Trip Report

March 21st was more a winter day rather a spring day up at our Mountain. I refer to "Our Mountain" because it seems there is just that one here in Hood River Valley. Mount Hood, the Oregon state high point, thrones high above everything else surrounding him. And most of the skiing is just happening there, on our Mountain. Anyway, Spring Equinox had an other snowfall with low temperatures in mind.

That morning I was rushing up to the resort for some powder if the early risers left any form me. If I look at my trip schedule it in depth, technically I'm taking an early lunch from work and combine it with a little bit longer and extended lunch break, and hopefully it does not affect my commitments at work, of course the answering machine will take care of it. And no worries, there is still the afternoon and early evening to make up for missed work hours. -- All this was on my mind while riding the chair lift towards the backcountry gates into Heather Canyon.

The Mountain presented himself from a more fierce side today. Not spring-like at all, but instead with stormy winds and bitter cold wind gusts pinching into the bare face skin when the snow flakes hit on it. Today the wind blew from the north-west, unusual and rare, and a smell in the blowing air awoke me from my lunch thoughts. Sulfur fumes, down here, that is not common, I know exactly the location of it's origin. Last spring on a ski tour to the top of Steel Cliffs, I looked straight down into the steam vent of our Mountain, letting me know, hey, I'm not cold like a dead body, I'm just chillin' and dozing - have a nose full my friend. My thoughts are wandering quick from lunch to the kitchen, to mother's earth kitchen.

It is pretty cool for me as a European to climb and ski on a volcano, who learned mountaineering in the Alps and grew up in a steep and rugged mountain range over there. Here in the Hood River Valley we live between some tall, cone shaped volcanoes, standing like white beacons high above the dark green forests of S-Washington and Oregon.

I'm still breathing the sulfur scent while getting face shots skiing down a treeless and steep line into Heather Canyon. This is unusual that the smell hangs around for so long down here, but the wind I guess is not changing speed nor direction. Maybe by now I was a little bit under the influence of sulfur gases, creating new thoughts in my mind about the sources of the smell. The area I'm skiing all winter and spring is surrounded by volcanoes, just north of here is Mt. Adams and a little bit north-west of here there is Mt. Saint Helens. The latter one lost it's peak by a devastating explosion in March 1980 reducing it's height for about 1313 ft (400 m) and exists today more ore likely as a huge crater, rather than a cone shaped volcanic mountain peak. Thoughts about a catastrophe like the one over at Mt. Saint Helens, it happened in the month of March as well, painted some pictures in my mind, if one day our Mountain would blow up and go away the same way.

Good there was now the old chairlift and a ride out of the canyon with someone who started a conversation about the epic snow today. We made jokes about today's official calendar start of spring time, and today's skiing has to be probably spring skiing, and the cold powder we guessed is spring snow. Finally lunch time was over and I didn't want to be late for work. On the ride home along the highway I got a glance through the trees over to my personal powder stash and no tracks are to be seen. Changes in thoughts again, about tomorrow...an other epic spring skiing day to be had.

that was on my mind then...

So here I am, second day into official spring season, documented world wide, in particular for the northern hemisphere, by calendar. It was cold down in the valley this morning. The fruit growers in Hood River Valley had to heat the orchards with smudge pots to prevent frost damage to the already budding trees of their pear and cherry plantations. Back at the sno-park it was even colder with a good amount of fresh powder from overnight precipitation which cleared out in the early morning hours. My powder stash is protected from warm sunrays in the morning and early afternoon hours due to it's N-W aspect. I worked my way up between tall fir trees, following a freshly broken skin track up the steep forest.

A new day brings new thoughts to the mind. The spring theme was over and the sulfur scent was gone. I'm focused on the uphill track and that was, what came to my mind. I had a late start, how many skiers might be ahead of me? I started observing the pole plants set to the right and left of the track. I have done the pattern analysis, there might be 4. After a while it was pretty obvious, 4 skiers, no doubts. Shortly after my conclusion the skin track forked apart in a Y shape, according to the pole plants 2 went left and 2 turned to the right. I followed the right fork, the steeper and more direct route to my little powder world.

Good ways uphill, the monotone clacking sound of my touring bindings got interrupted by some human noises, yes there is a conversation coming to my ears. Relatively unclear but not far out. I got closer to the small group, a young couple, and now a frequent squeaking noise of their telemark bindings in touring mode was added to that. A short "Hi" as I got close, they stopped, no squeaking anymore, and they let me pass. The thought of this moment, did they really stop for a sip of water and a snack, or do they only pretend "as if" so I would pass and start breaking trail at that point. These thoughts evaporated the same moment as they came to mind. The scenery was too kitschy and sometimes I really enjoy being all by myself and breaking trail through the untouched powder snow. The other more important thought cruising around in my head under the woolen hat - trailbrakers deserve to have first turns, and today that will be my treat in honor of My Powder Stash. Everything fell into place as it was thought out. The steep powder filled chute was all mine, friendly as I am, I laid my turns out of center of the direct falline, so the couple behind me can lay theirs next to each other. At the bottom I looked back, enjoyed my work and the low angled sunlight created artfully light impressions into the cold sparkling snow surface. I felt so happy that moment that my thoughts leaned towards a second lap up the hill and down again.

A short traverse led me back to the original uphill skin track. I started counting pole plants again, to work on my counting and analytic skills. My thoughts told me there are 5 now, oh, I will find out sooner or later. And I did shortly after. 2 guys in front of me, not too far ahead, but something told me they do not like the steep track I broke earlier. Often a new short detour with a much flatter approach forks off here and there. I made up to them quick, oh now I can see, they are equipped with the latest heavy metal gadgets like "Dukes" and "Mantras", maybe they even have a keg o'beer in their packs, what else could be that large? - maybe I should hang with them for a hoppy refreshment. But gravity worked against them, the skins could not resist the heavy load put on them and the skiers slid back every other step. I decided to pass for better efficiency on my goal for the day and the rest was only speculation not worth a serious thought anyway.

I cut the 4th downhill track into the chute, a little bit tree skiing after that and back down I was. Found a perfect lunch spot in the woods, with lot's of sunshine and my thoughts guided me magically into the dark & deep bottom of my backpack to look for the lunch box. Here it was quiet as it can be, the silence was broken only from the occasional chirping of a few birds - the signs of approaching spring.

Two days of celebrating the arrival of the official springtime.

The End