It was a weekend of major ups and downs at Hatcher Pass. We recieved new snow, little to no wind, and abundant sunshine. The crew skied Friday and Saturday up in the high country, finding untracked deep snow, warm temperatures and my personal favorite no crowds. Well, at least no crowds until Saturday, but this is relative. When the “crowd” is 3 people on the opposite ridge, you can hardly complain. Friday we hit GPV. Glorious Powder Ville was, well…Glorious. We skied two laps friday in new snow with a consistency bordering mashed potatoes, but still rippable and relatively cold.
We were excited to come back Saturday, as the clouds had cleared off, and the snow was holding less moisture. We found cold snow on top, with surface hoar forming from the non-existent wind (yes, it’s unbelieveable, I know). With a relatively large crew of 5 people, Nappi, Zander, George, Gabe and myself began to extend Friday’s skin track all the way to Hatch Peak. Sitting above 4800ft, Hatch Peak never fails to provide a good view. Only in situations like this, does the enormity of southcentral alaska really hit home. The sight of the Alaska Range, The Chugach, and the Talkeetna mountains, all in one little turn of your head, is more than enough to remind us of why we visit these cold, inhospitable peaks. It’s why we take the risks, calculated as they are, to go a little higher, do one more lap, or push it just a little bit faster. It’d been a while since it was warm enough for me
to stand atop a peak and just take it all in, and holy jeeze…it was amazing. After discussing our routes and picking a camera location, we all prepared to drop in. Nappi went first, scoring nearly sixteen-hundred ft of fresh untracked bliss. The rest of us followed, one at a time, down the long southeast ridge into the valley. Each of us, having the entire face to ourselves, drew long arching telemark turns down the slope at mach speed, stopping at the bottom to shout with the mixed emotions of adrenaline, fear and disbelief; Disbelief at how amazing this experience was. It truly was one of the best ski runs I’ve ever had.
After recollecting ourselves, and getting used to the permasmiles on our stupid faces, we decided to skin up Valley Of Sin, and take a look eround. I’d never been up that way, and I’ve been eyeing this valley for nearly two years now. The granite spires, bowls and amphitheaters were grouped together, like something you would doodle as “My ski Nirvana” on a piece of notebook paper in high school. I felt like a kid in a candy shop. Coilours, dogleg gullies, pillows, low angle ramps, spines, you name it, it’s back there. Now..it just needs a little more snow. Kimbrough, skinning like a bat out of hell, caught up to us near the top of the valley. I seriously wish I could skin as fast as Bro. If it’s a case of my skis just being too fat, then I guess I’m stuck in the slow lane.
We climbed up the pass between 4068 and Whales Tail. Seeing the crowd on top of our planned descent, we opted to hoof it to the Tail. The climb was longer than expected, but we didn’t care. It was 4:30 pm, and the sun, sitting directly above the peak, acted as tractor beam effect, pulling us higher and higher, helping us ignore our blistered lips and tired legs. A couple hundred more ft, and then nearly three grand to the bottom. It was just past five when we reached the summit. The wind had begun to blow a little, but the view of Cook Inlet out over the Palmer Hayflats and Knik Arm was unbeatable. We lingered for a bit.
By the time we got to the bottom, our permasmiles were on overdrive, and I barely noticed ranger Dan Amyot intently searching for signs of something on the mountainsides. He had a concerned look on, and informed us someone had reported a slide with multiple victims. Sometime around five pm, a large avalanche took the life of frequent Hatcher skier, Jim Helling. I only met him a few times, always skiing with his friend Ralph, who provides me with great backcountry observations. Jim was a friendly face in the mountains and an experienced backcountry skier. No one was sure exactly where the avalanche was at this time. As I hitched to the top to pickup my car, I was pondering the circumstances. Someone is having the worst day of their life, and my friends and I just had what was seemingly, an all-time unforgetable day of Hatcher Pass skiing.
As my ride rounded the corner near the sixteen-mile lot, Hatch Peak came into view. I was astonished to see nearly the entire face of the SE ridge had ripped out and slid to the valley floor, a little over 1500′ below. The trigger point looked to be a rock in the crown face. Jim and his ski partner, Jerry Kallam were both involved in the slide, but I’m not sure who triggered it.
All five of our crew skied this same line earlier in the day, and watched others descend as well. If memory serves me right, Jim and Jerry were the 7th and 8th skiers down the slope. Their trigger point was exactly the same spot that Gabe, Zander and I skied through earlier in the day. The semantics of blame, finger pointing and facts will all get mixed up…they aren’t important right now. Someone in our small community of valley skiers has passed away, in what seems right now, like an accident that could’ve happened to any of us.  Jerry suffered a broken leg, but came out okay. As we skied through the day, we expected wet slides and relatively large point releases, but I didn’t think a large slab avalanche was in the picture.
This really hit home two things for me. First, the spacial variability and stability of our shallow snowpack are even more difficult to predict and analyze than I thought. Secondly, no one is going to rescue you except your friends and yourself. I applaud how quickly emergency units responded, but even with a fast response I must attest that they seemed unprepared to handle the situation. Still, I’m not sure any of this would have helped.
Thank goodness that another party of backcountry skiers were in the area to begin a beacon and probe search. Our rescue units need to be prepared for these situations, especially with the increase in population, and frequency of backcountry use. If the situation was not so serious, it would almost be laughable that rescue units could even think of using snowshoes to travel up valley in an efficient and steadfast manner.
I’m not saying we need more rules, or laws, or anything of that matter, but, does it not make sense, that a response team to an avalanche incident would be prepared with…a) touring skis w/ skins and the ability to use them b) a snowmachine powerful enough to go through deep snow or c) the knowledge to listen to local experience telling you it’s safe to land a Heli in the open alluvial plain at the back of the valley? I probably don’t know half the facts. To be honest, hindsight is always 20/20, and it won’t bring anybody back, so I guess I’ll just lay off. Stay safe out there!
Enjoy the edit from this past weekend. There’s some good stuff in there, and I think it’s the proper way to end this somewhat melancholy update. Also…a big thanks Zander for manning a camera and Gabe for use of his pictures! You guys rock.
