The Nebo Chalet: A Legend Revealed

Sasquatch. 

Loch Ness. 

Chupacabra. 

Cain. (Ok, maybe not Cain-bad example). 

This list represents (mostly) viable examples of legends that are found throughout our outdoor culture. Whether it is in media or editorials or documentaries or scary stories around the campfire or cult followings or all of the above - each of these figures is woven throughout our literature, our history, our psyche.  The great question for each of these is: are they real or are they fake? Actual or imaginary?  Fact or Fiction?

To this notable list, I would like to add another urban legend. It is not a creature, but rather a place.  And while not as popular as the characters listed above (its cult following number count can probably be counted on 2 hands) it is still popular in my mind, and has been for the past several years. A good adventure friend of mine, whom I have always affectionately called Greendog or just Green, planted the seed of this legend in my mind. So this ski tour really was his brainchild.

It all started on a summer hike together up Mt Nebo over 10 years ago. Green told me of a family "ski cabin" tucked deep in the forest. It apparently was a structure his Uncle built many summers ago, dedicated as a remote wilderness off-trail shelter for summer and winter adventurers alike. I was mildly intrigued by the idea, mainly because it was not official, not marked on any paper or digital map, not allowed (likely), and entirely off-trail. I figured it was just a lean-to like you built in Scouts. There is no known trail or markers at all to get to it.  According to Green, you had to use your good mountain senses to find it, your 6th Sense, looking for familiar natural landmarks in a deep and steep, and heavily-wooded forest.  So the natural consequence of this would be that only a few select mountaineers would ever even find it, let alone use it. We searched for it briefly on our ascent up Mt Nebo back then, but to no avail.  Ever since that day, I knew I wanted to come back and find it. One day. 

Since then, The Nebo Chalet, as I have called it, has been discussed on and off for over 10 years. While Green claims to have been there multiple times in both summer and winter (including as recently as the Spring of 2021), I have never even seen pictures of the Chalet (the "ski cabin" just sounded so underwhelming to me). So, after all this time,  I have instead created pictures of it in my mind over time. If you hear about Sasquatch long enough from enough different sources, you can't help but start to visualize how big he is, how hairy he is, and how long his fangs are.  That's just how an active imagination works.

On January 17, 2022 it was finally time for me to see how well my imagination of the Nebo Chalet did - or did not -  match reality.  It was time to make this legend either sink or swim. I thought this would be a fitting day to spend the day off from work thanks to MLK Day (although I thought much more about snow equality than human rights equality - turns out all snow on a mountain the size of Nebo is NOT created equal; more about that later).  Thanks to some diligent reconnaissance by Green, we concocted a very unique approach. The plan was to skin up Mona Pole Canyon road, a steep and surprisingly straight dirt road starting on the west side of the Nebo Massif. This road would lead to John Jones Meadow, which would be our landmark to leave the road and essentially climb (via skin and/or boot) straight up the west face. The goal was to get to the pass or the saddle where the summer trail comes up. From here, we would decide if we wanted to go tag the North Nebo Summit. Either way, we would then ski the summer trail down and northeast toward a sub-ridge. At that point, we would depart from the trail and enter into some deep, dark, and steeply-graded woods. We would essentially rely on our guide at this point, Green, to find the Nebo Ski Chalet.  From there, we would skin back up to the ridge and then ski down the west face, retracing our steps back down the Mona Pole Canyon road, and ultimately back to the parked car. Sounded simple enough, looked simple enough on Google Earth.

But maybe not - about an hour into our ascent, Green told me it was a 6-phase plan. My kids often make fun of me for coming up with multiple phases on our adventures. I think my record is a 4-phase adventure; I had never embarked on a  6-phase adventure before. So when he said that, I knew it was going to be a long day and I needed to mentally and physically and emotionally adjust my pace, expectations, and energy output level accordingly - the marathon day just got longer.  

Not to mention that I needed text my wife and tell her I'd be home by bedtime at the earliest. 

