Small World Big Mountains

My first ever 1st place finish on the Freeride World Tour!

This will be the tenth draft I’ve tried to write about Jim Jack’s death on Sunday, the 19th of February. Of course it should be hard to write about any friend’s passing, but I can’t help but feel that losing Jim is different in some way. After someone dies, their respective community comes together one way or another and tries to make sense of that person’s life and death. But for me and many others, Jim Jack was the figurehead of our community both in his formal role as head judge of the Freeskiing World Tour and simply through his dedicated lifestyle and luminous personality. Getting a grasp on the meaning of his death is so difficult because he was the person we all looked to in times like these.

With my own eyes I’ve seen three people die in freeskiing competitions. Jim saw them all, too – through his judge’s binoculars. And as head judge, as well as friend of each competitor, it always fell to him to say words, to make announcements, to lead meetings about the deceased in the immediate aftermath as well as in the following years. What a hard job! And what courage to deliver the same message each time – that he had faith in the sport and in all of its participants, and that the right thing to do is to keep going, to do better, and to show people that freeskiing can be safe and that it is a celebration. I don’t think I ever thanked him for that. I guess I never realized that with all the other stuff he did, he always assumed this crucial role in the wake of tragedy. And here we have a tragedy in the community but no Jimmer. No wonder its hard to digest – its like going to church and finding no one standing at the pulpit.

Not to say too many freeskiers I know go to church. We’re normally pretty busy on Sunday. But I have watched the sunrise with friends from high on a snowy, windswept peak enough times to feel like we’re part of something bigger than our individual selves, and Jim was always there, too. There on the mountain on the sunny days, there with us in the blizzards. At sunrise and at sunset. His motivation and zeal for life was so pure and it affected so many that his presence is palpable without even closing my eyes. So although we’re without our prized leader to help us through this sorrow, thanks to him we’re all strong enough try to do it on our own this time. Thank you, Jim!

Drew Tabke
Lausanne, Switzerland
February 29, 2012

Jim Jack handing it (a Pabst Blue Ribbon) over.

Seb Michaud checking out the main port in Bergen, Norway.

Bergen's streets.

This Sunday this 2012 Freeride World Tour’s 4th stop went down in Røldal, Norway. The event was amazing – great snow, mostly good light, a really fun venue, and a large crowd of locals out to watch the event.  This was all a huge surprise, as all week various forces worked against us, the mountains seeming to want to prevent the competition from happening. I flew into Bergen, Norway on Thursday morning and then took a ferry up a fjord most of the way to Røldal. Arriving in Røldal that evening, it was absolutely raining buckets and extremely warm. This lasted for almost 24 hours, before the storm changed to a full whiteout blizzard which lasted another day and a half.

Competitors checking out option #1.

Finally on Saturday afternoon the clouds parted enough to get a view of our venue. The guides ascended the face to check for conditions and safety  and reported that the entire face was basically blue ice, almost unskiable let alone fit for competition. The decision was made to move to a backup venue on the other side of the valley for the competition Sunday morning. Competitors were up at dawn inspecting with binoculars, again the guides went up – this time in the heli – and again they reported that the face was unskiable ice. The rain had covered the snow everywhere with a sheet of ice, and despite it snowing a couple feet afterwards the winds prevented it from accumulating anywhere we had yet checked.

Option #2.

We had one final option and the guides flew up to check it out in the heli. The report came back quickly – the snow was good! Somehow they found seemingly the only spot in the whole zone where the snow was deposited instead of blown into Sweden by the fierce west winds. Competitors and organizers rallied to the new venue and the snow indeed looked great. The competitors were all at the judges’ tent inspecting their lines with binoculars and as the sun came higher in the sky and began to warm the wind-loaded slopes for the first time in more than a week, a natural avalanche cut loose right in the middle-left of the venue. The original plan to have us hike directly up the face to arrive on top was now out of the question. Further snow analysis was done by the guides to see if it was safe to ski at all. They gave the green light and enlisted the helicopter which was supposed to just be used for moving equipment and organizers to also lift all of us competitors to the top.

Option #3, the face we competed on.

The avalanche that almost ended the event for good.

Angel Collinson, Matti Imbert, and Christian Schnabel watching the show.

Somehow, after all of that, it happened! The competition went off! Although it was the backup venue and had less exposed terrain and smaller features than the first two options, I actually think it was the best possible face to use in regards to the terrain. Instead of trying for the biggest feature, competitors hit multiple airs with nice takeoffs at high speed, and a bunch of backflips and 360s were attempted and landed, which often doesn’t happen on the higher-consequence venue. It was awesome.

The afterparty was very fun – Norwegians know how to party. And now we’re laying low, using computers, and making travel plans to head down to mainland Europe. The Fieberbrunn competition is in about 10 days, in the meantime I’m going to Chamonix to get high (altitude). After an extremely snowy winter, spring-like conditions have come to some parts of the Alps promising solid touring conditions in the big mountains and a much needed tan.

