Background
This year I’ve traveled up to Rogers Pass a few times, each with a different cast of characters and set of circumstances. The common theme across all visits, though, is my affinity for the area. I love learning and growing as a skier and mountain enthusiast up at Rogers, exploring new terrain and being constantly inspired by the breadth of terrain up there. It’s immense, intimidating, and inspiring.
This go-around started, like many good trips have lately, with a waffle session. Nick and I had blocked off time in April to ski together; Lane had planned to head up to Alaska for a ski trip, but that wasn’t in the cards for him anymore. The three of us, a familiar crew, discussed options. We had our eyes on some missions in the home range, but conditions were seeming tricky, with warmth and wind making it feel uncertain if we could really take the big swing we wanted to. We eyed up Rogers, initially not too seriously, but then after a few phone calls and texts we kept coming back to it. What about Rogers? It looks pretty good up at Rogers. . .
We simmered. . . a day out from departure we agreed to head up north to Rogers. We were psyched to try and take advantage of good weather and spring stability up north, hopefully getting on some bigger north facing terrain. Nick and I would drive up Thursday, skiing Friday, while Lane would drive up Friday and link up with us for Saturday onwards. We weren’t sure how Rogers would hold on through the warm up, but we figured (or hoped really) that it’d fare slightly better than back at home.
Trip Report
Day 1 – April 17th
On the drive up, Nick and I tossed around a few ideas for our first day. There had been new snow two days prior to our arrival, then a brief sun break that warmed things up. We’d read reports of some warmer, heavier snow on lower elevation terrain but we didn’t know much more than that. Our hope was to find cold, sheltered snow on north aspects that would make us stoked to step into the alpine on Saturday.
We tossed around a few options and landed on checking out the north side of Cheops. We’d pack the ropes, hoping to get on STS and the Shelf. It felt like a good option to enter bigger terrain with easy bail options if we didn’t like what we found, plus it wouldn’t require a huge approach and we could just let the day unfold with each descent.
We were shocked at how empty and vacant Connaught Creek was. We saw a few other groups but not nearly the hoards of people we’re used to in the wintertime. I guess ski season ends in March? On the drive in we saw a sign in Revelstoke that asked, ‘Is it Bike Season Yet?’. Not for me. . .
We crossed paths with a few groups on the way up towards STS, leap frogging one group of 5 skiers that were pivoting their plans towards skiing STS. We chatted with them, as we didn’t want to ‘snake’ the line from them but all was well. They seemed cheery. Nick and I continued up and peered over the edge, cautiously. From the valley we had seen a crown line in the upper wind scoop, the steepest first 30m or so; we could see it up close now, it appeared that a good amount of the line had seen some wind, slide debris impact, etc. But the sides look good enough and Nick and I agreed it was worth a poke. We rigged our 60m line for a double-stranded rappel and headed down in.
As Nick radioed ‘off rappel’ the group of 5 reached us and started to banter. They didn’t have harnesses, one of them joked about jumping the cornice into the couloir. The rest of their group didn’t seem enthused by that idea. I mentioned that we were coming back up for another lap and offered to leave the line set up for them to hand rap on, at least. They accepted. In some small way, I felt it was ‘paying it forward’. . . but I felt differently when we came back up for our rope. More on that in a second.
STS skied well-enough; the upper pitch that hadn’t slid yet was nice, chalky snow. It’s steep off the top but mellows out fairly quickly. There were some icy sections in the middle of the couloir where more snow had slid off than other spots. The sides of the couloir had seen some wind as well. Overall, though, for a big line (yes, STS is still a big line even if it sees a ton of traffic) it was very ‘serviceable’.
We noshed on some snacks and food back down in Connaught and readied for our second lap up to the Shelf. We felt good about what we had seen in STS and felt that the Shelf was likely more protected from wind affect than STS. We mosied our way back up to our rope. . .
As we reached the rope, we saw a group of 3 riders readying to head into the line. Hey guys, we’re just here to pick up our rope, Nick mentioned. Uhhh, is it cool if you leave it for us? We’ll be 2 minutes.
Nick looked back at me, shrugged. We both knew this wasn’t going to be 2 minutes.
Sure, we’re not in a rush.
Ugh.
To be clear, I like the idea of ‘mountain karma’ and paying things forward when you can. A hitchhike, a helping hand, etc. We all need them from time-to-time. Hell, later on in this day we got some return karma (more on that in a second).
But what I did not like about this encounter was how many people I felt I enabled who were wholly unprepared and maybe had no business entering the STS Couloir. I single-handedly supported 8 people, 8 freaking people, who went into the STS Couloir with a) no plan for rappeling in and b) clearly no means of getting out and c) likely no experience rappeling. None had ice axes, none had any means of egress if they didn’t like what they saw.
I got grumpy, not at the waiting (although I was cold) but just at the situation. Nick gave me a look of sorry dude, as we waited for 20+ minutes. Do you think I should rappel with or without gloves? one asked me.
100% gloves dude, I said.
I think I’m gonna go no gloves. . .