Starting at 7:30 am, Greg, Green, and I began the uphill skinning at the base of Mona Pole Canyon at the point where our 4x4 vehicle could take us up no further. It was dangerously steep and icy for the car. But not for skinning - our uphill movement was efficient, as we "exercised ourselves warm" in the cold and dry high desert air. The mood was enhanced by the down-canyon views of a full moon, the Nephi valley, a beautiful utility-scale solar field, and the industrial lighting of the Currant Creek Power Plant, with the Houwelings Tomato Greenhouse adjacent to it as an offtaker of the carbon dioxide emissions to "fertilize" their 12-ft  tomato vines (I've seen it myself-quite an innovative and sustainable sight, but I digress...).  The pre-dawn lighting was silver and blue, with hues of yellow and orange growing to the east. We made it to the meadow in pretty good time on hardpack snow.

src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg0EKsWcsIjWjzbqU1Ou6oGz8EZghLgRm3Lk7RYWI19dRXKpAxQNUD8bq4mWkVJx-H3T7emLF-9YhTmZBzs5-sJQKB9Pm6__A3TLT6RHpiPH2GTpx80L7aH8eaNbP190rW_l_6PBaP7n3HboMXaqX7ijeCQ8HfyoKcMC-yk4LtZdemTJ2hrTxPqO4kdgA=w640-h480" width="640" We saw one skin track going to the North Peak, which motivated and enlivened my senses - someone else had the same idea of "wilderness adventure skiing" up here, probably a few days earlier when the snow was a bit fresher. 

The Banana Chutes of Mt. Nebo in the distance - maybe one day.

We soon arrived at John Jones Meadow, took a drink and some calories, and left the road to finally begin setting our own skinner as we headed up the west slope. This is where the fun - and work -  really began. Our goal was nothing short of the high point on the slope, which was the barren and windswept ridge.

We started on a west-facing aspect that was sheltered in the short aspens. This snow was creamy and soft. Soon, we worked our way out into some taller aspens that were situated on more of a southwest aspect. This is where the snow became tricky to navigate. It was anything from crunchy to icy to windboard to a mix of all of the above. Greg and I switched off on setting down the skinner. The snow quality was entirely dependent on the aspect. The quality was all over the map, no pun intended. When I was breaking trail, I was always trying to find that sweet spot of an aspect, where it would be warm and soft snow, but not too steep.  I had only marginal success in that attempt. My cardio-comrades ended up making their own skinner at points, which I understand.

Morning breaking on the west slope.

Up and up we climbed, zigging and zagging back and forth as we set our skinner. The face angle became increasingly steep. The snow quality became increasingly poor.  Finally, it became so steep, icy, and variable that I abandoned skinning as much as I hesitated doing so. I was really hoping to summit this ridge without taking my skis off, but alas I was forced to boot the last 0.25 mile. (I did inadvertently lose a pole about halfway up, which slid down 20 precious yards of the icy vertical slope. The last thing I wanted to do was retrace my steps and go get it and do those 20 yards once again...fortunately, it stopped its downward slide close to Greg, who graciously picked it up and secured it to his backpack. Skinning/booting steep faces with one pole is a unique challenge, to say the least.)

Each step of the booter section was entirely unpredictable. I sank in 3" on hard ice on some steps, all the way down to 3' of sugary snow on other steps, and everything in between. 

It was laborious and slow-going for the 3 of us for sure. We were all separated by several football fields, which looking back probably wasn't the smartest or safest in that environment - a lot can happen up there besides just avalanches after all. At last, I could climb up no further. I had rendezvoused with the horizon. I was on that hard-fought-after ridge, looking down.  Soon thereafter, Greg and Green arrived on the ridge with skis on their packs, tired but still smiling. It didn't take us long to decide we didn't want to or need to go summit the North Peak - we were more interested in downhill at this point, given how long it took us to gain that precious ridge: 5 hours. 

Me from the ridge.

Greg, gaining the ridge, with the Nephi Valley below.

Green, happy to be on the ridge at last.

Mt. Timpanogus and Utah Valley under cloudy skies, yonder.

I usually don't take selfies, but the view behind me was cool enough that I thought I would try.

The ridge back to the west slope.

We were looking east toward the Nebo Loop Road, which of course is closed during the winter months. We noticed several smaller sub-ridges and sub-ranges to the east in the Nebo Wilderness.  We were also looking at some pretty incredible ski descent options. On the menu for our skiing pleasure was the following: glades, dense tree skiing, sparse tree skiing, chutes, and bowls, just to name a few. We went up to the saddle where the summer trail meets the ridge and skied the steep bowl below it. We were later told that this run is called "Outer Limits" by the Nebo Skiers cult following, a fitting name for the terrain we were in. We saw no sign of any other human in any direction for as far as the eye could see. This was big country. This was steep country. This was remote country.

