It’s 4:30 in the morning as we slowly watch the lights of Seattle fade from our rear-view mirror. Our destination is a four hour drive to the heart of the Cascades nicknamed the American Alps, but referred to as the North Cascades Highway.
The highway is open an average of seven months a year and is only accessible by helicopter for the remaining five. As we stepped out of the car we had over a foot of fresh dry snow to celebrate. It was going to be a good day. Warm rays of the early morning sun and the occasional glimpse of the rugged, glacially carved peaks of the high country filled our hopes for what may lie ahead. When fresh snow abounds, ski mountaineers will travel anywhere for the promise of fresh tracks.
The two mile hike went fast as the views all became blocked by dense forest, and all we could see was trail. Upon reaching Blue Lake, frozen and snow covered, I broke the silence, “Its amazing how small you feel in a place like this.” The words echoed.
Across the valley in between two massive rock walls lay a small snow finger, trickling steeply for almost 300 feet ““ with a pinched crux that squeezed from ten to less than six feet wide. If it was skiable (yet) was still questionable, but after closer evaluation we decided to go for it. It was impossible to skin up the chute, so we donned our gear on our packs and boot-packed up the steep slope. Traveling was a nightmare ““ on each step we had to brush the snow off in front of us, then pack the remaining snow with our knees, then continue upward ““ brush, pack, step, brush, pack, step. As we climbed to the summit one foot at a time, we turned back to examine our line occasionally, which only helped instill an element of fear. So we kept climbing.
Once at the top, we focused on the fun part, the riding. Drew dropped in first and cut the snow to test for avalanche danger, but it yielded no results. He then made small, tight jump turns until he was in a safe spot and I prepared to drop in. The snow was fresh, soft and enjoyable as I made my way down to Drew who was positioned just above the crux. As we took our turns riding down the crux section, we blasted into the wide apron of snow below. We cut deeply into the soft goodness, throwing plumes of snow with every turn. As we came to a stop and made it back down to the lake, the sun had set and we were granted with hiking out underneath a luminescent moon.
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