Bountiful Peak, Bike to Ski, May 19, 2012

Terraceing courtesy of CCC work of the 1930's.
Central Wasatch seen on the far skyline: (R-L) Lone Peak, Thunder Mountain, Broads Fork Twins, Pfeiferhorn, Am. F. Twins, Monte Cristo, Superior.

Yesterday's snow made for dreamy turns.

Francis Peak from just below Bountiful Peak.

Bountiful Peak "headwall".

The road. Seemed steeper than it should've been. For comparison, it was a similar in length and vertical gain to that of riding to Elephant Rock on the Mueller Park trail: 3.2 miles, 1,100 vertical gain, starting elevation - 8,160 feet, B-Pk summit -  9,260 feet.

'Ol-Blue', claiming first ascent of Bountiful Peak for a mountian bike, without supplemental oxygen. 

The goods. Not much left.

Bountiful Peak from top of ski hill.

Too much gear.

Turns.

Ski tracks, with bike and ski gear seen at edge of snow, upper right.

For all the tooth counters, yes, I ride a triple, ski a double, and sometimes drop a knee.  

Bountiful Peak Bike and Ski, Saturday May 19, 2012
 

Winter 2011-12 is almost history. There are just a few lingering snowfields to ski; at least at my usual haunts in Davis County. Anything more will require higher ground like the central Wasatch, Uintah’s or maybe the Tetons. So, Saturday, May 19, 2012, was my last ski day in Davis County. I drove up Skyline Drive above Bountiful, the road that passes just below the eyesore block "B" on the hill. Although, the "B" is nothing compared to the damage caused by ATV's and the NRA'ers, tearing new trails and shooting anything in sight. What is worse: aspens riddled with bullets holes or tons of shot up beer cans and 2-litre soda bottles littering the ground?  At the old Buckland Flats Campground there has to be several tons of old targets covering several acres of ground. It looks like the landfill absent seagulls. Spent brass is everywhere. When I was a kid my Mom would kick my ass for being so trashy, so I can only conclude there are way too many inept old mothers out there who taught their now-grown kids NO sense of responsibility.



Soapbox aside, I drove to the top of the mountain and parked at the Morgan divide/overlook (8,160 feet) which is at the junction of the Session’s Mountain Road and the Bountiful Peak Road. There was no snow along the road to this point, due to the westerly aspects, so I was a bit concerned I’d find no skiable snow on the NE side of Bountiful Peak. The gates to both the Sessions Mountain and Bountiful Peak roads are still locked, presumably due to snow, so I brought the mountain bike along to cover space quickly.



I strap skis to bike and start pedaling up the B-Peak road, riding around the gate and up the surprisingly steep road. Ok, maybe not that steep, but, in my defense, I was hauling 20+ pounds of ski and camera gear. A half-mile up the road I pass four backpackers who tell me they are headed to Farmington Lakes for the night. An early start for such a short hike, 4-5 miles from the lakes, but I’ve never been one to sit still in camp. Too much nervous energy, which is perhaps an indicator as to why I haven’t excelled in my cubicle-hinged career. I pedal on, wondering, "What are they going to do all day at those muddy little ponds?"  I look back periodically to see their progress, but I never see them after I round the first bend.



A mile up the road I encounter a bank of snow on the crest of descending ridge, and I try to ride it but ultimately I’m forced off the bike to walk the snow to next bare road. On the snow I see that yesterday’s valley rain fell as snow up here at 8,500 feet. There is 2 inches of fresh, spongy, new snow. I cross three more snow banks before reaching the spur ridge leading 300 feet to the summit of Bountiful Peak. Almost revelation time; will there be snow enough to ski? I push the bike up the rocky trail to the summit and as I top out, I see a nice, but short, bowl of deep snow on the NE shoulder of Bountiful Peak.



