgeable about current trail conditions. I asked if any people had asked about conditions in the Gulf of Slides. He said several groups had inquired. That was all the confirmation I needed. If I went, there would be a good chance I would not be alone except for the hike up. I could live with that. It did not seem to pose severe risk.
Saturday April 20th
I awoke at 6:00 with the sun bursting through the windows of the car, forgetting where I was for a moment. “Oh Damn,” I thought to myself, “I’m supposed to already be on the trail.” I had actually thought it would be nice to hike in the dark and arrive at the Gulf as the sun was rising.
After choking down some trail mix, an apple, power bar and energy drink I gathered my gear and hit the trail. Breakfast at the Lodge would have been much better, but I didn’t want to delay. The hike up was very serene and the weather could not have been better, sunny and 45 or so degrees. It did take but a few minutes on the trail before I was pealing layer of clothing off. I was certainly wishing I had brought that pair of shorts I set up, but ended up leaving behind.
The hike up the Gulf of Slides Ski Trail was a challenge navigating through the spring stream beds and mud on the trail. After about an hour and a half on the trail the mud changed to snow. I perceived this as a good thing. Little did I know what I would soon encounter?
Once the snow coverage became consistent, I decided to take a brief break and change gear. I packed my hiking boots and replaced them with my new Scarpa Laser ski boots. I was going to skin up the rest of the way, or so I thought. I had stopped at EMS and rented Voila Snake Skins the night before. After putting them on my skis and attempting to ski forward, and going nowhere, I removed my skis in a heap of frustration. The skins would not keep my skis from sliding back on the crusty snow surface, as I thought they would – that’s what there supposed to do. I later learned form talking with people that they work great in powder, but nothing else. Being in New England we rarely have that.
I packed my skis to my pack and hit the trail again. This time I left my ski boots on deciding that I wanted to see how they climbed. It did not take long before realizing that they were a great investment. They were light and had a great range of motion for hiking.
Before long the snow began to accumulate on the trail. As the trail steepened, I started having to exert more forward momentum as I climbed. The effect of this was that as I stepped I would sink thigh deep in snow. As this happened over and over again, I realized that this is what postholing is. “This sucks,” I screamed, knowing no one was around. After pulling myself out over and over again I began trying to walk across the snow as a ballerina might dance across a stage. I tried to be as light on my feet as I could and for the most part this worked better. It did take a lot of effort to carefully plant each step, but I soon arrived at Gully Number One.
After passing the avalanche cache and reading the dedication to two skiers who died in 1996, here I immediately questioned by sanity. “I am here why,” I thought. As I was contemplating my seemingly poor choices I began reassuring myself. “I have done my homework and prepared for this,” I told myself. I talked with areas guides, read posts in online forums going back two years, checked the avalanche report, and talked with local skiers. Most importantly I had a fall back plan and I knew my limits. If there was no one on the trail ahead then I would head back done, I would not ski if I were alone.
Fortunately I was not alone. At the base of Gully Number 1 there were a group of three guys camping. I met them the night before, Dave, Eric, Keith. They hiked up in the dark, under clear skies and warm temps. I would have liked to join them but did not have the appropriate gear for sleeping out under the stars should the weather turn. Erik seemed the most knowledgeable about the area. I asked if they minded if I took a break and they invited me into their camp. As I approached the camp, downward I sank in the snow. “Shit that hurt,” I said quietly because only Eric was awake. As I tried to pull myself out I realized I was stuck. This was no ordinary posthole it was a spruce trap. “Need any help,” Eric asked. Embarrassed I said, “No, I think I can manage.” In hindsight I should have just accepted help, It was not easy to get out of.
After a short break and many photographs, and taking in the morning sun, I decided I would go up part way on Gully Number 1 and ski down. After mentioning this to Eric, he said Gully Number 2 was wider. I couldn’t really get a good view of Gully Number 2 from where I was at so I packed up and headed over to it. As I approached I was immediately overwhelmed by the size. The Gully was funnel shaper and rose about 1100 vertical feet up. I could see that it would be possible to ski it from the top but did not have to convince myself not to go that high. Instead I found what I thought would be a good place about 2/3 of the way up. There was a rock outcropping that was not covered in snow, and the trail still seemed wide enough for me to make some turns. I thought I could drop my gear there and head to the top of the ridge. “I am sure I could get some really great photos from the top.”
As began my ascent, it did not take long to realize how steep the slope was. I have not skied a lot of steep slopes and this would be the longest steepest run I would have done to date. I had noticed that there were some kicked in snow steps, so I followed them upward. Up, up, up, I climbed until I reached the rock out cropping. Upon reaching the top of the rock I thought I was nuts. There would be now way I could ski from that elevation on such a steep slope. Looking up is definitely different that looking down.
