The Right Call

A few months back, my friend Dan Stucki and I went to go ski Monte Cristo, a classic line in the Wasatch range, just outside of Salt Lake City. I’d never done it before and the conditions were mostly perfect. When we arrived at the parking lot, we realized our wake up time hadn’t been early enough. Both Dan and I silently scolded ourselves as we watched the line of headlamps that stretched to the saddle below Mt. Superior slowly work their way up in the darkness. It was unusually cold outside, which meant for a brisk start to the skin up, but it also meant that the fresh snow would be light.

After a few hours, we arrived on the summit of Mr. Superior. The sun was up and it warmed our faces, however the temperatures were still relatively low. I stayed on the summit of Superior while Dan walked across the saddle over to Monte Cristo, kicking off small cornices along the way. There had been wind that night that continued into the morning, but nothing too strong. Nobody had skied the face yet, and we were looking forward to fresh tracks. While I was waiting, A group of about 5 or 6 came up behind me, eagerly watching Dan work his way over. We chatted for a bit about the weather and the Wasatch, until I noticed Dan was coming back. One of the cornices he kicked off, pulled a slab that continued down toward the rappel. It wasn’t a huge slab, however it was big enough to make both of us slightly uneasy, and decided to just ski the south face of Superior instead. As we made our way down the south ridge toward our drop in point, we noticed the small group that arrived after us were skinning toward the summit of Monte Cristo. I can’t deny that this made both of us question our decision and left us feeling a bit defeated.

The skiing down the south face was just as fun as we had predicted. The snow was deep and the turns were epic. We got to the bottom, hitch hiked back to our car and loaded everything up. On the drive down canyon, despite just having had a really good run, Dan and I both acknowledged that maybe we should have skied Monte Cristo instead. By the time we pulled into the park and ride, both of us grudgingly agreed that it was fine to bail, even though we didn’t want to. I’m not sure either of us really actually felt that way, but we knew that we should have felt that way.

The next day, Dan sent me a link to the avalanche report. Two people were caught in a slide on the face where we would have skied, about the same time we were up there. I don’t recall if anyone was injured. I’m pretty sure they weren’t, however it was enough to validate our decision and left both of us knowing we made the right call. Who knows? Maybe it would have been fine. Maybe we would have had a really fun run? It’s impossible to know for certain what the outcome would have been, but as I get older, I realize that it’s better to just stack the odds in your favor so you can continue to do what you love.

The Wasatch Ultimate Ridge Link-Up

On Aug 8th, 2015, around 930 am, Alexis Baum-Crellin and I met Stacey Pearson at her home near the base of Little Cottonwood Canyon to do some last minute gear shuffling. We stood around the large room filled with expensive looking exercise equipment debating the minutia: How much water we were bringing, what sort of food, etc. . . Aware of the task at hand, we quickly wrapped things up. After a few minutes we all fell silent. Alexis grinned, “Well, should we get going?” I let out a heavy sigh. Both of the girl’s excitement made me feel like I had made a wrong choice somewhere along the line. While visibly unfazed, my true excitement was buried deep within, and wouldn’t be awaken for quite a while.

All three of us piled into Stacey’s car and drove the couple miles to the trailhead at the base of Ferguson Canyon. We exited the car and geared up. The problem with running is that it takes very little equipment, so it took almost no time to get ready to go. Usually, on different adventures, the process is a little more complicated, so one gets time to work it out in their head what it is they’re about to embark on, but this time It happened so fast. One moment, I was safe in the confines of a nice warm car, and the next, I was running behind Alexis and Stacey, trying to convince myself that I had made the right decision.

The WURL, or Wasatch Ultimate Ridge Linkup, is a 33 miles ridge traverse that circumnavigates Little Cottonwood Canyon just outside of Salt Lake City. With a little over 20,000 feet of elevation gain, it’s not something to be taken lightly. Jared Campbell was the first to complete the run, and less than 20 people have completed it since.

Stacey and Alexis had been plotting to run the WURL for quite a while, rehearsing sections that would need to be accomplished in the dark, and running water up to the top of the ridge for a resupply. A week prior to there departure, Alexis posted something about the WURL on Facebook and I immediately took interest. It’s something that I had always wanted to do, in the same vein that i’ve always wanted to go into space. Sure, it was something that was technically achievable, but i hadn’t actually made any sort of effort to make it happen. This time, however, I decided to pull the trigger. This seemed like a great opportunity for me to tick this one off the list, as well as shoot some photos throughout the process. After a little bit of thinking, I texted Alexis and told her I wanted to come. If I had fully understood what I was getting myself into, I might not have volunteered my time up quite so easily.

Cruising up Ferguson Canyon, we gained the ridge that led to the top of Twin Peaks; the first of many summits. The wind howled, moving clouds quickly up and over the ridge, occasionally blocking the sun. The terrain was difficult; moving from Twin Peaks over O’Sullivan, then onto Dromedary was slower than we had anticipated. There were a handful of no-fall zones that had to be navigated with caution, however after Dromedary, things eased off and we were able to make better time. We topped out Mt. Superior and searched for a water stash that had been placed earlier, but came up empty handed. We weren’t too concerned, though since we had a friend meeting us a ways down the ridge, but when we arrived at the resupply location, no-one could be found. After a few phone calls, we found out that a road biking race had closed the canyon and they weren’t able to make it up to us. Slightly frustrated, Alexis, Stacey and I pooled our water and after a few more phone calls, had Alexis’ husband lined up for meeting us at Catherine’s pass, which was about 5 miles away.