I walk the bike down the ridge, 1/8 mile, and transition from biker to skier. I’ve skied this slope before, last time was two years ago on Memorial Day with Brett Fuller, but that year there was substantially more snow, requiring us to skin from the parking lot in Farmington Canyon almost 3 miles and 2,000 vertical feet  below. This year the snow peters out just below the boulders in upper cirque. My runs will be short this year, so it’ll be quantity over length. I ski five or six short laps, the first being the longest, down into the Douglas Fir below the cliffs, but find the snow lower down to be intermittent and pocked with rock, emerging trees and avalanche debris. My subsequent runs are limited to the upper bowl where I stop at the tree line and boot back to the top, the snow supportable so no skins were needed.



Although the runs were short, the turns were fun on creamy, day old snow topping a hard, frozen crust, but with just enough give to keep the turns smooth and idiot proof. It was a day of experimenting with camera angles and video scenarios, not so much of pure skiing due to the lack of vertical snow. Finding a ten-foot pole of PVC pipe on the ridge, I use it for a tripod and I film the short runs using the PVC as a slalom gate to capture tight “off-body” video. The POV video I’ve taken all winter is boring and passé. How much footage does one need of my bouncing knees, ski tips and pole plants? My poor family, they’ve endured too much bad video the last few years, but never a sour word.
 

Done with skiing, I load up and push the bike over the ridge to descend the brushy slope 200 yards to the road. I hear voices and see the backpackers sitting on the west ridge of Bountiful Peak, at the summer car-park. I had skied for a couple of hours and in that time they have progressed about three miles from where we passed. I hear joy in their voices and I admire their ability to move slow and enjoy the moment of a crisp, sunny, spring day in the mountains. “The secret to life is enjoying the passage of time”. (JT) Something I don’t always capture.


All downhill, I pedal hard and descend the 1,000 feet to the truck in short time. As I pedal up the short incline to the truck, I see 20 or so ATV’ers parked nearby and their eyes pop when they see me pedal up with skis affixed to bike. I hear mumbled smirks and stifled laughs. What?  Only gas and gun-powder allowed on this road? Just my opinion, but they look way more pathetic with their camo’ed, potbellys jiggling as they go redline. What can I say; some folks could've used better parenting.

Video posted on facebook.

Timpanogos, North Shoulder, April 21, 2012

Bright ideas.

Grunge Couloir.

Bear Grylls?

Cold Fusion on the right with too many rollers. Ski conditions were less than steller.

Cold Fusion Couloir.

North face of Timp.

Lower Forked Tongue Couloir. Biskets anyone?

Bare ground on NW shoulder.

Cold Fusion Couloir on left, Forked Tongue center, our ski tracks on right.

Mount Timpanogos – North Shoulder, Saturday April 21, 2012

After five miles of following their tracks, we round a bend in the road, just below Cold Fusion, and there they are.  “They” are two climbers who have just climbed the Cold Fusion Couloir, a 3,000 vertical foot avalanche path running NW off the North Peak of Timp.

Anyone driving south out of Salt Lake City on I-15 has seen it, assuming they have a passing interest in the Wasatch. When under snow, the ski potential of Cold Fusion is palpable, as viewed when driving past the Utah State Pen, it just begs to be skied. Those damn convicts must go nuts when they have yard time, staring up at the mother of all Utah ski runs for its length and drop.

Our plan (Brett Fuller, me) was to ride mountain bikes, skis strapped to frame, from the Timpanogas overlook along the Timpenooke road to the base of the Cold Fusion Couloir, hike up the heart of the couloir to the North Peak of Timpenogas, then ski the Cold Fusion back to our bikes. About 8 miles one way and about 4,660 foot elevation gain. We had a great plan, but the execution was bad. From the parking lot, about half mile above Mutual Dell Campground in American Fork Canyon, and where the road is gated during the winter months, we rode the bikes less than two miles before hitting continuous snow. Basically, the road was impassable about half mile below Timpenooke Campground, so we  dump bikes at the campground (chained to a tree) and started booting Timpenooke Road, about 4 miles to the base of Cold Fusion.

We got away late due to poor planning on my part. The forecast was for hot temperatures overnight, and without a solid re-freeze even at mountain locations, and instead of heeding centuries-old mountain wisdom of “go early-leave early”, my weird logic led to sleeping late. I mean, why rush it with an Alpine start? If no freeze, might as well go well rested, right? The smart thing, given the recent dump of snow and the sudden heat wave,  would have been to NOT go at all. The lesser smart thing would be a 2AM start to take advantage of the tepid cold temperatures that we did have. The stupid thing would be to sleep in and wait for the snow to turn to total mush before we start.