I dug a small seat in the snow next to some trees that I could hang on to as I unloaded my gear. I pulled out my camera and began snapping pictures of everything in sight. It was beautiful. I could see hundreds of miles to the South and East. I was amazed at how much snow disappeared with the warm weather and rain the week before. After eating a snack, I loaded on my gear and began the down climb to a more suitable starting point. As I stated climbing down I could see skiers starting gather at the bottom. In fact, some of them were already on there way up. I soon realized that climbing down was not a good idea. My ski poles were of little help. I began sliding with ever step and clung to the trees with dear life. After down climbing 50 or so yards I thought to myself, “This is as good a place as any to get my skis on.” And so I tried. It is not easy to get your skis on standing on a 35 degree pitch with no shelf to stand on. I somehow managed and began my descent.
As I stood on my skis looking down the slope, I though “Am I $@*&ing nuts, what am I thinking.” I definitely seriously questioned my ability to do this. However, I was not happy with the alternative. I had a hard enough time trying to get my equipment on; there was no way I was going to get in off. And, the thought of sliding down clinging onto trees would make for a long journey down. After standing, still looking down, I figured I had to make a move. I pointed my skis slightly down hill and began moving slowly. As I traversed my way to the center I knew it would be time to turn. I then tried a jump turn. Completely failing at my attempt and sliding a bit down the slope I came to a stop. “Alright, that sucked,” I thought. After getting my balance, I repeated my previously failed attempt at a jump turn. It became clear after three more failed attempts I sadly realized I could not perform a jump turn. “How was I going to get down?” By know I realized that when I fell I would stop. This became very comforting; as my biggest fear skiing a steep slope is that I would slide to the bottom upon falling. I suddenly became more confident.
Standing up once again, I knew that I could not perform a jump turn. Why is it I ever thought? I can’t tell you what I was thinking. I have never been taught or learned how to jump turn. Being somewhat coordinated I guess I thought I could figure it out. Boy was I wrong. My only alternative would be to point my skis completely downhill and carve a turn. Still a very scary thought, but better than the alternative. I slowly pointed them downhill, finding my balance squarely over my skis; looking down scared, out of my mind, I carved my first turn successfully. I can’t tell you how excited I was. I planted my pole and again carved a turn, and again and again and again. I think you get the point. Minutes later I arrived at the bottom of the slope. My heart was pounding and I must have had a smile a mile wide. “I did it,” I thought, but wanted to scream so I could hear my echo in the valley below.
After completing my run I contemplated going up a second time. I decided I would watch the others come down, while I rested. My energy level was nearly completely depleted. As much as I wanted to go up again I did not want to spoil a good and risk injury given that I was pretty tired. After watching the other skier I soon realized I have a lot to learn. All of the skiers that came down were on Telemark skis. They made it look so easy, linking turn after turn after turn, all the way to the bottom. One particular guy stood out among the rest. I later found out that the guy was Brian Snider, a tall slender red haired guy. As Brian finished his perfect run, I said hello, and headed down the trail for home.
On the way down I was moving quickly, almost running down the trail. I kept my ski boots on as they offered great traction and support, and were still comfortable. I could not wait to get back to car and call my wife. I wanted to be able to tell her about my amazing trip. Unfortunately, I couldn’t pick up a signal until downtown North Conway. When I final did we had a long conversation. I broke down on the phone. Yes, tears streaming down my face. The whole experience made me realize how important Kellie and our children are in my life. It’s unfortunate that the stresses of work and life can really deplete your energy and enjoyment of your family.
When I arrived home, Abigail again greeted me at the door. “Daddy go skiing”, she said as she again jumped into my arms. Abigail followed by saying, “I go skiing.” Little does she know that she made my day. Kellie was very happy I was home.
PS: I hope you all enjoy reading this
A Bluebird Day in the Gulf of Slides
Dedicated to:
My Father, whose interest in hiking and photography has inspired me to seek out natures beautiful places and capture them on film. I look forward to teaching my daughters, Abigail and Audrey, the valuable lessons of the outdoors that I learned from my dad, namely a good time is about being smart, safe, knowing your limits, and only pushing beyond your limits when you taken the right safety precautions.
A very special thanks to my wife who so deserved a day to herself, but instead encouraged me to go, leaving her with Abigail our 2 ½ year old and Audrey our 2 month old.
Friday April 19th
As I arrived home from work at 5:00 and Abigail our two and a half-year-old greeted me. She ran across the kitchen with her arms spread like a 747 coming in for a landing yelling “Daddy’s home” as walked through the door. Then, up into my arms she leaped smothering me with kisses and summoning enough strength to nearly take my breadth away as she squeezed me. My first thoughts were how could I leave her, Audrey our second daughter now two months old and Kellie my wife to go dangerous and remote area on Mount Washington. The thought was nearly enough to cancel my plans as I felt I could not put myself in harms way. My instinct has taught me to manage the risks as I do daily in the business world.
