Strapping on our skis and loaded packs, it was 8:30pm by the time we were slowly shuffling up the logging road. The clean snow and hoar frost sparkling in the moon light like broken glass. After about three hours we crested the ridge and got out first view of the triple peaked mountain, still more then a km away.

nearing mid night my partner was noticeably weary of my route finding as we turned off the road and stated to follow a creek through the trees. Coming out of the trees into a cut block on the base of an avalanche path, then turning to gain a small rise, I was very relived to see the rectangle shaped puff on snow that marked buried roof of the cabin. Not only be cause it meant heat, but also because it meant that Brian was not going to beat me to death with his ski pole.

It took an hour to shovel out the door and for the fire to warm the cabin enough that the sweat started to steam off out cloths hanging from the rafters.

The next morning we set out for the east peek, eyeing some lines west of a huge clamshell shaped bowl. We made slow progress along what we later learned was a poor route up a series of benches, where several times we found out selves side hilling 45 degree slopes through the trees. But with the sun peeking through the fir trees and the prospect of seeing a sights neither of us seen been before, out spirits were high. 

Gaining the alpine near noon, we first worked our way west and glimpsed into the drainage forming a giant bowl between the tree main peaks. We spotted lines and talked BS for a while before making our way under the rocky, wind shralped East peak and onto a ridge over looking the bowl we had eyed earlier. As we did, I looked across and spotted a set of skin tracks zig zagiing though a glade. “Do you see that”, I pointed them out to Brian? Just as I said that a snow boarder dropped in to the middle of the bowl through a small opening. We could here his edges scraping the wind blown crust of the SW aspect as he made a series of controlled turn through the guts of this monster. I looked at Brian and said what we were both thinking. “Where the hell did he come from”? He stopped for a few moments just to the left of where the bowl pinches into a throat. Even though the avalanche conditions were bomber we both cringed and mumbled, “Keep moving”. And then he did, traversing over to a bench mid way up the east shoulder and disappeared into the trees. Brian and I looked at each other, “Who the fuck was that”.

The next morning as we skied out, we came across his tracks, taking a spur road, which must hook around the east shoulder. We also saw tracks of a skier who we did not see the day before. Who ever these guys are, they sure covered some ground.  

Back at our vans, we parted ways, and I raced to work, but all day it kept popping into my mind. Who are these guys, skinning 6 hour to ski a dicey line like that. Who ever these mystery men are, I tip my hat to them. Nice work boys.