At the bottom of a steep and creamy run on Outer Limits, we came to an entrance to a dense forest. Green then took over the tour. This was the gateway to the ski cabin, he said. I could feel we were close, or maybe it was more of a strong hope. We took a high traverse west, leaving the summer trail area, slowing down the pace to let Green read the terrain and tell us where to go next. Unfortunately, we never came that close - at least that's what we thought based on the terrain surrounding us. There was no obvious sign or familiar landmark of the cabin to Green, or any of us for that matter. I was dejected, but didn't say too much, knowing we were all doing our best to find it. Besides the snow was better than expected here, in a high north-facing steep and wooded forest. Not bad, compared to the ice and windboard we had just climbed up that morning. 

Soon I ignored the regret of probably missing the cabin and joined Green and Greg in enjoying the nice cream skiing of these steep trees. We came to a clearing at the bottom of that drainage where a slide path had clearly formed earlier that winter, and took one final look south and back up the forested slope. We now had to decide whether to skin back up to the ridge or continue skiing north down this drainage. As Green studied the digital map, he realized that this drainage would eventually lead back to the Mona Pole Canyon Road if we kept skiing downward and northward. The temptation to ski down and not skin up was admittedly strong here, based on the fatigue all 3 of us were already feeling. I don't know what phase we were in of Green's "6-phase day", but I did know that we had already come a long way and had a long way to get back to the car, especially if we wanted to NOT be descending in the dark. This concern continued to grow for me.

We didn't know what kind of terrain we would encounter on the way down to that junction with Mona Pole Canyon road, but we all agreed that this snow was infinitely better here than the snow on the west face that we had just climbed earlier that day. In fact, this north facing snow was the best of the day and we knew it. The question Greg then posed was: do we want to do one more "mini-lap" before leaving this area just to look for the cabin a bit more, or do we want to abandon our hopes for our target destination and just head home? Granted "mini-laps" mean different things to different people, but we agreed that we wouldn't climb too much- just enough to enjoy that creamy and sheltered north-facing snow a bit longer for the day  We finally made the following crucial decision: we were doing one more lap. 

Looking back now, I'm so glad we made that decision. It made all the difference in meeting our goal!  

Greg lead the charge as he skinned up the slide path. At the top of the path at a flat area, Greg pointed out that he noticed a plateau up to the left, where the slope had a reprieve - a spot where the steep wooded slope flattened out for 100 yards, then steepened up on the downslope as it plunged over some cliff bands. We both agreed that this looked like a logical place where a cabin would be built. We tried to channel Uncle Wes' spirit - would he agree that we should look on that flat piece of the mountain if he were here? Only one way to find out - with renewed energy, we ascended up that final slope and onto the plateau. Greg was the first to see it, as he was setting the skinner. It was the roof of the cabin! I couldn't believe it until I saw it myself. But there it was - sure enough.  I let out a celebratory shout down to Green. He joined us for the final ascent. While he skinned up the last 200 yards to the cabin plateau, Greg and I started digging this place out with our avalanche shovels. We had to see what the insides looked like.

Greg and I exploring the insides - it is as real a legend as it gets!

Packing up before leaving the Nebo Chalet

The front door (once we found it) was under 5-6 ft of sugary snow, which was certainly deeper than we had expected. Finally we created a landing area and I was able to pry the old wooden door open. I was more excited than I had expected by this point. We had heard so many stories, we had sweated so much that day, we had all worked so hard for this moment - it felt like opening up a treasure chest of some sort. The insides were...spartan. It had only the bare essentials that you would require in a mountain shelter: a hammer, a saw, a bottle of water, a stove, some plywood to sleep on, and a sign-in register.  But there was an appeal to that spartan cabin that wasn't lost on us. We all immediately realized that every item in that cabin - every nail, every rivet, every piece of wood, every tool, every bucket - was brought there at great personal effort. No machinery and no vehicles, just legs and lungs. We were impressed. We rested our weary bodies on the cold ply wood while eating our energy bars and listening to Green recount stories of the place.