So, bikes chained to a tree at Timpenooke Campground, we start booting up the road. By 9AM, and a mile of post-holing later, we finally don skis to provide some float. We skin the road for five miles, below the impressive, Canadian-esque, North Face of Timp and it’s Grunge Couloir and the Pinball Alleys of the north face. Along the way we find very fresh bear tracks, fresher then the boot tracks of the climbers we're tracking. The Ursa tracks are about the size of my hand with fingers outstretched. Ironically, we cross those tracks in the exact sport where a young boy was killed by a hungry black bear several years earlier.

Now, six miles later, we come face to face with the two climbers we’ve been trailing all morning. They ask where we’re headed. I say, “we’re gonna ski Cold Fusion”. The shorter, cockier one, about age 25, smirks and tells me we should have started way earlier. What’s with young know-it-all climbers? I climbed that thing back when he was still in Pampers and playing with Power Rangers. Admittedly, he is right, but the lack of re-freeze makes him practically as stupid as I. If he were so enlightened, why would he pick the hottest day of the year to climb a steep and serious avalanche chute, just two days after a 24-inch dump of wet spring snow? “Stupid is and stupid does sir”, to paraphrase my mentor and hero, Forrest L. Gump of Greenbo Alabama.

Anyway, they tell us the fall line of the couloir is choked with avalanche debris and virtually un-skiable. “Climber Sensei” offends again: looking first at me, then down at my skis, then back to me, and says, “I’m sure glad I didn’t carry my skis all this way to ski avalanche boulders”.  When on the defense I can only communicate as allowed by the superior breeding of a Reeder: grunting, shrugging, mumbling, and maybe gesturing with my hands a bit, but never getting a coherent word out. Brett, coming to the rescue, jumps into the fray and says, “we’ll find something nice to ski”. With that, pleasantries over, we bid each other good-day and we continue on. Senei and his sidekick post-hole down the snow covered road just wishing they had our skis.

Brett and I round the last corner to finally see Cold Fusion, and yes, it is choked with debris from about 8,000 feet up to nearly 10,000 feet. Simply put, it looked like nasty skiing.  We both agree to not hike it but go explore for better offerings. We can see smooth, steep snow in the forest glades on the north shoulder that look promising. We skin up and over towards the Forked Tongue Couloir, the sister chute of Cold Fusion, only to find it also choked with avalanche debris. It's full of washing machine size boulders of snow, from wet slides, stacked and jumbled for 1,500 feet above us in the narrow gully. What to do?

We continue skinning upward and south-westward towards the north shoulder of Timp hoping we’ll find a steep  chute filled with perfect spring corn snow. As we traverse to the west side we find a very thin to non-existent snowpack. Lots of rocks and sage brush, but nothing great to ski. So, in a steep scree slope, sitting on sun-warmed rocks, we eat out lunch, and decide we’ll just ski the glades of the North Shoulder.

Skins off, we ski about 1,300 vertical feet of very fun, albeit slightly overcooked corn, all the way back down to the Timpenooke Road. Fun skiing, although we’re both disappointed for failing to climb to the North Peak of Timp. Back on the road we need no skins; poling, kicking and gliding carry us quickly along those six miles of rolling terrain back to our bikes.

 

Along the way back, we see the post-hole tracks of Sensei and Sidekick and we ridicule them for what pathetic TOOLS they truly are for NOT bringing skis. We figure we covered that distance in a fraction of the time they did post-holing. Back at the bikes we load up and head out. A good day even if we started late, totally miscalculated the snow, brought bikes for nothing and didn’t climb or ski our main objective.  Tired, disappointed, but smiling. A good day indeed.

                 

And for the record, that is NOT a gut! Yes, my ass is huge (my Grandpa was a genetically superior Australian rugby player, with an uncanny low-center of balance) but that is NO gut. It's an optical allusion: baggy shirt, tight belt loop and maybe some trick photography on the part of Brett Fuller . . .   

