Russet Lake - December 19-20

I finally got some time off and so I asked Phil “Where are we going next week?”. Sure enough he quickly came up with a plan to do some AT skiing. Monday morning I got to his place at 6:45am and we were discussing the weather predictions while waiting for Stephen to arrive. Predictions called for a bad rainstorm so I was no longer keen on going but Phil insisted it would be fine. So once Stephen arrived (almost an hour later) I decided to go with them and brave the rain.

We arrived at Whistler, got our backcountry tickets and up we went. We first skied down to the Harmony chair. This was my first time on skis with an overnight backpack. It wasn’t easy. The pack seemed to throw me off balance so easily that I felt I could barely control my turns. We went up the Harmony chair into the fog that was near the top of Whistler. We started down the Burnt Stew trail and shortly after we skinned up towards Flute’s summit.

I was too cheap to rent skis and boots and all the rest so I ended up using Phil’s ancient skis, my downhill boots and Stephen’s spare avalanche beacon. Phil had warned me that I’ll be suffering a lot but I couldn’t justify spending so much money on rentals so I figured a little discomfort won’t be too bad. Luckily my boots worked out well enough so my feet didn’t complain much.

Going uphill on skis felt quite odd but it seemed to work well enough. I was going extremely slowly though. I couldn’t keep up at all with them. Luckily for me, Phil was nice enough to wait for me and create a track that my thin skis could go up on. His fat skis seemed to be able to go up any slope…

We got to the first sign on Flute and for some reason I thought that was the one marking the summit. I hiked that area just a few months before but could not recall where everything was. I felt good, I thought we were progressing very fast, despite my slow speed, and I wasn’t even that tired yet. Once we finally reached the windy summit of Flute, I felt very different. I was really starting to tire and the visibility was poor and it was windy and not very pleasant. We soon reached the out of bounds markers and continued onwards in the blizzard towards Oboe’s summit. The climb was slightly easier as it isn’t as steep.

We started skiing down from the peak. Stephen was first and all of a sudden we see him dropping in front of us. Visibility was so poor, he didn’t notice this sudden 2 metre drop. He was ok though and we continued to ski down. Visibility improved slightly as we were headed down. A small patch of blue was even visible in the sky. We could see Cowboy Ridge clearly in front of us now. Phil and Stephen were discussing what route to take. Phil pointed towards a steep treed section. He said something to the likes of “See those small trees in that avalanche chute, we’ll ski next to those all the way up.” I was familiar with the summer route which goes on the right and is much easier, but it passed under some other avalanche chutes, so we figured it’s probably not safe.

We kept skiing down from Oboe. There was a hell of a lot more snow than either of us was expecting there to be. The wind was blowing hard and filled that area with powder on top of all the snow that was falling. Had I had my snowboard, I probably would not have complained, as powder is the fun stuff. But on the short and thin skis I was I could barely control my descent. I was plowing most of the way down and skiing as slow as possible. It took a lot more effort than it should have, while Phil and Stephen were gliding down effortlessly.

We got down to The Singing Pass, skinned our skis and up we went. I was hoping for a break so I can have some food, some water and some much needed rest but it was 2:00pm already and we had under 2 hours of sunlight left. So upwards we went. I was again amazed at the amount of snow there was on that slope. All the reports up to that day said the snow was hard, consolidated and that there should have been very little of it. We stuck to the trees, with Stephen in the lead and Phil making easy tracks for me to follow, babysitting me and trying to gauge my fear. I was quite nervous and even thought about just finding a section in the trees and camping for the night which would have been quite stupid considering I had no tent and the cabin lay so close. I was so tired that my fear was secondary so I just wanted to get to that damn hut.

Eventually we reached about half way up the slope and the trees ended. There was another set of trees going higher but they lay across a steep exposed slope. We had no other option at that point so we had to cross it. Stephen went first and reached the other side successfully. Phil went second while I waited and watched him. It’s quite a sickening feeling to know you’re essentially watching him expose himself to a possible avalanche while you’re sitting in the trees ready try to rescue him in case it happens. And knowing full well that I was too exhausted and couldn’t possibly act in time if something happened. Luckily nothing happened and he quickly reached the other side. I then went while Phil and Stephen watched me. I was too tired to care much so I just focused on putting one step in front of the other and quickly reached the other side safely.

