We’re surrounded by peaks on three sides with a glacier on the fourth. Everyone is eager to explore, but first we set up camp. We stomp down the fresh snow to create a relatively uniform sur-face. Inyo, Worm and I erect their big tent while Carver puts up his smaller one before venturing off toward what we’ve already dubbed the “Camp Wall,” a face offering well over 1,000 verti-cal feet of fall line, prominent spines, several cliffs, open panels and plenty of entry points between its super fat cornices. Best of all, it takes us just over an hour to get on top of Camp Wall, with no real bergschrund crossing necessary. The snow quality is excellent, and all four of us thoroughly enjoy two runs apiece. The face offers enough to really feel like you’re riding in AK without anything too over-the-top, technical or hazardous—a great intro-duction to what will be our home for the near future. Inyo and Worm have been building up to this trip all season. The way they work together to film one another—with Carver and I on the drone—without slowing the flow of the day is seam-less. After the second run, as the sun begins to set, we regroup well below the face and wiggle our way down over a couple low-angle rolls, hooting and hollering as we near camp, unstrapping a few feet shy of the tents. Camp life isn’t all too different on the glacier from what it was down by the river. Aside from having swapped the woodstove for a Little Buddy propane heater, only eating dehydrated food and having to boil snow for water, the morning and evening routines are familiar enough. We hatch a plan for the following day over some rehydrated chili mac before cozying back up for chocolate and movie time. Day two, our first full day on the glacier, we dial in camp a bit more, do a few crevasse rescue drills, then head straight back up Camp Wall. We pick up some quality scraps on the side of what we’d ridden the previous day, opening some new lines further down the ridgeline. I feel solid on my board, nailing a technical little spine entrance and navigating the lower crux with relative ease. The rest of the boys are right in their element too, riding cre-ative, technical lines with power and control. We’re all building confidence in the snowpack, our abilities and the crew dynamic. Everyone feels confident about the plan to venture further from camp the following day. Carver and I have been eying these steeper, more technical spine walls adjacent to the Camp Wall. Accessing this face would require crossing a bergschrund before climbing up to the line. I’ve crossed dozens of bergschrunds in the past, yet usually at 40 mph, jacket flapping, flying out the bottom of a line to a waiting heli-copter. This is going to be a bit different. Carver waits for me below the bergie. We transition from split to solid mode and slap Verts on our feet. We rope up to each other. Carver helps me keep from completely tangling myself in all the excess rope I’ve got draped across my shoulders. He cross-es. I’m silently repeating to myself, “Please don’t fall, please don’t fall.” The bridge looks sketchy and I’m relieved when Carver is across on solid snow. We switch roles. I’m less scared to cross myself than I was watching him, even though I’m now looking directly down at what appears to be a bottomless pit. We discon-nect from each other; Carver takes the rope, and we start climb-ing. Carver is kicking down sluff and it becomes apparent that I should wait for Carver to top out before I start. Carver makes it; I continue with the ascent. The climb is steep, but manageable. The big wall to my left has been baking in the sun and every few minutes a small chunk of snow peels off, sending sluff my way. I imagine a big chunk breaking loose, or worse yet, the entire cornice above failing, but I keep plugging away, one foot in front of the other. I make it to my drop-in point, relieved to be done climbing. Carver has already traversed a steep, icy runnel and continued upward to the start of his line. Below me are steep spines with deep runnels on both sides and, above, a vertical rime wall. There is nowhere to move. I stand, paralyzed for a few minutes, wonder-ing how I’m going to get the pack off my back, the board off my pack, the Verts off my feet, and ultimately the board on my feet. I contemplate riding the bootpack back down, because standing up here has me gripped. Calming down, I gently pack out a little ledge with my feet to give myself enough space to get the pack off my back. Everything else happens automatically, and the next thing I know I’m strapped into my snowboard feeling comfort-able and confident. Carver is about 100 feet above me, and 50 feet rider’s left. He drops first. I have the perfect perch to watch as he cuts heelside across big spines, disappearing for a split second each time he tra-verses the deep runnels. He trends left through four spines before airing into a chute and connecting with more spines on his toe-side, then jumps off the end into an open panel. He bobbles the landing but pops up and gains control just in time to cross the bergschrund. He makes it look super fun. The snow over there seems decent. My line has been a little more protected from wind and sun, so I figure the snow over here will be even better. I’m excited now. I drop in, starting with a toe turn on the left side of the spine before transferring over to the other side for a heel turn. It’s steep and blower and weightless at times, bouncing between spines, hovering over sluff, flying across the bergschrund. Worm says something like, “Jeremy would be proud,” over the radio, a pleasant reminder that I can still ride well up here. Probably not the most impressive line of my life, but definitely the best line I’ve ever ridden on my splitboard. HAINES 069
The Snowboarder's Journal The Snowboarder's Journal 22.1: Page 69