After I packed up the cars and said my good-byes I hit the road at about 6:00. Just after I pulled out of the driveway I realized I forgot something, my trail map. So, I turned around and pulled back in and grabbed my map sitting on the counter just inside the kitchen door. Before leaving for the second time I kissed every one for the second time and assured Kellie that I would be safe and would come home in one piece.
The two-hour drive went by quick. I stopped quick, nearly throwing the car into a skid at Chocoura Lake as the sun was setting. The sky was a beautiful shade of pink and I just had to take some photographs, I nearly missed the turn, thank God there were no oncoming cars. After a brief rest, and a half a role a film shot I jumped back into the car. As I completed the drive to Pinkham Notch I reflected on a child hood trip to Mount Chocoura done with my family and cousins. It goes down as one my fondest hikes and best vacations. It made me stop for a minute, and wonder if maybe I should instead turn around and go for summit hike instead. “Nah, I can do that any time,” I thought. I’d rather be skiing.
After pulling into Pinkham Notch, I parked the car and headed into the store. I sought out Mike at the counter, as he seems to be the most knowledgeable about current trail conditions. I asked if any people had asked about conditions in the Gulf of Slides. He said several groups had inquired. That was all the confirmation I needed. If I went, there would be a good chance I would not be alone except for the hike up. I could live with that. It did not seem to pose severe risk.
Saturday April 20th
I awoke at 6:00 with the sun bursting through the windows of the car, forgetting where I was for a moment. “Oh Damn,” I thought to myself, “I’m supposed to already be on the trail.” I had actually thought it would be nice to hike in the dark and arrive at the Gulf as the sun was rising.
After choking down some trail mix, an apple, power bar and energy drink I gathered my gear and hit the trail. Breakfast at the Lodge would have been much better, but I didn’t want to delay. The hike up was very serene and the weather could not have been better, sunny and 45 or so degrees. It did take but a few minutes on the trail before I was pealing layer of clothing off. I was certainly wishing I had brought that pair of shorts I set up, but ended up leaving behind.
The hike up the Gulf of Slides Ski Trail was a challenge navigating through the spring stream beds and mud on the trail. After about an hour and a half on the trail the mud changed to snow. I perceived this as a good thing. Little did I know what I would soon encounter?
Once the snow coverage became consistent, I decided to take a brief break and change gear. I packed my hiking boots and replaced them with my new Scarpa Laser ski boots. I was going to skin up the rest of the way, or so I thought. I had stopped at EMS and rented Voila Snake Skins the night before. After putting them on my skis and attempting to ski forward, and going nowhere, I removed my skis in a heap of frustration. The skins would not keep my skis from sliding back on the crusty snow surface, as I thought they would – that’s what there supposed to do. I later learned form talking with people that they work great in powder, but nothing else. Being in New England we rarely have that.
I packed my skis to my pack and hit the trail again. This time I left my ski boots on deciding that I wanted to see how they climbed. It did not take long before realizing that they were a great investment. They were light and had a great range of motion for hiking.
Before long the snow began to accumulate on the trail. As the trail steepened, I started having to exert more forward momentum as I climbed. The effect of this was that as I stepped I would sink thigh deep in snow. As this happened over and over again, I realized that this is what postholing is. “This sucks,” I screamed, knowing no one was around. After pulling myself out over and over again I began trying to walk across the snow as a ballerina might dance across a stage. I tried to be as light on my feet as I could and for the most part this worked better. It did take a lot of effort to carefully plant each step, but I soon arrived at Gully Number One.
After passing the avalanche cache and reading the dedication to two skiers who died in 1996, here I immediately questioned by sanity. “I am here why,” I thought. As I was contemplating my seemingly poor choices I began reassuring myself. “I have done my homework and prepared for this,” I told myself. I talked with areas guides, read posts in online forums going back two years, checked the avalanche report, and talked with local skiers. Most importantly I had a fall back plan and I knew my limits. If there was no one on the trail ahead then I would head back done, I would not ski if I were alone.
Fortunately I was not alone. At the base of Gully Number 1 there were a group of three guys camping. I met them the night before, Dave, Eric, Keith. They hiked up in the dark, under clear skies and warm temps. I would have liked to join them but did not have the appropriate gear for sleeping out under the stars should the weather turn. Erik seemed the most knowledgeable about the area. I asked if they minded if I took a break and they invited me into their camp. As I approached the camp, downward I sank in the snow. “Shit that hurt,” I said quietly because only Eric was awake. As I tried to pull myself out I realized I was stuck. This was no ordinary posthole it was a spruce trap. “Need any help,” Eric asked. Embarrassed I said, “No, I think I can manage.” In hindsight I should have just accepted help, It was not easy to get out of.