We kept going up, staying close to the trees. We eventually got high enough and the wind was blowing furiously. One side of the trees was just packed with snow while the other was almost clear of it. We went on the clear side and finally reached the ridge. A mellow slope with no risk. It felt so good to be up there but most of my muscles were starting to seize up. I was obviously quite dehydrated. We could then see the hut and continued down and around until we reached it. Five minutes from the hut and I was so exhausted I tripped on my skis and fell twice, bending one of my poles in the process. It was about 3:40pm and we were finally there. A couple of other guys had just arrived too from the other side, completing the Spearhead Traverse.

Once we got in the hut we stayed there, except to get some snow to melt. I changed into fleece and down and felt quite warm and comfortable. We melted snow and cooked dinner. I had some lentil and couscous soup and some risotto. They tasted delicious on the first few bites and were totally vile by the time I finished them. I was also severely dehydrated so I never thought water tasted so delicious as at that point, despite the fact it had tons of tree bark (scraped off tress by the wind) and other junk in it. We spent the next few hours sitting, trading stories and listening to the jet engine stove of the other occupants of the hut. I still can’t understand why they had to run that thing for 5 hours straight. We could barely speak, it was so loud.

We went to sleep around 7:00pm. It was snowing heavily outside which made my imagination go wild. I couldn’t sleep at all. My mind kept making up nightmares after nightmares of avalanches. The rainstorm eventually started and the wind was blowing furiously, hitting the hut with insane force. The noise of the rain hitting the roof was deafening. The wind occasionally hit the hut with such force that the whole thing shook and rumbled as if an earthquake had hit. The first time that happened, my mind was creating visions of an insane avalanche right next to the hut and paranoia struck me. I was scared and shaking the whole night. I kept trying to visualize a way out over Cowboy Ridge that could be safe. I was certain the rain would destabilize the snow pack enough to make it insanely unsafe. I had such visions of doom, they drove me crazy. In the morning, once everyone was awake and we got up my paranoia went away and replaced with nothing but minor worries. Maybe drinking bits of tree bark wasn’t too healthy…

I eventually went outside to use the bathroom and was shocked and how little snow was left around there. The wind and rain made the ground quite bare. The long hike to the bathroom (why did they have to place that thing a mile away from the hut I’ll never know) was so tiring I had real doubts on how I’ll manage to ski back that day.

We had a quick breakfast, packed and left at 9:30am. The guys that just did the traverse went first and we quickly lost sight of them. I was slow right off the start and was struggling to keep my pants up…I hadn’t done the clip at the back properly and they kept sliding off, making it uncomfortable. I finally was able to stop when I reached the start of the ridge and got some help clipping my pants back up. I didn’t want to take my jacket off and all that as it was raining pretty hard. We continued up the ridge and then it was time to ski down. It all went quite quickly, and we made it down without any issues. I fell a bunch of times when my skis got buried in the slushy, heavy snow, but otherwise it wasn’t too bad. Once I got to the bottom I was shaking my head at how easy it was to get down, while the whole night I was terrorized by those dreams for no real reason. The slope wasn’t even as steep as I remembered it from the day before. The snow was sticky and slushy and I seriously doubt that anything but a massive cornice fall could make it go…but then…I don’t know anything…

We skinned up to the peak of Oboe and then down again. At one point we stopped and Phil asked if those boots are hurting me at all, and I said they’re fine and I have no problems. Not even a minute later, I felt a blister developing and popping which caused some serious pain, but I just ignored it and kept going. I was out of the dangerous area and I wasn’t too concerned with such minor pains. I kept following Phil and Stephen through fog, rain and pushed by the wind in every which way. We eventually arrived to the Flute bowl and were within bounds again. The bottom of the bowl wasn’t completely covered and signs of the lake are still there. We had to traverse high and go into the woods to get to the next bowl. The skiing here was easier as the snow was more hard packed than on Cowboy Ridge so I didn’t have too many problems skiing on it. In the trees, it was a bit more of a struggle as I didn’t bother putting my skins on and every time we had to go up a bit, it was a real pain.

We eventually emerged onto a green run and saw a person skiing down. We skied down all the way and I took the gondola for the last little bit while Phil and Stephen skied out. We got to the car that was covered by inch of ice, changed into dry clothes and headed home. Once home I examined myself and could count about 7 bruises from top to bottom. Shoulders hurt from the pack and feet slightly bruised and scraped by my boots. My muscles are so sore today I have a hard time walking around the house.

This must have been one of the most agonizing trips I have been on. Horrible weather, wet clothes, poor snow, bad ski equipment, first time using AT Skis, exhaustion, nightmares, fear, no visibility…It may take a lot of convincing before I attempt anything like that again…And to top it all, I have no photographs. There wasn’t anything to take a picture of…