Nick Russell and Neil Provo stoked on the simple pleasures: yak turd fire, down clothing and breathtaking peaks. Photo: Gray Thompson “We’ve entered a world virtually untouched by man; an utterly surreal landscape. Looming peaks stand proud like guards at the gates, each step forward tilting our necks to a steeper angle as our minds try to make sense of what our eyes are absorbing. Never will I forget the sight of the proudest peak, piercing the sky from the end of the valley with a beautiful white ribbon draped down her side.” —Gray Thompson, February 3, 2018. WE ARE camped on a dry patch of grass looking out toward end-less possibilities. We relish the fact that we are the first people ever to bring snowboards here. Smoke from a hash spliff mixes with that of a resourceful fire made from yak turds. When pointing to any line, a common question arises: “How far away do you think that is?” The scale of the terrain is unparalleled. We’ve all spent time in big mountains across the globe, but this place exists on its own humbling spectrum. Though we’re considering objectives on the small side when compared to the oxygen-depleting giants to the southeast, every step above camp requires maximum effort—we’re still traveling at altitudes well above the highest point in the continental United States. We depart camp for a civil-looking couloir that once again blows away perceptions of distance and size. What looks like a pre-lunch warmup from afar, soon becomes a two-hour approach to the bottom of the face. The snow does not feel promising. Loose facets on top of rock make for difficult skinning and have us doubting the riding po-tential in the area. Still, we make slow progress upon feathery flakes to the base of the couloir. Transitioning to boot-packing, the base becomes more supported and confidence builds with each slow step. Swirling spindrifts fall from the towering rock walls above each side of the ramp. Shadows seem to have preserved the snow in an icebox and we wallow through knee-, then waist-deep drifts. I’m out of breath and digging deep to make sluggish progress. The cold has me wearing two puffy jackets and a shell to stay warm. We take turns leapfrogging one another to break trail in small increments. Neil’s speed in the moun-tains has always impressed me. It’s no surprise his tall frame and long legs take the lead and he sets a nonstop track up the remaining third of the line. Shortly after, Gray and I arrive to meet him at 17,000 feet. The once-hidden view mesmerizes us. Recognizing the effort re-quired to reach this perch, we realize lines in the back of the valley would require a multi-day mission to ride. My eyes follow the weak-ness in walls and I take out my monocle to further investigate the crux-es. The cold snaps me back to the present moment. We rush to drop in. Neil takes the honors of opening up the first half of the descent, which he aptly names “Recycled Paader.” It’s 3,000 feet of cold smoke to the valley floor. Right on cue, a golden sunset ignites the ridgeline behind us, illuminating dozens of Himalayan dream lines. INDIAN HIMALAYA 065
The Snowboarder's Journal frequency 16.1: Page 65
