The Worst Introduction to Backcountry Skiing

After two successful seasons of backcountry skiing, I could not wait to introduce friends and family to the sport. I convinced my dad to get a clunky touring setup and we skied the deepest powder I have ever seen at Lolo Pass and had a hell of a day on his first time. The next year, I figured I would convince my younger brother Timmy to do the same! He got a new setup and we both waited anxiously for the snow to fall.

I was still fairly new to the sport and constantly overestimating my skiing and hiking ability. I love planning trips and spent much of my time pouring over MT ski blogs, trip reports, and Google Earth plotting extravagant daring routes. When I actually attempted these tours, I typically expended all of my energy wallowing through debris-filled creek bottoms and rarely had much energy left to ski any serious lines.

The beginning of the ski season always comes with challenges. Snow cover is difficult to find and having the fitness to hike up to the snow is another challenge altogether. In way over my head, I found a new early-season spot to check out and dragged a complete newbie to the Mission Mountains for a Grade-A adventure!

We drove to the Crystal Lake trailhead, expecting to find snow on the road and weren’t even sure we could drive the whole way. It quickly became clear that snowline was 500 feet higher than the road and the Missions, as always, weren’t giving it up easy.  So, Timmy’s first time backcountry skiing began by strapping heavy skis and boots to his backpack.

We began by hiking up a gated dirt road towards Lindy Peak, walking around the swampy Meadow Lake. After easy walking for half a mile we came to a small clear cut and decided to leave the road and bushwhack up it to gain the ridge. The steep climb with our heavy packs was brutal! We slogged up the steep open hill and came to a wall of trees and brush. We considered turning around for the first time but still hadn’t hit snow line and decided to keep pushing. We schwacked through brush for what felt like hours and collapsed in a pile of skis, boots, and sweat. We drank some water, ate some food, and discussed turning around once more. We came to the same conclusion and pushed through brush until we made it to the snow. After hours of battling our packs, our bodies, and our better judgement, we made it to the ridge and finally made it to the snow!

Hours into our “easy” early-November trip Timmy was able to put skins on his skis and into walk mode. We put our skis on a bit early and had to carry them over some dirt-patches and over some thick deadfall. Without too much effort we finally gained the ridge and got our first views of the Missions. The dramatic black walls of Grey Wolf Peak, the snowcapped St. Mary’s Peak, and the entire Swan Range across the valley. We continued up the ridge, enjoying the views and deciding what to do next. Lindy Peak has numerous incredible lines down to Beanhole Lake, but we didn’t have the energy to continue for another mile up the exposed ridge.

We had two options. We could ski the low angle ridge we skinned up and hike down the way we came, or ski down to a small chain of lakes and follow the creek to the car. We went with the second option, because the ski line down to Eagle Lake looked like a lot of fun and the snow coverage below looked good. The beginning was nice, with a few steep icy turns towards a choke. We quickly got cliffed out but decided to downclimb. We safely climbed down the small cliff and Timmy put skis on. He made a number of steep and icy turns and side-slipped another choke. He then opened up and skied the rest of the small chute with style. I was more timid and carried my skis down the second choke. I made about 8 good turns down the bottom of the chute and we regrouped and started back towards the car.

We skirted around Eagle Lake by pole-pushing but nearly ran out of snow by the time we made it to Skylark Lake below. We put skins back on and skinned around Skylark Lake primarily on dirt and bushes, occasionally balancing atop stumps and logs to get over swamps and creeks. Completely out of the snow, we put skis back on our packs and battled brush for another quarter mile.

The sun was setting, and we were lost. We didn’t have very far to go until we were back on a road, but we had never been more tired in our lives. It was Timmy’s very first time touring, and he had never had skis on his back, had never bushwhacked for miles, and had probably never been lost in the woods at dusk. I had had my fair share of wilderness adventure, but I knew we were way in over our heads. We were only 2 miles from the car but had been traveling at 0.25 miles per hour and were beginning to get awfully nervous. I didn’t have a map, and we didn’t really have cell service, but I did have my phone. I opened the Google Earth app that I had been using earlier and found our location on my phone. I found that we were a ridge over from a small logging road that would lead us to the car, so we headed that direction using Google Earth on the small screen of my phone. We made it to a wall of trees and had to take our packs off and slide them on the ground while we pushed through the tight branches. We battled through the thickest bushwhacking of my life and collapsed on the logging road on the other side.

I finally had enough service to let my mom know we were alive, and we walked the last few miles on a slightly overgrown road in the dark to the car.

To sum up the trip, we woke up at the crack of dawn and drove two hours only to find that snow line was much higher than the trailhead. We then battled up to a snowy ridge, actually skinned for a mile, and made the wrong call on the best way back. We then climbed down some cliffs, skied about ten good turns, and went back to battling brush and lack of snow at a pace of a quarter mile an hour down the creek. We got lost and bushwhacked to a road and then made it to the car hours after dark. We finished that off with another 2 hours of driving to get home. We spent all day pushing our limits to ski ten icy turns.

Somehow, Timmy didn’t swear off the sport, but I learned a few lessons about taking people touring for their first time.