Wasatch Solo: BC Ski - Flagstaff Peak from Alta, December 13, 2013

Toledo Bowl from Flagstaff's shoulder. Cardiac Bowl is just beyond (west), hidden in the clouds. Alta's long range plan calls for a lift that would pass directly over my approach route up Flagstaff's shoulder. If so, Toledo Bowl will be either a mogul field for experts or a groomer to appeal to the general public. In any case, with a lift carrying skiers to the edge of Days, Silver and Cardiff Forks, the Central Wasatch "back country" will be nearly extinct. If you thought it was crowded now, just wait, you're going to see Skyline High pep rallys Main Days or Cardiac Bowl.

Flagstaff Peak from Alta – December 13, 2013

There is no bad snow or bad skis, just bad skiers. Today I really could have used my fat skis to handle to harsh sun crusts, so I must be a pretty damn bad skier. Every ski season has a few dogs, some days are tough and no fun. Today was one of those days. Conditions were painful and it left me asking, "why do I do this"? Fortunately, the great days, those days when the skinning is effortless and the skiing is like flights through heaven, cancel out the bad memories and make you long for more. I need one of those days right now.

Statistically speaking, the law of averages dictates 2 rotten ski days for every 30 good ski days, and since I’m a glass-half-full sort of guy, it’s comforting to know that I have only one more dog day to endure for the 2013-14 ski season.

So what was wrong with the day? First, what the hell is it with Wasatch B.C. skiers setting a skin track at an ungodly angle? Yeah, I have no business whining when I didn’t break trail after the last snow, but that skinner up Flagstaff was so steep I doubt my skins would’ve found purchase if I was the first guy up. The skin tracks out of Alta are obviously one-time use only, after a bit of traffic and some sun, they are as hard as the sidewalk in front of my house, and very few skins will grip, especially if any edge if exposed. At least my neighbors don’t urinate in the middle of my sidewalk like Wasatch skiers do. Yellow snow aside, given the hellish angle and the icy conditions, the only way I would NOT slip backwards is to use shag carpet for skins. Come to think of it, maybe I could score some cash by selling carpet remnants as skins? I’d call them ‘Wasatch Hippie Fur’, maybe just ‘Wasatch Fur’?

Second, the snow, the skimpy 24 inch coverage we have, just plain sucked. Thursday’s bright, sunny weather inflicted a deep melt, then Thursday night’s near zero temps made the south aspects a landscape of plywood over sand. Worse, Friday’s overcast sky meant no sun to soften that crust. And it was one tough crust of two or three inches of punchy, hard snow, which translated to one ski atop and the other breaking though to rock and shrubs. I’ll admit, my turns today were almost as bad as any in my career, maybe as bad as 1972 when learning to ski on the moguls of Bob’s Bowl at Solitude, on my woody, J.C. Penny specials and leather lace-up boots.

My day went like this: I started late and was rushing daylight, but I skinned up Flagstaff anyway, half on the established track, half my own, aiming to ski upper Days Fork and Silver Fork, then descend under headlamp back the way I came to my truck at Alta. The higher I climbed to more disillusioned I became, so when I finally topped out on Flagstaff, and was met with a storm front, complete with strong wind and blizzard conditions, with only an hour of day light remaining, I had no heart to continue, knowing it was going to be ugly descending that crappy snow in the dark. Yes, the snow on the northerly aspects of upper Days was very creamy and would’ve made great turning, but I was seriously concerned about blowing an ACL, or face planting on those razors crystals, or ripping my new, fashionista-B.D. pants. I even debated removing the skis and booting down, the only thing prohibiting that pussy action was thinking half the guests at Gold Miner’s Daughter were watching through binoculars - and laughing. In hind sight they were probably in hysterics anyway as they watched my pathetic turns, but I made it down in one piece, tail between my legs, but encouraged knowing I now have only one more dog day to endure for 2013-14. Like I said, there is no bad snow or bad skis, just bad skiers. Seems I’ve been fighting that for forty years.

Flagstaff peak and upper Days Fork (r).

Snowbird from Flagstaff.

View NE towards the Days-Silver Fork divide. The forested ramp (starting on the left, mid picture) offers easy access to Silver Fork after skiing laps in upper Days.