The Loveland area continues to get snow, making it a stellar season in the zone. These past few days have showered more than two feet in the hills, so we got up early and did a little dawn patrol–part training for an upcoming skimo race (April 9, in Breck), but mostly just wanting to ski the goods before it’s spring and we’re enjoying corn.
After a couple laps at treeline and below, we decided to head to the alpine, topping out at 12,400 feet. We stood above an east-facing shot (locations and names withheld to protect the not-so-innocent) around 10 a.m., before the sun had had time to start baking the upper layer of storm snow. If you look at the pic below, we were standing about 300m looker’s right of the corniced feature on the skyline. The storm came in “upside down,” meaning warmer, denser snow had fallen on colder, lighter snow during the event. In general this produces poor or very poor stability. The CAIC forecast highlighted this fact in its morning bulletin.
We’d already lapped below treeline twice, without any whumpfing, shooting cracks, or observing any natural activity. We did see cornice chunks on the above-mentioned slope, but it wasn’t clear how recent they were. Way across the valley, above Loveland Basin ski area, there was an avalanche on a nearly identical slope, but it wasn’t clear if they’d bombed it or it had gone due to a skier or natural causes–but it had run a short ways and petered out as soon as the slope angle relaxed.
So there we stood, discussing whether to ski or not. The CAIC bulletin called the day considerable on all aspects and elevations. This, you recall, means natural avalanches possible; human-triggered probable, particularly on slopes 35 degrees or steeper. We’d skinned across a smaller “test slope” on the way up, without results. Our discussion concluded with a decision to ski.
Our thinking went as follows: anything that slid would be relatively shallow, confined to the previous night’s storm snow–about a foot. It would also run approximately 400 vertical feet downhill, dying on a gradually decreasing slope below. No terrain traps present. We’d also seen cornice chunks on the slope, so we felt that it had been tested to some degree by falling chunks. Also, across the valley a similar aspect and elevation had a shallow, short-running avalanche on it. That was the only other activity we’d seen. In short, we thought that if something went, it would be relatively shallow, confined to the steeper terrain to our left or right, and worst case…it would knock a skier down, but wouldn’t bury or injury him/her. So it was “on.”
We skied the gut of the face, a slightly shallower gully that probably tops out at 33-35 degrees, with 40+-degree terrain on either side. We’d ski the narrow band of lower-angle terrain, with the expectation that if something moved we’d ski away from it, not expecting the entire slope to rip on both sides of us.
So down I went, four-or-so turns onto the slope and I triggered the steeper terrain to my right. The fracture propagated (pic below) uphill and away from me–and then approximately 200m further along the steep rollover at the top of the slope. Maximum crown depth was approximately one foot, with areas down to just a few inches. In one small area the slab appeared to step down a few inches to somewhat deeper snow, but on the whole the avalanche had involved only the most recent storm snow.
I saw the leading edge of the slide come up next to me and I skied left and glanced over my shoulder, making sure I was safely out of the way. By this point I had also skied below the steep terrain to my left, making my “escape” uneventful.
I skied to the toe of the debris and checked the remainder of the slope. The slide had initiated at the edge of one of my turns and then propagated up the slope and away. Below you’ll see a lame pic (apologies, they’re from my phone) of the same crack pictured above, but looking at it from slightly uphill. The disturbed snow at the end of the crack are our down-tracks.
So in one sense, we called it spot-on and chose our line of descent well: shallow slide, didn’t involved our tracks, no drama. In another sense, man, we had played it right up to the line. The debris piled up maybe 1-3′ deep. You could’ve lost a ski or twisted a knee easily in a slide of that size. What if the slide had decided to propagate BOTH directions? Then I wouldn’t have had a safe exit on either side of me, which would’ve meant most likely being knocked off my feet and taking a tumble. Worth it? Too close for comfort?
I’m curious on readers’ thoughts, so by all means, chime in and give your two cents or two bucks or whatever.
My partner and I met two other buddies just after this run, then toured back up through the debris and skied the line again. We shot a couple more pics (below) and debriefed the incident.
In hindsight I don’t feel anxious or that it was a “close call,” as we evaluated the hazard carefully, chose our descent accordingly, and the outcome reinforced the sanity of our decision. There’s a “human factor” built into that perception, though, as just because I got away with it this time, it doesn’t mean it was the “right” call or a safe choice.
Thoughts? Comments? Dire admonitions? Do tell and hope you’re getting some good skiing in while it lasts.
