A Life Lesson From Silver Basin

by Rosien McKee

“Breathe, just breathe.”

That’s what I kept telling myself. That’s all I could tell myself. I couldn’t believe that I’d let my dad drag me up here. I suppose that things weren’t really as bad as they seemed, but it’s often hard to see the end reward while in the thick of getting to it. Still, my Dad was lucky I was being such a good sport.

Was I really a good sport? Well, not if you asked my Dad. He would be quick to tell you that I complained every step of the way up the mountain. I just wanted to turn around, but we were out of the ski area on a narrow traverse. Turning back was not an option.

It was a rare ski day in Washington. They didn’t get much better than this. The snow was perfect: light, powdery and shimmering like diamond dust when a quick turn of my skis sent it airborne. The sun, burning a bright lemon yellow, had been steadily rising out of the eastern horizon all morning. Now, in the early afternoon, it was a smoldering winter sun. I followed my dad’s lead, unzipping my bulky ski jacket and discarding my heavy sweater. The crisp winter air enveloped my torso and for the first time since leaving my inviting bed all too early that morning, I was comfortable.

We spent the morning hours on warm up runs. I was on new skis, and Dad wanted to be sure that I was comfortable on them before we tried anything really challenging. I couldn’t believe the conditions that day. My silver skis were razor sharp blades, carving up the glistening snow as if it were soft clay. Turning was a nearly effortless task as the powdered sugar snow moved at my every command. We couldn’t have been there on a better day, and Dad knew it. Today was the day he would take me into the backcountry to ski Silver Basin.

I’d heard Dad talk about Silver Basin before. He had wanted to take me up there since I started skiing the expert terrain with him last season. The only catch was that I wasn’t quite sure how to get there. He had shown me the run on a trail map earlier in the season. It was deep in the South Back Country, a wide-open bowl on the east slope of Silver King Peak. It didn’t look like a very difficult run, nothing at all like the steep slopes of choppy snow and ice mixtures I was beginning to conquer. If I could handle the high alpine chair, this should be no problem. It was just a matter of getting to the bowl on the right day. Today was that day.

“Do you think you’re up for a run in the back country, Posie? Silver Basin has got to be amazing today.”

“Absolutely!” I naively returned, my face brightening at the idea. “I’d love to.” Little did I know what those four words had in store for me.

Dad and I were anxious to get up the mountain as we hurried into the lift area. Unfortunately, on such a beautiful Saturday, the lines at Midway Station were long. Ten minutes passed and we finally came to the front of the line. The huge flying couch of a ski lift came in and touched the back of my legs. We sat down and were whisked away, high into the air. A few short minutes and a quick cat-track would take us to the high alpine chair. From there, we were only minutes from the beginning of the trail to Silver Basin.

Dad and I got off Midway and made our way down to Chair Six, which would take us to the alpine zone. It wasn’t until half way up that chair that I realized how amazing the ski conditions were this winter. Last season, the snow level had been a good six feet below the chair. This winter, however, the grooming crews, who never visit the alpine area, had been up to dig out the snow from underneath the chair. Dad and I were a mere eighteen inches off the snow as the chair lift sped up the mountain.

We quickly hopped off the chair and made a sharp left turn into the bowl below. I followed Dad across an expansive snowfield dotted with solid ice moguls, each covered with soft white snow. Dad stopped at the base of a small incline and started to pop out of his bindings.

I pulled up beside him with a puzzled look on my face.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“This is the way up to the run. Get your skis off and follow me,” he answered as he started up the trail.

I glanced up at the incline he was expecting me to hike. It wasn’t that bad for just a hike. It was only 1500 feet or so. But in snow and full ski gear, with a pair of skis as long as I was tall, 1500 feet might as well have been a mile. However, I had no choice. Dad was already 50 feet up the trail. All I could do was pop out of my bindings, throw my skis on my shoulder and follow him up. Dad would stop along the trail, waiting as patiently as he could for me, but it didn’t make the going any easier. At fourteen, I didn’t have the strength to carry my own skis very far. The sharp edges dug into the muscles at my shoulders, leaving tense and painful knots behind. While the soft snow made for amazing skiing conditions, my heavy boots frequently sunk deep into the snowdrifts, making the going even more difficult.