Footage from Freeride World Tour events in Chamonix, France and Courmayeur, Italy. Stop #4 is next week in Røldal, Norway. Watch www.freerideworldtour.com for updates!

Stop smiling, Jesse. Failure IS NOT FUN.

Rare sunny skies in the hills drew us to HWY 20, North Cascades Highway, where Will, Jesse and I spend two full days getting completely dominated by the wild nature of Cascadian schrub, weather, and mountain. The location doesn’t matter. It was in some big ass, mean ass mountains in Washington. Believe me.

Spectacular spot to fail.

So we bailed down to Bellingham and dried out our boots and souls at Jesse’s uncle’s place. A semi-early start the next day had us rolling up the 542, the Mount Baker Highway. This place is special. Believe me.

Jesse with Mt. Shuksan's summit pyramid behind.

Will into the sun after three days of hard work.

Well apparently our start wasn’t early enough, cause as Will and I were taking congratulatory photos on the summit (Jesse waited below, he was whooped and had summited before) the sun went down. Jesse cursed us for pushing on so late into the day, we accepted his judgement as accurate, and we got out our headlamps. Some 6,000′ vertical of skiing separated us from the creek. Once we got to the creek we’d have to climb an hour out to get back to the car.

Skinning under (not really) the Hanging Glacier.

Will climbing the last sporty but for his first Shuks summit.

Luckily for us, the snow was absolutely perfect. Thousands of feet of steep, rolling slopes down the White Salmon Glacier filled with headlamp-illuminated face shots. Ridiculous. Climbing out of the creek sucked, so did driving home that late.

San Juan islands from the summit.

Puget Sound behind Mount Baker.

Was it worth it? Was sitting on a glacier on a splendid alpine peak watching the sun set over the Puget Sound worth skiing perfect powder by headlight? That’s a trick question.

Success is relative, I guess.

My dad skiing at the Brevent area of Chamonix.

"Hi mom" in real life instead of over the internet.

I recently spend two weeks around the Mont Blanc massif, in Chamonix, France and Courmayeur, Italy. I was there to participate in the 2nd and 3rd stops of the Freeride World Tour. The competitions were super successful. Despite some challenging weather, the competitions were logistically flawless, with the organizers doing an amazing job taking care of riders, media, and public at both destinations. And the riders did well, too, showcasing top-level riding as well as all going home healthy and injury-free. I wasn’t skiing my best and finished with a 5th place in Chamonix and near the back of the pack in Courmayeur due to a crash. (VIDEO) I’m still in 3rd place overall on the tour, and this week I’ll head to Norway for stop #4 at Røldal. Following Røldal are the final two stops in Fieberbrunn, Austria and Verbier, Switzerland.

Les Drus.

The thing I will most remember about this trip to Europe was that my mom and dad were there with me. Though I’ve been able to do a lot of international traveling in the last 10 years of my life, this was never something that was a reality for my parents. Previous to this trip they had visited Tijuana, Mexico and a few brief trips to Canada. Other than my mom visiting Europe when she was in grade school, that was the extent of either of their travel overseas. So I was overwhelmingly happy that they decided to indulge in a trip to what I consider the ultimate place for any lifelong skier to visit: Chamonix, France.

Some awesome skiing after the Courmayeur competition on our way to a red wine and pasta lunch under the south face of Mont Blanc.

I helped them find a simple flat to rent in the middle of Chamonix, and having arrived a couple days before them, we set a time to meet in my hotel lobby. From the moment we met through the next ten days we had an amazing time – every moment vibrated with the energy of this special place. It snowed a couple of meters, the clouds came endlessly in and out revealing the tremendous summits surrounding town before obscuring them again. We travelled through the Mont Blanc tunnel to Italy for the days of the Courmayeur competition, the south side of Mont Blanc another world in itself, enormous mountain walls basking in the sun above the calm cobbled streets of the village below.

The Aguille du Midi from town.

Sei bella!

Though we hoped to ski the Vallee Blanche off of the Aguille du Midi, the weather never gave us a shot. Instead we skied five of the other domains of the massive Chamonix area, including some amazing skiing down the glacier off of the Grandes Montets tram. On their final day in town it seemed we wouldn’t even be able to take a scenic, non-skiing ride up the Aguille du Midi cable car. It had been closed for days, and after returning to their apartment after a long day of skiing we noticed it had opened at 230pm, just enough time to drop our stuff and run over to its base and catch the last load at 330. It was incredible, the final little piece of what my mom claims was a perfect trip. We later found out that of the two groups who attempted to ski from the top of the Aguille that afternoon one lost a member to an avalanche incident and the other had to be plucked from the glacier by the ubiquitous Chamonix helicopter rescue service. I find this story to be a perfect illustration of the place. While we were taking a few final scenic pictures with each other from the top before my parents were headed to the airport the next morning, virtually a stone’s throw away others were confronting the immediate and savage nature of these mountains.

