Filling In The Missing Piece

I have always been enamored with the block of mountains between Lone Peak and Little Cottonwood Canyon. Known as Thunder Bowl, the beautiful cirque is flanked by South Thunder Mountain and North Thunder Mountain. No direct approach exists without substantial bush-whacking and scrambling. I've been foiled getting back there a few times before because of bad conditions or insufficient time. Saturday morning looked to be the right weather and the right amount of time to make a bid for it. Lower Bells Canyon Reservoir was the first landmark.

A rare sight at Lower Bells Reservoir: no crowds.

North Thunder Mountain quickly came into view as the high point on the horizon, about 6000' vertical feet away after passing Bells Waterfall.



North Thunder Mountain is the high point, right of center.



The first of several waterfalls for the day. I love them. And I hate them.

  

The upper lake was reached right at dawn, a beautiful sight indeed especially with the rising brook trout.



Upper Bells Reservoir, a perfect place to spend the sunrise.

Passing through the hanging valley, one departs the formal trail and begins a lot of scrambling, dashing, jumping, and running over scree and boulder fields.



Thank goodness for cairns to navigate the granite fields.

South Thunder Mountain can also be referred to as Mount Doom (without The Eye of Sauron). A remote, big, wild place where the mountain goats thrive. It was nice having them for company up there. They are so much more solid on the slabs than I am. 



Can you see my mountain goat friends yonder?



The view from South Thunder Mountain was so amazing, starting with the east face of Lone Peak.



Lone Peak looks completely different from every aspect, especially the rarely-seen east face. Upper Upper Bells Lake also shown.



I then began to work my way "around the horn" of Thunder Bowl towards North Thunder Mountain. The ridge is a bit spiney in spots, so patience was necessary to ensure good footing and good route-finding throughout the scramble.



Little Cottonwood's complete set amidst the fire-induced haze of the day from nearest to farthest: Pfeiferhorn, White Baldy, Red Stack, AF Twin Peaks, Hidden, Baldy, even Devils Castle way out there.



And looking westward into Thunder Bowl down towards Bells Canyon and the valley below from whence I came was equally inspiring. It was even better than I had imagined it would be for all these years.

 

"Man, I wish I had my skis right now with 8 feet of base to bomb down this cirque." Twin was peaking around the right hand corner.



The views into Hulk Hogum Fork were equally vast and amazing. I think I came across the Hyperdermic Needle line at some point on my journey along the ridge, but wasn't sure. A return trip in the winter is necessary.

 

Lower Hogum Fork, and great views up in to the Town of Alta

I finally reached North Thunder Mountain and my time still looked good. Here was a crucial decision point to make: descend back into Thunder Bowl, merge with Bells Canyon Trail, and make the trip an "out and back", or descend to my right into the vaunted Coal Pit Gulch which has been a place I have heard so much about as a skier, have never explored, but have always wanted to. It is a long, direct line that ultimately ends up at Little Cottonwood Canyon road.


A long scramble in the summer...



...would make for a bomber run in the winter (Photo courtesy of Zack Clanton).

  Did I mention how  badly I wished I had my skis with me at this point? Winter travel is so much softer on the joints, so much quicker if you're time-constrained, all in air that is so much crisper to the lungs.

As I descended down into Coal Pit, I quickly learned why Wasatch Tours calls this area a "frequent flyer" for avalanches. The consistent 45-degree headwall would be a blast but offers no islands of safety - whatever snow movement that starts up high will very likely end up near the road, and often does. For sure, this line could only be skied on the safest of days, as Johnny Lingo always preaches to me when I ask him to go do Coal Pit with me. Just this last Spring, a couple of guys triggered a big slide here and luckily hiked down alive. (I looked for his lost ski among the rocks, but to no avail). 