—
After that shenanigan, we pulled our rope, said adieu to the riders and continued on up towards the Shelf. I had done this traverse with Thomas and Jake earlier in the year and Nick and I found easier conditions this time. Before long we were at the rap station, but the bolted rappel anchor I had used previously was buried. I tried digging it out with my shovel while Nick inspected a two-nut anchor that someone had put up with some cordage. It was at a worse angle than the bolted anchor but I was unable to extricate the bolt after digging for 5-10 minutes.
We gave up on the bolted anchor, inspected the two-nut anchor and made a new master point from some extra slack. We felt good-enough about it, I threw our rope and down we went. The snow down in the Shelf looked phenomenal; it was much better filled in than the last time I was up here earlier in the year and I was psyched. I knew Nick was going to love the line too.
Things were going too well, I guess and started to get faffy. I thought I had radioed Nick that I was off-rappel, but I guess I hadn’t. After 5 minutes of waiting he asked if he was good to come down to me and we continued on. Awwww, shit. Rope is stuck. Dammit. The angle on this rappel was worse than the bolted one and the rope seemed to have clogged itself in the snow booger (cornice) and rock near the anchor. I yanked, heaved, went over towards climber’s right to get a better angle and pulled with all my might. I tied it to my harness, jumped around. . . nothing. Fuck me. I started to play through ascending this rope in my head when, all of a sudden, a head peered over. No way. I politely asked the group to free my rope, which they noted was quite stuck. Yes, I’m aware haha. Mountain karma I guess, from paying it to 8 dudes earlier in the day. Or some shit like that.
The skiing on the Shelf was lovely, sluffy but beautiful powder that inspired confidence. It’s easy on the Shelf to forget about the exposure when you’re on the line, as backwards as that might seem. You stare down the fall line, just leaning to skier’s right, the pitch not so steep to scare much but really to excite you to link turns. Nick and I leapfrogged down, skiing with speed and pure joy. We tapped poles at the bottom, realizing what we’d just skied and having a little more of a knot in the stomach. Man, you really are above cliffs that whole time, huh? Yes, indeed you are.
Day 2 – April 18th
Lane arrived from Winthrop just after Nick and I got home from our first day, the three stooges assembled and ready for sillyness. We debriefed the conditions we had seen and were psyched to take a swing at something up high. I’ve had an affinity (or obsession, pick your word choice) for the Hermit zone since dipping my toes into Rogers Pass a few years back. It’s the zone that inspires me the most. We were all pretty psyched on the North Face of Swiss, a dubbed ‘classic’ but no matter how you slice it, big. Sadly, a skier died on Swiss earlier this year when their sluff caught them and they took a tumble down the entire face. The imagery of that tragedy ran through all of our heads as we discussed the line.
We oscillated on the concept of the ‘Uber Tour’ as Cody Townsend popularized through his Fifty Project; we re-watched his video a few times, fast-forwarding to the descents. We were psyched, albeit humbly knowing that we were entering an entirely new zone and elevation band with big consequences.
We were shocked that there was absolutely nobody in either the Beaver or Hermit parking lots. Wow, people really have given up on skiing, either that or moved over to the Canadian Rockies. We reveled in having the entire Hermit zone to ourselves for the day.
The climb up Rogers was largely uneventful, just a lovely, sunny bluebird day with pow on souths. Nothing at all to report there. We topped out the summit and looked down the North Face Lite, our first descent for the day. It appeared more wind affected than other norths we had seen, but with some pole scratching the surface seemed chalky rather than wind slabby. We discussed how to enter the terrain, more ‘on-guard’ this year after a close call in the home range in a familiar couloir where a buddy triggered a slide (thankfully) at his feet that ran full path. We’d put the shark bait (me) on a rope, try and create an unsupported slope and then jump on that, rather than just make some ski turns on belay.
We executed the plan and found no movement in the slope, neither the supported nor unsupported portions. I feel good coming off the rope, I radioed up. The North Face ‘lite’, even if it’s shorter and less ‘mega’ than the full north face, is still pretty darn steep! It reminded me of the Park Headwall at home, just maybe a bit shorter. I enjoyed steep, gluey spring turns down the face with the schrund well filled in. It skis great guys, enjoy!
Lane and Nick followed; in a way, it felt like re-living Cody’s YouTube video. We found similar conditions to when he went. I’m still confused about his commentary in the video about the 1AM Parks Canada backcountry zone ‘openings’, but I’ll leave that critique for myself.
We noted a massive crown over on the North Face proper, feet deep and running all the way down the face. That has to be one of the biggest slides I’ve ever seen, Lane exclaimed. It was a mix of bergschrund and crown, but it was absolutely huge. We guessed from the warm-up that had happened earlier in the spring that caused a widespread natural cycle.
We skinned over towards the sneak-climb up towards the North Face of Swiss. We wanted to top-out but after reaching the saddle that Cody, et al. reached, Lane and I scratched around for a little bit and realized that it probably was more faff and nonsense than worth. We saw the sling that Cody and team had made, but opted to make our own on a nearby horn that had a slightly better angle. The rappel was short and quickly we were atop the North Face of Swiss.
