Searching for the Northwest Passage, December 27, 2019

Ahhhhh, glorious sunshine after hours of bushwhacking in dense, white-out fog while searching for a new route up Bountiful Ridge. The sunshine was the reward of an otherwise gloomy, unproductive day.

"People seldom do what they believe in. They do what is convenient, then repent." - Bob Dylan

You know the feeling you get when you've given someone a huge gift and they ridicule your efforts?

I recently met a group of skiers on my access cut, I was ascending while they were heading down. Our conversation was friendly and cordial until they recognized my face, then their attitudes suddenly turned cold. Weird, but their loss. As we parted ways I overheard one of them mumble something to the affect of, "THAT is the ass-wipe who actually thinks he owns this place??"

Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose, and sometimes it rains. Like politics, religion and BC skiing (it's a sad day when BC skiing is classed with politics and religion) there are people that just don't like you, and that's OK.

Time to get back to my roots, crashing through brush looking for the Northwest Passage, a new route up to Bountiful Ridge, just to get off the beaten path again. It's fun to go where no-one else is willing to go. My new approach is starting to come together. It is longer and steeper than the North Canyon/Kara's Pot Farm approach, but it's a lot of fun to explore new areas again, like the good-old days in North Canyon. This is an approach that others disregard as too grungy (aka long and brushy). During my four days of exploring I didn't see another soul up there and that alone is a victory. Admittedly, the new route is tough because, like North Canyon five years ago, I'm once again fighting an endless sea of Gamble Oak. Very little cutting is taking place. Any cutting is very selective and it's only done in desperate situations, like where I could rip in my Walmart cotton sweats ($8.99) that I call backcountry ski wear. The route will be barely wide enough for a skinner. It won't really be ski-able as a descent route unless one has the confidence and ability to make hockey-stops in tight trees on a steep slope. If it was made as wide as KPF it would only invite the riff-raff who otherwise don't have an adventurous bone in their bodies. To keep cutting to a minimum, natural bald spots (islands in the sea of oak) will be used which will be linked together by natural drainage's where the brush is sometimes not as thick as on the hillsides. In short, it's a garbage approach, but I have a garbage soul, so I'm OK with it.

I don't intend to lose any friends here. I'd be glad to show anyone this new route but only if you are willing to take a blood oath, on your mothers name, with LDS Temple Recommend solemnity, with your deepest, most heart-felt honesty/integrity as a back-stop, promising that you will never, ever share details of the route with anyone, verbally, electronically, or otherwise.

New approach, steep, gamey and still thin over.

This is on my ascent and this is about a 37 degree slope. I tried skiing across this on the descent and thrashed my skies. 

Daggers hidden in the snow. Don't fall, or hook a tip. Could be deadly.

Beautiful dead tree in thick fog. Not eerie, rather, I get a charge from seeing these old monuments. They make me wonder how old they are and what this world was like when they took route. 

Signs of Chickadees everywhere. I love to see birds in the winter. So strong.

In thick fog and on a new route, I got lost. Nothing looked familiar. I kept referring to my watch for compass directions and the elevation to try to get an idea of where I was in relation to Bountiful Ridge.

Just hanging out in the fog. I kept hearing what I thought were human voices, which made me think I was nearing the top of Bountiful Ridge. I would stop skinning in an effort to hear more clearly, then the voices would go silent. I'd start skinning again and the voices would return, so I'd stop to listen again and of course the voices went silent again. After four or five starts and stops I looked up and saw these ravens, which were the source of the voices. Like I said, the birds up here in the winter are incredibly tough.

Where am I? Mark's Ghost Buttress or Crescent Ridge?? I was lost until I saw this dead tree, and when I saw it I knew exactly where I was, a familiar sight on Rectangle Ridge. Very strange feeling to not be where you thought you were.

Nearing Rectangle Peak the fog started to thin. . . 

 . . . and suddenly the sun exploded with brilliant, blue sky, revealing Crescent Peak and Crescent Bowl across the way.

Rectangle Ridge

View SW toward the Oquirhs, the fog hiding City Creek Canyon and Salt Lake City below.

Fog induced hoar frost.

View NW and my skin track up Rectangle Ridge. This photo was used by KSL weather on their nightly news for three nights this week. I have no patience for real photography. My formula for success, if you can call it that, I take thousands of photos and once in awhile one will turn out OK. 

The best selfies are faceless (you've heard me say that how many times??) View north and Session's Mountain, from Rectangle Ridge. 

Crescent Bowl with Blacks Peak, the pointy high-point in middle of the photo.

Not a track in sight.

Hoar frost and blue sky. The sun was such a welcome sight after skinning in gloomy, gray fog for three hours in unfamiliar country.

View SW from Rectangle Peak. Salt Lake City is directly below.