The scree ended half-way down the gulch and gave way to pines, scrub oak, and wild berry plants. Soon the canyon walls were encroaching and narrowing, as the vegetation grew thicker. Not long after that, I was forced to hike directly in the stream bed, which provided the best semblance to a trail as I would find in this rugged drainage.

So much for avoding the bush whack down here - wishful thinking for sure.

My pace slowed way down through the bottom half of the Gulch as I navigated debris, slippery rocks, a stream bed, and my sworn enemy, stinging neddle.

But that was nothing compared to what was coming. Rounding a bend in the canyon, the stream literally tumbled out of view on the horizon. As I approached the edge, my fears were confirmed and a series of three waterfalls were directly before me. There was no way around these falls, the canyon walls had choked in. There was a way back up to North Thunder Mountain but I was far too exhaused and committed to this drainage at this point to hike back up and come down through Bells Canyon. I palpitated, I paced, I prayed, I pondered, in that order. And then I determined that down climbing would be the only way to proceed. Incredibly careful. Error-free. High-consequence. Down climbing. The first waterfall was actually not as bad as expected. The second waterfall was 30' with a ledge in between. A prior climber or skier had secured a climbing rope here. I tried to use it, slipped on the rope to the first ledge, and burnt my hands pretty bad on the friction. Whincing in pain, I then decided to fully abandon the rope idea at this point.

No, those red streaks are not from a marker fight with my daughter.

So I took plenty of time to navigate the remaining waterfalls by careful down climbing. The holds were each chosen before the climbing route was committed to. I took my time. I knew I was late returning to my family. But I knew I was alone. Errors in here would prove disastrous. There was no safety net, of any form or format, in here. So I just took my sweet time to get through this section. Better to be late (or later) on my return time than to be sorry...



The last of the three waterfalls in Coal Pit Gulch.

 Finishing that segment and seeing the Little Cottonwood Canyon trail provided relief indescribable.
 



The trail home with no more bush whacking... a sight for sore eyes.

 Knowing how late I was, I then forced myself to run the 3 miles down the trail and road back to my car at Bells Canyon Trailhead. My wife was waiting there, understandably concerned since I was very late and very out-of-touch with her the last half of the trip. Friends were already being assembled to come see what was wrong, what had happened, where I was, why I hadn't made any contact.

So, needless to say, it was part frustration and part relief for everyone involved when I returned to my car.

But the loop I contrived was complete. I have done The Beat Out from White Pine Trailhead to Bells Canyon Trailhead. But this loop- I think I will call it The Coal Pit Beat Out - was more taxing emotionally and physically. These crucial missing pieces to my collective experience in the Central Wasatch- replete with gorgeous peaks, lakes, waterfalls, bowls, mountain goats, and granite galore- were filled in after 10 years of looking at Thunder Bowl from the valley and wondering what it was really like. Now I know for myself.

Here are some invaluable lessons learned if I ever attempt such a loop again: take a friend when you're doing loops, winter travel usually beats summer travel, waterfalls are best viewed not down-climbed, bring a GPS unit or get a better battery in my phone, only use a rope if you have a harness, and most importantly try to add a few hours to your return time with your wife so you can pleasantly surprise her. :)

A Dawn Bath

I have seen many alpine dawns in winter time during my life. Sometimes I see them from the valley floor looking upward. Sometimes I see them from one mountain looking at another mountain while skiing. In fact, Dawn Patrols are well-suited to those who love the powerful combination of exercise and winter and sunrises. A primary reason I love these wintery dawns is the interplay of light with the snow with the sky. New hues of color are exposed with the indirect light reflecting off the new-fallen snow, off the air-borne ice particles, off the sky, and back off the snow again. Reflections, Refractions, Rejuvenations. The other reason I love them so much when backcountry skiing is I that finally feel "core warming" when the sun hits me in the mountains during winter; after all, my 6% body fat isn't a great natural insulating layer.

2010 Patsy Marley tour, with Superior looming large in the background, at dawn.

While always appreciating sunrises, I have never actually been immersed in the dawn. Until today - where I took what can only be described as a Dawn Bath.