Wow, this is a HUGE line, was my initial reaction after rapping in. Similar to the Shelf, we found protected, lovely powder, much softer than on the Rogers North Face Lite. Lane went first, arcing big turns down and towards skier’s right with his sluff BOOMING down the face over the cliffs below.
Again, it felt like a scene out of Cody’s video. The sluff waterfall admittedly got the butterflies in the stomach going a bit, both for Nick (I think) and certainly for me. We followed suit down to Lane, experiencing the mix of intimidation and joy in steep turns over big exposure.
The lower face was a little more wind affected than the upper pitch but still lovely. And man, did it go on forever! We remarked at how huge the line felt, pitch after pitch of big mountain skiing. Below the schrund we turned around, a little ways down in the sun, and snacked, reveling in the day thus far and also preparing for what was to come: the exit. Being Cascadian skiers, we’re a little prideful on a bushwhack, if I’m being honest. By Cascades standards. . . we sometimes joke (or half-joke).
Having service, I loaded a Matt Ruta trip report from his exit out Swiss, since Cody’s video made it look suuuuper shitty. Matt noted the beta was to exit out far skier’s left above the moraine wall of the creek around 4200′ (1300m); we followed suit, finding an easy-ish way into the forest where the forest-skiing began. Look, forest skiing over pine needles is never suuuuper fun, and I’d rate the ski out towards the Shaughnessey DAR a solid C+. It was shitty, yes, grabby, yes, but skiing until around 3500′. Then it turned to down-shwacking around deadfall with skis in tow. There are blazes, but they don’t really start until you’re nearly at the first railroad crossing and sometimes they’re just plain shitty.
We were good boys and we followed the DAR back to our car at Beaver, even if we seriously wished to just hitchhike or walk the road. It was then that Nick gained his new nickname, ‘The Swamp Samurai’, as he gave zero f**cks about the integrity of his skins.
The insult to injury for the day was me realizing I’m a complete dumbass (not a surprise to many) and had barely filled my car with enough gas to get up and down the pass. Thankfully I have a hybrid, and we coasted down Hwy 1 with my gas tank entirely empty, going well below the speed limit and probably (most definitely) angering many Canadians. When we got stopped a construction light on the highway for four-laning, I turned the car off to preserve gas. Sorry Nick.
Day 3 – April 19th
Back home after a long day on Swiss, we stuffed our faces with food and discussed what to do with the remaining time we had. It looked to be getting warm, really warm. And Rogers hadn’t transitioned to spring yet, there was still a lot of powder around, as we had found up high on Rogers and Swiss. We still wanted to get out in the mountains but acknowledged that we probably needed to have an exit plan that didn’t involve a ton of avalanche terrain.
We agreed to head up Ursus Minor and try and ski the north face, looping back to Little Sifton and then exiting out Little Sifton. It still involved big mountain skiing, but with what we felt was manageable overhead hazard throughout the day. We gave ourselves an appropriate start time of 8A but one that would still allow us to sleep.
The day started out with high clouds, which at first didn’t feel like greenhousing but by midday clearly were cooking the snow all the way to summits. Nick, Lane and I bantered on the way up, discussing mountain ambition, balance, and generally our separate and collective drives for this arbitrary sport we love. Before long we were at the col below Ursus Minor, setting off on the final scramble to the top. That scramble is so darn fun!
Atop the summit, we had a break in the cloud action and had good visibility to the surroundings. Doesn’t this snow seem a bit. . . wet?, Nick asked the group. I tried to point out how we were on a flat summit and the northern tilt of the face might help, but ultimately he wasn’t wrong, the snow was pretty darn warm for being at 2700m (8900′). Lane went first and his sluff cleaned out the entire face; Nick and I saw the sluff pile before hearing the roar. Uhhhhh… The warm snow had accumulated into a large wet loose slide that left good skiing behind it on the bed surface but certainly was an avalanche by any account. We discussed; we all felt good about the remaining snow on the face, so we agreed to continue, albeit with a dirty feeling in our stomachs from what had just occurred. Sheesh.
The route down the north face was sweet, steep off the top roll-over then fairly mellow remaining down to the runout. It was mungy, hot pow that skied well, something we’re quite familiar with back in Washington. The mank-ening had arrived.
The climb back up to Little Sifton was scalding hot, Nick went ‘tarps off’ for a bit and we played tunes on his bluetooth speaker as we tried to not quite rush out of the mountains, but hop to it. Thankfully our exit path didn’t involve much steep terrain, though there were certainly overhead slopes to keep a watchful eye over.
The ski down was schmoo, like real schmoo, not even schmoo that we could scoff at as ‘Cascadians’. Independently we realized this was probably the end of the trip, the heat had gotten to the highest of mountain tops and wasn’t going to let up for a few days.
While the trip may have come to a hot ending, it was a lovely few days up North with Lane and Nick. We all still love the home range, and it was great skiing back at home, but it was nice to lean into shooting our shot up north in spring. The vibes in Revelstoke in April were AMAZING; the town was buzzing, the greenery was popping off, and it was much more a ‘small town’ than in the wintertime when I’ve typically visited. The sauna in the aquatic center was even. . . empty?!?! Crazy.