LINES I knew I had to dig deep into the energy reserves; it took everything I had. I stared into the void below and we pressed on. With boot-high, consolidated powder, conditions were in our favor. Climbing up and over a small, peppery cliff band, I studied the line of descent inti-mately. Each moment was worth cherishing this far into the unknown. There is no greater experience than spending time in such an alpine environment, exploring new terrain in a range as expansive and chal-lenging as the Andes. Exposure and vertical relief increased the higher we climbed. In situations like this, especially in unfamiliar terrain, you must be ready and willing to pull the plug if there are any red flags. We saw none. Fi-nally, at around 1 p.m., I hit the summit ridge and stopped for a snack. Despite the urge to rest and take it all in, we had to move quickly, before it got too late. I walked the pencil-thin ridge and scrambled up the final climb to a coffee table-sized summit while Juan found a safe position from which to shoot. Then I strapped into my board, gave the signal, and dropped. Riding from the top was a just reward. With very little wind and variable spring powder, every turn required full attention. It was steep and exposed, but stable. Sluff poured down the 45-degree face towards closed-out cliffs and the glacier below. I cautiously worked my way from left to right, stopped at a safe spot, and waited for Juan. Juan joined me halfway down the face. We leapfrogged our way down and around the rock bands, working out onto the open face and towards the crux of the descent, a forbidding ice cliff with a mandatory air. I grinned and took my ice axes out for a final move, then prepared for the soft landing below. The rolling Andean terrain, painted with left-handed snow waves, invited us back to camp. 036 THE SNOWBOARDER’S JOURNAL
The Snowboarder's Journal frequency 15.4: Page 36
