Powder Paint

Sun filters through the clouds, highlighting some good looking lines.

Having just had an amazing day of early season powder, Kyle, Dan and myself were itching to get back up to look for more. This time, we wanted a different destination to vary things up a bit. Curious of what Rainier might have to offer, and noticing the telemetry reading showing almost twice as much snow as before, we set our sights for the north facing slopes of the Tatoosh. Previous summer trips had us well acquainted with the terrain, and the deeper snow pack would help in burying some of the larger rocks. Since the snow pack had consolidated a bit, we decided it was a go.

Driving to Rainier is always pleasant, even if the Longmire gate opens late. Luckily, the mountain was out and about, showing off her beautiful new white dress. Many skis in the parking lot told us this could be a busy day, but most people out to enjoy ski turns headed straight for Paradise, reducing significantly the size of the crowd in our parking lot. Hurriedly we loaded our packs and began to set the skin track, hoping to lap some fresh pow before the swarms destroyed the crop. We climbed steep and fast, and once at the road strided out, briefly trading spots with another group. Again shifting into the front we gained elevation quickly and didn’t stop until we reached the top. In front of us, the sun broke through the clouds and beamed a heavenly light towards a gift that we decided was ours for the taking.

Dan Howell begins turns in an effortless day of PNW powder.

Gazing down from the ridge we could see the specks of backcountry enthusiasts slowly crawling up the slopes below, decimating the skin track and open snowfields below. That is precisely why we hurried to the top. What lay before us was an empty canvas, begging for some artists to strap paintbrushes to their feet and to simply carve art. We were more than happy to oblige. After reaching the summit, we carefully navigated to the nearest and highest access to the slope. Carefully changing over from skins to skis, we soaked in the partial sun breaks and thousands of feet of exposure. When the last of us three was strapped in, we began to display our artwork. Fully inspired and bursting with adrenaline, the empty canvas was soon transformed. Monet would have been proud.

From the bottom we watched as clouds began to fill in our window of opportunity. No matter, we had seized the moment and been rewarded with the smile worn by only those who have earned it. As the sun headed into its evening routine, we looked down the slope where we had seen many people before. We were alone. First to arrive, last to leave. It sounds rude, but when the mountains are the ones throwing the party, then proper etiquette is shot out with a farmer’s blow. Needless to say, we were still disappointed in seeing the highways of skin tracks and grade school artwork displayed on the other side. However, always optimistic, we decided to take a route back to the road that we had spied from the trek up and might offer some untouched tree skiing. For now, we had a few rocks and cornices to play with, so we made the most of it and colored inside the lines. With fleeting light, we got to the road and made it back for one last run to the car.