Headwaters: 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: