LINES H ble Pie in Tuckm Ravine CLOCKWISE FROM TOP LEFT Ralph Kucharek, John “JG” Gerndt, and John Murphy enjoying a party lap at the top of Hillman’s Highway. A snow ranger cabin by the ranger station near Tuckerman Ravine. Ralph Kucharek approaching the top of the headwall of Tuckerman Ravine for his first descent of the day. Taking a break before climbing the headwall. An avalanche information board at the foot of Mount Washington, NH. John Murphy weighing his pack at the bot-tom of the Tuckerman Ravine Trail. Words Ralph Kucharek Photos and Captions Nathanael Asaro STANDING AT 6,288 FEET, Mount Washington, NH, is the tallest mountain in the northeastern United States. I live in nearby Vermont, yet it took me until last spring to finally go ride Mount Washington and its iconic eastward-sloping glacial cirque, Tuckerman Ravine. That’s because—in all honesty—it never sounded too appealing. I’d heard numerous stories that never resonated with my ap-proach to snowboarding. They involved waking up at 3 a.m. to score a parking spot at the trailhead, crampons and ice axes, no-fall zones, high avalanche danger, a crowded bowl and potential peanut gallery by lunchtime. But toward the end of last season my skepticism finally faded. I ventured to Tuck with a group of close friends to experience this side of East Coast snowboard lore. Our crew consisted of first-timers, several-timers and deco-rated ravine veterans. Nestled on the backside of Mount Washington, Tuckerman Ravine receives some of the gnarliest weather on the planet. From 230-plus mph wind speed records to minus-50 degree Fahrenheit temperatures, Mount Washington is temperamental at best. The ravine itself is a bowl with several different aspects. It’s steep, like don’t-fall-because-you-won’t-stop steep. On top of that there are gullies, snowfields and open faces, water features and terrain traps. Simply put, Tuckerman has some serious, and seriously good, ter-rain. Unfortunately, due to its size and harrowing weather, it is often too dangerous to ride during the winter. To do so requires proper avalanche training, a trustworthy crew and rare weather windows. With such high winds, snow blows down consistently from the snowfields above, slowly filling the bowl. Eventually the rocky gap from the bottom and top becomes bridged and the main stage takes form. During the middle of winter this area can be deadly due to poor snow stability, but as our annual spring warm-up hits, the snowpack transitions to a corn snow cycle. That’s when the masses start migrating to Mount Washington. April 2023 had 70-degree temperatures in store for most of the East Coast, and one of those days forecasted light winds. We were looking for our window and we found it. At 4 a.m. Tomas Ruprecht and I were on our way to pick up John Murphy and Holly Greenleaf to drive from Vermont to the Granite State. We fought early morning fatigue and discussed what we’d include in our day packs, if we’d hike in boots or shoes, how much water we should carry, and ultimately if we had cho-sen the right day to execute this season-capping adventure. Upon arrival in the lot, it was 50 degrees and sunny. That’s where we found the rest of our crew: John “JG” Gerndt, Toby Parke, Sam Watson, Jeff Rawlins, Josh Merson, and Nathanael Asaro. We as-sembled our gear and headed toward the trailhead with boards on our packs and poles in hand. Within 20 minutes we’d reached a waterfall and multiple groups of hikers with similar intentions. By the time we’d gotten halfway up the 2,000-vertical-foot climb to the bottom of the bowl we’d encountered more than two doz-en people. JG told us this was a mellow spring day as far as traffic was concerned. 104 THE SNOWBOARDER’S JOURNAL
The Snowboarder's Journal The Snowboarder's Journal 21.4: Page 104
