At Snowmass, after skiing a couple of dreamy runs through Hanging Valley, I was poking around the runs off the Elk Camp lift. On the map the Burnt Mtn. Glades looked promising. I don't normally hike much, but this was a walk not a climb to some sweet and relatively untracked terrain. Immediately I knew the hike in was worth it. I skied through glades and open areas in back-countrylike conditions with only a few others also hooting and laughing with all the still-fresh snow.
At some point I decided to head skier's left into the trees. I didn't duck any ropes or pass any closed signs, but quickly mine were the only skis that had tracked through here in a long, long time. For good reason. Eventually the slope ran out of pitch and my skis ran out of momentum. I scanned around and saw, in the distance, a chairlift. Between me and that lift was what looked like a creekbed covered in snow.
Truly stuck, I took off my skis, tossed them into the snow ahead of me and tried to crawl to them. I knew I was not standing on anything solid, so I made that first movement gingerly. I sank slightly instead of moving toward my skis. I had been standing up to my waist. Now I was up to my shoulders. I crossed my poles, but they sank together into the deep snow, giving me no purchase.
This was my closest personal encounter with the danger of non-avalanche related submersion in deep snow. I focused on figuring my way out of my self-induced predicament. I thought about using my skis and poles together. I placed my skis vertically in the snow with the base facing me, tips up. My poles I put on the top side of the toe binding, giving me much greater leverage and yielding immediate progress followed by more laughing at myself. At four inches a go, I was happy to be in the sun on top of the snow crawling toward the Two Creeks lift.
At some point I decided to head skier's left into the trees. I didn't duck any ropes or pass any closed signs, but quickly mine were the only skis that had tracked through here in a long, long time. For good reason. Eventually the slope ran out of pitch and my skis ran out of momentum. I scanned around and saw, in the distance, a chairlift. Between me and that lift was what looked like a creekbed covered in snow.
Truly stuck, I took off my skis, tossed them into the snow ahead of me and tried to crawl to them. I knew I was not standing on anything solid, so I made that first movement gingerly. I sank slightly instead of moving toward my skis. I had been standing up to my waist. Now I was up to my shoulders. I crossed my poles, but they sank together into the deep snow, giving me no purchase.
This was my closest personal encounter with the danger of non-avalanche related submersion in deep snow. I focused on figuring my way out of my self-induced predicament. I thought about using my skis and poles together. I placed my skis vertically in the snow with the base facing me, tips up. My poles I put on the top side of the toe binding, giving me much greater leverage and yielding immediate progress followed by more laughing at myself. At four inches a go, I was happy to be in the sun on top of the snow crawling toward the Two Creeks lift.
