Delving into the Bowels of Glacier

I’ve always cherished that I have a few friends (and now a wife) who are willing to enlist themselves into adventures that may or may not bear fruit, but will most certainly “build character”.  This time around, I was thankful to be that friend and to allow the decisions to be made by someone else who had the vision.  Erich Peitzch has been contracting for the Park Service for 8 years now as a forecaster for snow safety in the spring to keep the plows moving tirelessly to Logan’s Pass despite the giant hangfire of white death that sits above them clinging to the continental divide.  From his lofty workplace Erich finds his minds eye skiing much further and deeper in the park, and hence, hatched the idea of skiing Vulture Peak (9,638′).  Sure one could find equally if not better ski lines in the park right next to the road, but why not spend countless hours slogging over downed timber and rotten snow to climb and ski something that gets more traffic from goats than humans?

With a ripe alpine start of around 3 p.m. we said goodbye to some fellow shredders who had just come off of Heaven’s Peak (people were getting after it during those four days of actual spring sun!), met up with a couple of “college” buddies and pedaled up the road to Packer’s Roost with ski gear in tow.  We were able to skin right off the bat from Packer’s with the exception of a few bare patches and precarious river crossings and began to slowly make our way to the heart of Glacier.  I usually consider the “heart” of Glacier as being anywhere that takes a considerable amount of time and effort to get to and where you’re not likely to see any white New Balance tennies.   Skinning along the river it was plain to see that there had been considerable bear traffic as there was more or less a brown pocketed trail that resembled bear tracks that had been metamorphosed by sun for most of the route.  We were even fortunate enough to see one a couple hundred yards away tromping through the snow wanting nothing to do with a couple of noisy, smelly, sinewy gents.  I was very displeased to find out that after 10 minutes of skinning in the light weight skis and boots, my feet were all ready killing me.  I had forgot that at my final race in Golden, my feet felt like they had been run through a meat processor.  I actually contemplated turning right around knowing that at some point I would be a really long ways from being able to simply throw in the towel and call mom to pick me up from soccer practice ’cause I quit.  Instead I said a couple prayers and fiddled around with the boots until finally it was bearable to keep trudging.  There’s not much to say about the hike in other than it was long.  I mean loooooonnnngggg.  We had Trapper Peak in our sights most the way and the goal was to get up onto it to bivy.  Even after hours of hiking, it sure was a long ways away.  But we finally made it to the base and started what Erich and I dubbed “the longest 2000 vertical feet we’d ever skinned” following the tracks of young (and incredibly ambitious) Carl Kohnstamm who had come off of Longfellow the previous day and was meeting us for Vulture.  We finally reached a flat protected saddle around 6500′ and a 1000′ below our first hurdle the next morning on Trapper Peak.  It was a gorgeous night for a bivy.  Stars a’plenty and no moon, no wind, and no bears or undulates snooping around and licking our foreheads.  After 5 packets of oatmeal I finally felt satiated enough to fall asleep, half praying/half dreaming about what I was going to do about my feet tomorrow.  Somehow when I woke at 5 a.m. to Erich’s broken record yawning (his sweet way of saying, “Get up boys! We’ve got a job to do!”), I had come up with the idea of creating metatarsal arch supports out of duct tape under my boot liners.  Not sure if it was that, or the prayers, but either way my feet hung in there, minus the giant Grand Canyon fissure that opened up on the ball of my foot in the last few miles.

We summited Trapper just after sunrise and it was shaping up to be a gorgeous morning.  We had a good look at Vulture and were able to scout our line which crossed the infamous Honeymoon Basin and climbed its way up towards Gyrfalcon Lake and the Two Oceans Glacier.  Around 8000′ after some pleasant skinning we crossed over a saddle to the southwest face where we traversed some steeper and firmer snow to stand about 1500′ below a smooth, steep snowy face that climbed abruptly to Vulture’s summit.  A few of us donned crampons, others followed the track, and we ‘stairway’d to heaven’ the last 30 minutes directly to the summit.  9:30 a.m. and we had reached the halfway point after 12 and a half hours of travel and 6 hours of sleep.  It was incredibly satisfying and utterly beautiful, but I also felt a little uneasy knowing just how much more laid ahead.  The views were stunning, and it was pretty rad looking north to see Rainbow Peak not that far away.  The entire continental divide was visible and plastered white, while looking the other direction the greens and blues of springtime in the valley contrasted the waning season we found ourselves in.  Erich and I peeled off first and made some exciting and rewarding turns down some of the steepest snow I’ve skied in a while.  Once we crossed back over the 8000′ saddle the remaining 2500′ of skiing was premium, golf course groomed spring corn.  There’s something to that 80’s style skiing with your partner criss-crossing tracks and simulskiing at high speeds.  We just managed to make it off the mountain as the snow began to turn to “schmoo” as Erich refers to it.

We caught back up to Carl who had summited and skied Vulture about an hour before us and made our way back up and over Trapper and down to the bivy site to pack up the remaining goods we had decorated a tree with.  The ski down to Upper McDonald was indescribable.  Normally when you penetrate to the top of your boot cuff, the skiing is considered “good”.  However, when it’s mashy schmoo with extreme static that tries to pull your boot through your ski base, it is gnar.  We managed to fight our way down by more or less criss-crossing the slope looking like goons trying to rip a double black diamond on nordic skis.  Once we made it to the creek, we were greeted with 10 miles of hot slogging through more mash and our favorite familiar creek crossings.  By the end of the skin out, I was ready to amputate my feet so I wasn’t talking much, and Erich wasn’t “acclimating” to the 65 degree temperatures with intense sun so he wasn’t overly chatty as well.  But alas we reached the road and found our stashed bikes.  After a moment of freeing my feet from their chambers of doom (aka my ski boots), and wolfing down the last of my food, we began the cruise back to the car and rolled in around 5 p.m. keeping today’s total to under 12 hours of moving.

Waiting for us at the car was a bag of the most delicious salty chips my wife had bought for us to have back at the car and a couple of extra refreshing Hat Trick IPA’s.  We took a few minutes to share some reflection and exhaustive smiles with Zac, Sean, and Carl, and then pegged it to cell reception so we could order a pizza for pickup from the Glacier Grille.  I may or may not have indulged in a couple pieces of that cheesy deliciousness…

Reflections on the trip-

You can find a lot better ski lines next to the road without 8 hours of slogging to get to the base of them.

Total mileage- rough estimate of around 30 miles on skis, around 10.000 vert, and 25 miles by bike.

Vulture is an awesome peak, great ski, and committing to get to.  With all this said, it is no wonder why the further one commits, the greater the experience.  Can’t say I’ve ever been somewhere like that in the park.  It felt like new terrain with new views and unique geography.  It was well worth the time.

When the weather permits- JUST DO IT!