Keeping with my 3-year tradition of skiing Mount Superior in March, I couldn't pass by the opportunity to ski this "iconic sentinel of Upper Little Cottonwood Canyon" (Wasatch Tours) on my actual birthday. And with 14" of fresh spring powder and blue skies in the forecast, it seemed too good to be true. Everything was liniing up for a great experience on Superior - I felt it, I believed it, and I knew I had to do it. Johnny Lingo and Scotty Ox (real names changed to protect the innocent...not really... as my "snow bro's", I really just like their nicknames) had other plans for touring this morning. Toledo Chute was calling. Black Bess looked tempting. West Bowl would have been great. But other lesser mountains can wait when Superior South Face is both safe and skiable. So with some discussing and negotiating, they finally adjusted their plans and relented to my prodding that we gird up our loins to make a bid for Superior South Face. For deep down each one of us know this particular tour has a brief window of time after a storm where the snow is still creamy, the winds aren't too severe, the temperatures are still cold, and the crowds are still thin enough to make for a fantastic, perfectly-pitched powder run.



For our particular tour, however, the crowds were not "thin" by any stretch of the imagination. Arriving at 5:45 am, we already saw a steady procession of headlights marching toward Pole Line Pass.

Headlights strung out like Christmas lights on the ridge toward Little Superior (the pics get better I promise).

To me it looked like a string of slow-moving christmas lights along the ridge. Our pace was good, and we were able to pass 16 people en route to the top. There were still 8 people on the summit when we arrived though. The winds were now blasting, body parts were beginning to numb, and it was time to move off this pristine traffic jam of a summit. I am continually amazed at how the once-remote "back country" tour of Mount Superior summit is becoming more like a "side country" tour for curious skiers and boarders staying at Alta and Snowbird who look across the road from the resorts to see the ski tracks, causing them to innocently wonder "how do I ski off that tall summit over there?"

So the descent began. And within a few minutes of the descent, everything was bathed in light. Not just standard yellow sunlight, but a subtle and soft pink light.

Steep stuff = happy times.

Wetzel putting in the mandatory ski cut in the Upper Apron.

Note: these pictures are in no way altered; we really saw the colors you see! I have never had the feeling of being bathed in dawnlight everywhere, but it was so beautiful. In fact, it was  surreal, and possibly one of the top 5 most amazing alpine sunrises I've experienced in my lifetime (Mt. Timp Summit sunrise is still the best). As we continued the descent, it soon felt like we were actually racing the light down the mountain. Wetzel led out the charge with short poles and free heels as he skied the line between light and darkness, shadow and sun, and in an unexpectedly personal way for me, an old year and a new year. It was a way for me to welcome in the new year of my life, allowing Light and Life to chase out darkness and fear. The symbolism for me was not understated.

This pictures captures that transition line perfectly.

Letting it ride.

At the half-way point in our descent, we suddenly heard the noise-polluting sounds of a helicopter fast approaching. He actually hovered directly over us for a few moments, and I could only interpret this as a sign he had a filmer on board and was awaiting our descent for some action footage.

I have never been heli-buzzed before; felt like a war zone suddenly.

So we took him up on it and had an amazing bomber run in boot-deep powder all the way down to the road. Here we saw the rest of our fellow Mount Superior Dawn Patrollers admiring their lines while awaiting their ride back up to their cars at Alta. The avalanche center forecast heard how crowded Superior was that morning:

“Several more shallow, soft slabs and sluffs occurred on the south face of Superior yesterday morning when perhaps 40 different people swarmed the face before the sun made it wet.”

The morning can best be summarized by Johnny Lingo himself who said:

While The Snow Bro crowd was just analyzing the mountain, Lingo was just happy for the ride.

"Felt like a dream this morning—climbing in the darkness, skiing the south face with powder"

Goodbye Superior and random helicopter.