I need to pause here and say a heartfelt "thank you to Uncle Wes" for making and caring for such an amazing place at what I'm assuming came at some significant personal exertion in the form of blood, sweat, and tears, not to mention a lot of time. It did not disappoint. 

Speaking of skiing, all 3 of us were starting to get cold and stiff after a nice 30-minute break; it was time to enjoy some more of that north-facing good stuff. Besides that, the sun was working it's way ever westward and I began to grow increasingly uneasy about the remaining daylight, given how far we had to go to get back to our car. So we packed up, ripped the skins off, adjusted the bindings to "down", and said goodbye to The Nebo Chalet. 

Green and Greg navigating a gnarly debris field at an avalanche run-out zone. 

Yet another avalanche slide path to cross on our descent.

From that point, the  north-facing skiing from that point on was pure fun for all of us.  I'm sorry we don't have more pictures for the reader to prove how fun it was - you'll just have to take our word for it. We stayed as high as we could on our traverse back to the Mona Pole Canyon road, picking our downhills spots carefully. It was true wilderness adventure skiing, with not a soul in sight. There were far more animal tracks than human tracks, always a standard for being remote and rugged for me personally. We eventually came to another large slide path that we had to ski down. We stepped down this debris field and then were funneled into a gulley-drainage. Green and I stayed on the high side, while Greg took the gut of the gulley. 

Skinning back to the pass on Mona Pole Canyon Road - the loop was complete.

We did finally make it back to Mona Pole Canyon Road, with some sense of relief. We set a skinner with about 20 minutes of soft ascent to the pass in the road that separated the two drainages. Thank goodness for a good map that showed us the way and confirmed that we weren't lost in that waning light. Needless to say, I was then fully relieved to get to that pass with just enough daylight to now ski down to the car. At that point, it really was "all downhill from here boys", as the cliché goes.  We had completed the upper loop shown on the map.

So we ripped the skins one final time and took the same familiar road that we had been on 10 hours earlier that day. The only difference was now that road had turned to a mix of ice and rock and chop, with only a few skiable portions on the soft and powdery shoulder of the road at the higher elevation where the snow was still good.  We all got a good workout on our hip flexors as we were doing prolonged and hard snowplowing to keep from going out of control on this steep and icy road. I never thought one could get so tired from long, straight, grinding snowplowing. 

Eventually, Green's parked car finally popped up as I emerged around one final corner on this icy roller coaster. It was right at dusk, with maybe 15 minutes of light left. I was cooked - the legs were just like Jello, but the spirit was soaring. I didn't know if I was more excited to see the Nebo Chalet a few hours earlier or the car; probably an emotional tie. While my friends came down that last section, I decided to try and do us all a favor (or so I thought) by warming up the car and turning it around so we wouldn't have to back down the icy canyon road in the dark. That 180-degree turn translated into a 9-point turn. Halfway through that turning sequence, I got the car stuck in that soft and powdery shoulder I referred to earlier. The wheels were spinning on ice and I wasn't moving. It was one final, unexpected challenge of the day to overcome - and before dark! Getting it out definitely required the help of both Green and Greg. I couldn't imagine trying to get it out myself if I had done that solo - this made me grateful once again for good adventure friends. To me, the ethic of a good adventure friend is to help someone get out of any bind they get themselves into, and they certainly did that for me. With some exertion and some creativity, we un-stuck the car and got it pointed down the canyon at last. Now, at last, we could all relax and drive home as the darkness set in. 

I lost count of how many phases this adventure really took us, but...we had accomplished our goal!

I am grateful to Uncle Wes for building this cabin many decades ago. I am grateful to Green for doing the research to find the cabin from the very ambitious and tedious approach of Mona Pole Canyon. I am grateful to Greg for not giving up on finding it when it would have been so easy late in that afternoon.  And I should say that I am grateful for MLK for giving me a corporate holiday that allowed me to go find this because we really did need a full day - from dawn to dusk- to find this place.  With the drive back to Holladay included I indeed made it home to a relieved family, just before the kids bedtime.

Unlike Sasquatch or Loch Ness or The Chupacabra, the Nebo Chalet is not legend - it exists! I can sleep better at night having seen it myself and skied to it by my own power. I hope to return soon, but hopefully not require quite as many phases to find it. 

Jello Legs + Happy Spirits.