After a short break and many photographs, and taking in the morning sun, I decided I would go up part way on Gully Number 1 and ski down. After mentioning this to Eric, he said Gully Number 2 was wider. I couldn’t really get a good view of Gully Number 2 from where I was at so I packed up and headed over to it. As I approached I was immediately overwhelmed by the size. The Gully was funnel shaper and rose about 1100 vertical feet up. I could see that it would be possible to ski it from the top but did not have to convince myself not to go that high. Instead I found what I thought would be a good place about 2/3 of the way up. There was a rock outcropping that was not covered in snow, and the trail still seemed wide enough for me to make some turns. I thought I could drop my gear there and head to the top of the ridge. “I am sure I could get some really great photos from the top.”
As began my ascent, it did not take long to realize how steep the slope was. I have not skied a lot of steep slopes and this would be the longest steepest run I would have done to date. I had noticed that there were some kicked in snow steps, so I followed them upward. Up, up, up, I climbed until I reached the rock out cropping. Upon reaching the top of the rock I thought I was nuts. There would be now way I could ski from that elevation on such a steep slope. Looking up is definitely different that looking down.
I dug a small seat in the snow next to some trees that I could hang on to as I unloaded my gear. I pulled out my camera and began snapping pictures of everything in sight. It was beautiful. I could see hundreds of miles to the South and East. I was amazed at how much snow disappeared with the warm weather and rain the week before. After eating a snack, I loaded on my gear and began the down climb to a more suitable starting point. As I stated climbing down I could see skiers starting gather at the bottom. In fact, some of them were already on there way up. I soon realized that climbing down was not a good idea. My ski poles were of little help. I began sliding with ever step and clung to the trees with dear life. After down climbing 50 or so yards I thought to myself, “This is as good a place as any to get my skis on.” And so I tried. It is not easy to get your skis on standing on a 35 degree pitch with no shelf to stand on. I somehow managed and began my descent.
As I stood on my skis looking down the slope, I though “Am I $@*&ing nuts, what am I thinking.” I definitely seriously questioned my ability to do this. However, I was not happy with the alternative. I had a hard enough time trying to get my equipment on; there was no way I was going to get in off. And, the thought of sliding down clinging onto trees would make for a long journey down. After standing, still looking down, I figured I had to make a move. I pointed my skis slightly down hill and began moving slowly. As I traversed my way to the center I knew it would be time to turn. I then tried a jump turn. Completely failing at my attempt and sliding a bit down the slope I came to a stop. “Alright, that sucked,” I thought. After getting my balance, I repeated my previously failed attempt at a jump turn. It became clear after three more failed attempts I sadly realized I could not perform a jump turn. “How was I going to get down?” By know I realized that when I fell I would stop. This became very comforting; as my biggest fear skiing a steep slope is that I would slide to the bottom upon falling. I suddenly became more confident.
Standing up once again, I knew that I could not perform a jump turn. Why is it I ever thought? I can’t tell you what I was thinking. I have never been taught or learned how to jump turn. Being somewhat coordinated I guess I thought I could figure it out. Boy was I wrong. My only alternative would be to point my skis completely downhill and carve a turn. Still a very scary thought, but better than the alternative. I slowly pointed them downhill, finding my balance squarely over my skis; looking down scared, out of my mind, I carved my first turn successfully. I can’t tell you how excited I was. I planted my pole and again carved a turn, and again and again and again. I think you get the point. Minutes later I arrived at the bottom of the slope. My heart was pounding and I must have had a smile a mile wide. “I did it,” I thought, but wanted to scream so I could hear my echo in the valley below.
After completing my run I contemplated going up a second time. I decided I would watch the others come down, while I rested. My energy level was nearly completely depleted. As much as I wanted to go up again I did not want to spoil a good and risk injury given that I was pretty tired. After watching the other skier I soon realized I have a lot to learn. All of the skiers that came down were on Telemark skis. They made it look so easy, linking turn after turn after turn, all the way to the bottom. One particular guy stood out among the rest. I later found out that the guy was Brian Snider, a tall slender red haired guy. As Brian finished his perfect run, I said hello, and headed down the trail for home.
On the way down I was moving quickly, almost running down the trail. I kept my ski boots on as they offered great traction and support, and were still comfortable. I could not wait to get back to car and call my wife. I wanted to be able to tell her about my amazing trip. Unfortunately, I couldn’t pick up a signal until downtown North Conway. When I final did we had a long conversation. I broke down on the phone. Yes, tears streaming down my face. The whole experience made me realize how important Kellie and our children are in my life. It’s unfortunate that the stresses of work and life can really deplete your energy and enjoyment of your family.
When I arrived home, Abigail again greeted me at the door. “Daddy go skiing”, she said as she again jumped into my arms. Abigail followed by saying, “I go skiing.” Little does she know that she made my day. Kellie was very happy I was home.
PS: I hope you all enjoy reading this