BC Skiing - Burro Mine/Peak #7, April 5, 2012

Two-thirds the way between Rudy's Flat and Black's Peak, near the top of the peak I call Rectangle Peak .

Near the summit of Peak #7, and the top of the run I call Big Drop #12.

Old Burro Mine road, built in the late 1800's, now inaccesable from below but remnants still showing up high.

View from the top of Black's Peak No. 2 (standing atop the run I call Big Drop #1). Grandview Peak barely showing behind (right) Peak #7. Also, Big Drop's #12, 11, 10, 9, 8, 7 and 6 (left to right). Bad snow year; most of the brush and small quakies are covered by April.

Deer hunter lost his (her) bedroll.

Grandview Peak from the knife edge ridge between Black's Peak and Peak #7, above Cottonwood Gulch (the upper north fork of City Creek Canyon).

Wasatch Powderbird Guides (WPBG) landing-zone-wind-marker (heli-ski operation out of Snowbird). Today I found four of these between Black's Peak and Peak #7. They (WPBG) call it Sessions, but Sessions Mountain is actully north, across the canyon, where they also operate. In years past I've only seen one L.Z. along this ridge. Seems like their operations in Davis County are expanding as they get more flack from the SLC/Centtral Wasatch BC crowd. One man's gain is my loss. And being the nerd that I am, I track their flight days. This winter they flew up here 5 times, which is 5 times too many. Not sure why I'm so territorial, I've never seen another B.C. skier this far up the ridge (hey, just answered my own question).    

My ski tracks on lower Big Drop #12, off the peak I call Number 7 (NE of Burro Mine/Blacks Peak, and SW of Grandveiw Peak) one of many ski shots along the ridge running NE from Rudy's Flat to Grandview. I stop making turns about 1,300 feet down (of 2,000 total) because all that vert must be re-climbed to get out. The angle lessens below that point anyway.   

Yesterday's lunch. Many signs of Mountain Lions. 

Just crossed the old Burro Mine road while skinning back up to the ridge after skiing Big Drop #12 (Peak #7).

Roller balls below the Citadel.

View SW from the top of Peak #7 (my back to Grandview Peak), with partial views of other ski offerings.

Red zone, top of the run I call Big Drop One, direct north aspect off the top of Black's Peak #2. 1,000 foot drop at a consistant angle (shown) and another 1,000 feet at 32 degrees. When I was 14,  with friends (Scott Cutler, Mike Lloyd, Scott Shaffer), pretending we were mountain men, camped atop that peak in late October with no tent, no sleeping-bag, no food. Our only protection was a thin blanket we each took off our beds at home. The wind raged all night and we froze.

Meh, they're new, but too tired to remove.

You only turn fifty once – if you’re lucky anyway – so best spend the day backcountry skiing. I’m not saying I was down about the milestone birthday, only that I couldn’t stomach the big day at work. All in all, the snow is going fast, and what remains is a mixture of hard, refrozen crusts, with a bit of sloppy goo lower down. Although, on the well sheltered northern aspects, I found some lightly crusted powder that made for really fun turning. It was a big day, with long miles of discontinuous snow and a healthy vertical climbed and skied. So, work or ski on my fiftieth birthday? I made the right choice.

Snow? For comparison sake, just over a year ago, May 26^th to be exact, I did this same route and there was substantially more snow. Today, at Rudy’s Flat, snow coverage was about 80%, with 12 and  24 inches. Bare ground was showing on the most exposed areas. Last May 26^th there was 100% coverage with 48 inches. Mountain bikers will take control in a few short weeks.

I hiked in approach shoes (amped-up running shoes) all the way to Rudy's Flat. I used the summer trail because the short-cut-drainages were melted out lower down, thus a bush-whack hell.  At Rudy's I switched to ski boots, mainly to kick steps up the steep climb up to the ridge. On the ridge the snow was still supportable so I was able to boot all the way up to Black's Peak #2, where I finally took skis off the pack and started skinning the knife-edge ridge towards Peak #7.  The snow was rapidly becomeing unsuportable, hence the switch to skis on feet.

Stats: 12 miles; 4,500 vertical feet ascended.

(video posted on facebook)