Over the next hour, we made our way along the more mellow parts of the ridge, passing Honeycomb Cliffs. The pace picked up as steep jagged hills gave way to rolling runnable terrain. This was by far the easiest portion of the run. We made our way through aspen groves, up and over Mt. Wolverine and down to Catherine’s Pass where we finally we able to restock our food and water. We rested briefly and spoke with a nice couple who volunteered to take some of our trash for us. Since it was already a supported run, none of us really felt bad about offloading our protein bar wrappers on to them. We set off on a slow pace, headed for Devil’s Castle. As the sun inched closer to the horizon, I noticed the silence. We hadn’t been a very chatty group, which was fine. Sometimes the biggest motivator is the sound of your own breath.

By the time we got to Devil’s Castle, night had fallen. We broke out our headlamps and navigated the technical no-fall zones at a slower pace than we had anticipated, but because it was dark, everything felt focused. We were only really concerned with what was immediately in front of us. Before we knew it, we had made it up and over Sugarloaf and were sitting in the warming hut near the tram dock, which was a little over halfway. If the tram had been operating, I might have considered just heading down and calling it, but fortunately for my ego, it wasn’t. We rested up for about 30 to 45 minutes, eating delicious fruits that I had stashed, then reluctantly made our way back out into the darkness. The next few hours before sunrise were a blur. The hiking turned to scrambling, which made an already slow effort even slower. Route finding became hit and miss, and a lot of time was spent down climbing massive boulders, only to have to climb back up and head a different way.

We arrived at the Pfiefferhorn cold and exhausted. Up until this point, we had all crashed at least twice, however they were never at the same time, so when one person was having issues, the others could motivate them until they were able to get out of the funk. Now, however, the traverse was beginning to take it’s toll. Despite all of this, we were excited at the prospect of being finished, which I suspect was the biggest motivator. After our amazing friends had left, we watched the sunrise as we made our way off of airplane peak. The finish was in sight.

Sluggishly, we made our way across Lightning Ridge, and topped out Thunder Mountain’s south peak. Mentally, this was the hardest section. Despite being on the true ridgeline, it felt as if we were hiking in the wrong direction. The last two peaks were slow, but uneventful. Alexis, Stacey and I topped out Lone Peak about 24 hours after we had started. Chatting briefly with a couple on top, we bailed off the summit and worked our way down a sketchy couloir to the north. There was no trail off of Lone Peak, so we bushwhacked a while until we found Upper Bells Canyon Reservoir, then ran on pristine single track to the bottom, only getting lost once, when the trail abruptly ended at a rocky section. The last few miles were difficult. Bones ached, muscles were sore, and tendons felt tenuous at best. All three of us finished about 3 hours after topping out our last peak, with a total time of 27 hours and 15 minutes.

It was cool to see Stacey and Alexis take about 10 hours off the women’s record. Their motivation definitely kept me going when I didn’t really want to, and I’m sure that I just would have thrown in the towel had they not been there. After taking a month or so off, I’ve been able to look back and appreciate what we did. It’s helped me realize what’s possible with the right motivation, and I look forward to future adventures with amazing people.

Washed Out Bowls

Lisa navigates through the washed out bowls during a day trip through Trail Canyon, a popular weekend adventure in the San Rafael Swell. Slot canyons are such a nice break from the sweltering heat that bakes Utah every summer. The key is to go completely unprepared so as to make it more of an adventure, because nothing says adventure like getting stuck in a keeper pot and having your friend climb you like a ladder to get out.

The Passing of Friends

Baffin, Canada- Post-holing up The Beak was one of those memories that, in my mind, i've relegated to Type 2 fun.  Had I not been with an amazing crew, It most certainly would have been closer to type 3 fun.

We departed from our base camp down in Sam Ford Fjord on Baffin Island, early in the morning.  It was light outside, but only because it's always light outside at that time of year. We glided across the frozen sea on snowmobiles, the arctic wind whipping at our covered faces.  Rolling up at the base, we geared up for the long climb ahead.  This was a scouting mission so the BASE jumpers could get some test jumps in.  Filming would begin the following morning.  As we trudged up the backside of the cliff face, the sun beat down on the snow, burning our already tan faces.  Wind blew by us, drowning out the heavy breathing. The group slowly crawled up the backside, hitting false summit after false summit.

When we finally reached the ridge, the launch point stuck out like a sore thumb.  We stood there looking around at some of the most beautiful scenery on earth. In front of us, a wind swept frozen fjord extended into the vast arctic wasteland. Behind us, a glacial remnant of the forces that have shaped the landscape for a millennia, creaked and groaned as it scoured it's way down through the rock.   The silence was deafening.

The build up of adrenaline was electrifying as the BASE jumpers checked and rechecked their equipment. After what seemed like an eternity, they were ready. The three of them perched at the edge of the cliff, issuing words of encouragement, and in a moment they were gone, rocketing toward the frozen ocean below.  My eyes were transfixed on the spot where they had been standing, but I looked down in time to see their parachutes open up.  Screams of excitement interrupted the unnerving silence, and we watched as they effortlessly steered their canopies down to the valley floor. Once again, we were soon bathed in an inescapable quiet. Our reason for being there had just jumped off the cliff.  We looked around, exchanging congratulations of our own, and started packing up our things for the hike down, which ended up being substantially easier.

It's interesting how fleeting these moments seem. Timy Dutton, one of the BASE jumpers on the shoot, died last week in a skydiving accident at one of his favorite jump locations. Time stops with the passing of friends, and while he is no longer here, the impressions that Timy made on all of us will last forever, which is a comforting thought.