The Feel Good Payoff—Wasatch, Utah

There was that smooth High Boy run in early December with Nicole Cordingley that got so deep in Rustler Four that it stood out as one of the best of the season. That was around the time things really turned on. Skiing a big dump with no camera, gotta love it!

Thursday, December 15, concluded the season’s biggest storm, a four-day joyfest of 70 inches of 3-5 percent density—truly blower powder—the best consecutive streak of superlight snow that I remember since December 1983. On our first run, Tyler Peterson and I headed to Alta’s High Greeley. On the way out, we looked over and saw a lone track down the gut of Gunsight, probably a patrol route.

Gunsight is generally not a go-to for me, especially on storm days because I like steeper terrain off the High T and not having to come all the way around from the backside. When it fills in, though, it can be awfully good. On this day, it was calling, deep with no wind, the gut so luxurious I found myself chortling in disbelief on the way down. Afterward, we cut over to Greeley Hill, a sweet pitch down to Albion Basin. As I headed toward the rope tow to go back to Collins for another lap I was thinking to myself, “That was one of the best runs of my life.” Seconds later, I pondered the tall order of that thought, “Did I really just think that?” “Definitely.” Confirmation was absolute.

One type of ecstasy is being 64 years old and getting a skinny-skis era throat-pack ripping GS turns feeling like you’re 25 again in bottomless pow.

The winter became a reckoning—so much snow. After that 70-inch storm broke, Tyler and I headed to the lift-served backcountry and had a ridiculous session with barely anyone around.

There was the mid-January day at the ’Bird shooting with Otto Solberg that may have been the deepest snow I was in all winter.

I saw Katie Hitchcock a few times lapping Keyhole in a storm and asked her if she wanted to shoot a few pics for the first time ever, the magic engulfing us as the clouds cracked, the sun teased, and the texture in the snow erupted as if it was waiting for the camera to come out.

Getting to shoot with my son, Sammo, and Johnny Collinson on a couple of not-so-common sunny days for a Wasatch powder film segment they were working on. Hell yes, I free-skied during almost all the storm days instead of shooting. It might’ve cost me some photos but it paid off with lots of feel good.

With all the snow that came in December and January, we had the place to ourselves often. The road closing was not an issue before snow piled up enough to grease slide paths and unleash the havoc. Lines that hadn’t been skied in years filled in all over the Wasatch Front. Stability might have come to the backcountry earlier than usual, but after the brief open season the weather came in hard and people had to be on their toes.

On March 24, I was reveling in refill laps off the High-T on one of my favorite runs. The wind was wailing and visibility was zilch. I wondered, “Have I ever seen it snowing any harder than this?” I could not say I had. Living in the Wasatch for years will get you plenty of wind-whipping sky-unleashing raging snow days. But that afternoon, at 2:10 p.m., Alta and Snowbird shut down because it was nuking so hard and put everyone in interlodge, meaning: We all hunkered down indoors, Alta Marshal’s orders.

The interlodge saw the Goldminer’s Daughter cafeteria crammed wall to wall, standing-room only besides the few highly prized tables with chairs. If it wasn’t an interlodge, you’d think it was a rock concert from how packed it was, shoulder to shoulder, mosh-pit style. In the Motherlode next door, every square inch of the shop floor had someone sitting on it. Thankfully, the Utah Department of Transportation completed their avalanche control work in the canyon, the road opened at 6:42 p.m. and people slowly made their way down the canyon.

Afterward, we learned that the snowfall rate on March 24 had hit 5 inches per hour.

It all seemed to go to pot over the next three weeks, with yet additional relentless hammering that caused one of the biggest avalanche cycles ever. First it was fresh snow slides, then came the wet slides, followed up by mudslides. Not the greatest for day-to-day skiing, but it added perspective to the magnitude of the behemoth winter. Some of those who got stuck up in the canyon got sporadic Country Club privileges that we down-canyon lackeys could only dream about. They also suffered long bouts of interlodge.

By the time it was finally winding down it had percolated to such a boil that almost everyone had had enough. Ski patrollers were exhausted. Same with the UDOT avalanche crew; they had managed the Little Cottonwood Canyon road and its 64 slide paths through the most psycho cycle ever. Despite all the snow there were no ski-related avalanche fatalities in the Wasatch last winter.

All told, the canyon tallied 14 days of 15 inches or more—those 291 inches accounting for less than a third of the season total, which says a lot about how the snow kept coming so consistently. As I sit around daydreaming now, I go back to a day in the Ho with Sammo, snow pushing up as I cut through it, rising up into my face even as I’m unweighting, then descending into its essence. And the only thing that matters is the replay I’ll soon get from the next turn. 

The above article runs as the Intro page in the current '23/'24 print issue of POWDER. Purchase your copy HERE!