My parents departed and I was left with two brief days to ski a bit more. Again, snow blanketed town, meaning skiing deep powder through the trees on the lower flanks of the mountains, a treat only possible during the best of snow years which is no doubt what the Alps are experiencing this winter. I returned home to Seattle and did a few normal day-to-day things. Spent as much time with my girlfriend as possible, worked a few days at the ski shop, get a couple days of surfing, coached a junior freeskiing competition at Crystal Mountain. And now the time is gone and tomorrow I depart for Norway. I’ll be on the road for 5 weeks following the remaining 3 stops of the Freeride World Tour.

Powder in Chamonix with mom. Three of my favorite things.

Davide cossing a log in the Thunder Creek valley, miles from the mountain, miles from the car.

I’m writing this in a 12-passenger van right now heading for Chamonix, But I don’t have my luggage with me and the tracking office can’t even tell me where it is. I hope to get my stuff before the Freeride World Tour competitions that I’m here for commence, if not it’ll be a(nother) competition on rented gear.

With no luggage I feel low. Like sea-level low. But I want to be high. Like up on top of the Aguille du Midi with my own ski equipment on my feet high. Which explains the pictures I chose to assemble here – pictures of being low. Low in the forests of the North Cascades (with a couple exceptions), looking up to the snow-coated heights of the high peaks wondering how the hell I’m going to get up there. Jungle f#*ked.

Looking up at some unnamed wall of snow spines from deep in the Goodell Creek valley on our way towards Terror Creek. Goodell Creek, though 50 miles from tidewater is around 800' above sea level. Which means we've got a ways to go.

The climb up out of Terror Creek on this same trip was a challenge. There had been a warming trend followed by very cold weather and the forest floor was frozen hard as rock. We ended up climbing thousands of feet of steep forest floor with our ice axes out. Pat took a scary 100' fall, coming to rest only by crashing into some slide alder. Being amongst these dignified, ancient giant Cedars somehow made us feel OK.

But then you get to lay perfect turns on an alpine island in the sky and even though you know that once the snow ends hours and maybe days of backbreaking work separate you from your car that's parked out that long valley beneath your ski tips you just don't care.

A huge part of not getting jungle f'd is good route finding. Its more often easier to tell the wrong way to go than the right way. This is the wrong way.

Its hard to depict in images how exposed some of the forest climbing is. At this point Davide and I had been moving for hours, traversing ledge systems above mazes of huge cliffs on our way out of Thunder Creek. A fall here would have ended hundreds of feet below, one of those classic Cascadian situations where you consider getting your rope out in the woods.

Though it sounds rough, climbing from near sea level through a jungle and up to a glacier feels really good.

Liz Daley on the last few feet before the parking lot at Mt. Baker's Heliotrope Ridge trail. Not so much jungle f'd here, but that last stretch of dry trail sure made our 16 hour day seem a little longer. At least it was summer solstice and we had plenty of light.

Sometimes however, there isn't plenty of light and I end up with pictures like this. I have to assume we're in a jungle.

The "Why." Fleeting glances of the alpine reward in waiting. Made all the more dramatic by the contrast of the forest that frames it.

"Confirmed: There's no way we can get there without getting jungle f@#@ed. Over." Not even with aerial recon can you cheat the jungle.

Beware: You'll leave your shoes somewhere on the way up and that "where" might evade you on the way down.

Just got back from Revelstoke, BC where I placed 3rd in the Canadian Freeskiing Champs. It was a world-class event with competitors from both the Freeskiing World Tour and the Freeride World Tour in attendance. We were blessed with just enough snow to make the skiing great, but not too much to create any avalanche problems.

The finals were held on the SE face of Mount Mackenzie, a face dubbed “Mac Daddy” by the event organizers. It was a very unique, steep, and spectacular venue for our sport and I’m thankful I was able to attend and be part of such a great event.

Tomorrow I’m heading to Chamonix to compete in the next two stages of the Freeride World Tour in Chamonix, France and Courmayeur, Italy. Stoked!

I had looked at Cascade Mountain from my home in Midway, UT for so long. Finally went up with skis on my feet to summit and ski it.

There wasn’t much snow in Utah, but that’s just like an amusement park with one of the rides not working. Still lots to do if you wanna do it.

Find a write up of the trip at Ski Sickness.

Cascade and sheep from my parent's house.

The Brownhills

The summit ridge with Davide.

Josh Daiek was visiting the NW from Lake Tahoe since all they had on their mountains was dirt. I took him up to my happy place, the Cascade River Road. We climbed and skied the CJ Couloir on Mt. Johanessburg.

Write-up of the trip at Sky’s website, Ski Sickness.

Josh nearing the top.

Clicking in, Mount Formidable behind.

Deceptively large with almost 3,600' of vert.

J'Berg makes me feel funny, sometimes I gotta sit down.