Ten minutes later, I reached the top of the ridge, crimson-faced and breathing heavily. Sweat dripped off my face in spite of the freezing temperature. I was ready for a rest. However, resting was not an option. If I stopped now, it would hold up the line of skiers behind me on the trail. I had to keep going. I kicked the packed snow off the bottom of my boots and stepped into my bindings. A loud ‘click’ muffled by the heavy snow assured me that I was once again anchored to my skis and ready to get moving.

The trail we took seemed no more than six inches wide. Looking to my left, I could see the beautiful expanse of the Cascade Range. The snow covered peaks resembled mounds of soft down feathers against the crystal blue sky. The deep green of the trees provided a startling contrast to the pure white snow, outlining the mountain’s most popular trails. To my right were the same green trees and a beautiful white glacial river. However, it was a far less inviting scene than the one I had just taken in. Only inches from the track on which my skis were running, the mountain gave way to a sheer drop. Looking down, I could almost feel myself falling and complete fear nearly overtook me. I snapped my head forward and focused on the trail.

“Breathe. Just breathe,” I told myself. It was all that I could tell myself. After and eternity of sidestepping, slipping, ducking under small trees and around big rocks on the traverse across the back of the mountain, we finally arrived at the top of Silver Basin. I looked down the run. The entire face of a wide bowl, covered in fresh snow and completely devoid of tracks from yesterday’s skiers, opened before me. The run sloped gently down for a short distance, fell away more steeply in the middle and then leveled out into a cat track leading skiers back to the main resort. It was not at all what I had expected it to be. I had taken a forty-five minute hike, risking body and soul, for a ski run that seemed shorter and easier than the bunny slopes I had conquered years ago. Forty-five minutes of pain and frustration for what looked like a thirty-second run.

“This is it?” I exclaimed. “This is why you made me hike all the way up here? For THIS?”

Dad’s face fell, and his look said it all: ‘Just give it a chance.’ I rolled my eyes. Dad let out a loud, exasperated sigh.

“I’ll meet you at the bottom.” He pushed off, ready to start down the ski hill. I surveyed the run and decided that it didn’t really matter where I went down. I was just getting ready to shove off, when all of the sudden I heard a whoop and a yell. My head jerked up to see what the commotion was.

“Yes!” screamed my dad. “Yes, yes, yes!”

He sounded like a cheap movie. I ducked my head as my ears began to burn, embarrassed by his reaction even though no one else was around to witness his lack of decorum. My only escape from this humiliation was down the hill. Poised at the top of the slope, I bent my knees, leaned forward and shoved off with my poles.

All at once, I went from being on top of the snow to being in the snow. It was the same diamond dust as on all the rest of the runs we had done that day, but now, it was knee deep. I suddenly had an energy that I’d never experienced before. I turned. First left, then right and left again. Each turn sent a plume of powder fine snow high into the crisp air. A light wind whistled by and my ears were filled with the soft ‘swoosh’ of my skis turning and the tinkling of the airborne powder lightly settling back to earth. No more than twenty turns and ninety seconds later, I was standing at the beginning of the cat track leading back to the lodge, staring up at the not so perfect tracks that I had left behind. I heard a light swish, and looking down, I saw that my skis and boots were covered with a light dusting of snow. Dad had just skied up beside me.

“So?” he asked.

“I bet if we hurry, we’ll have enough time to make another run here before they kick us off the mountain. Are you up for it?”

“Are you sure that you’re up for it Posie?” he asked. “After all, it would mean making that long trek again.”

“Absolutely, Dad. It’s more than worth it

---

Snow Cat Skiing 1997

 

August 1994, one week before I turned 40. I was whining to my wife, Becky, expressing my unhappiness about growing "old". Specifically I was remembering all the things that I had wanted to do before I got "old". She finally tired of my whining and asked "Like what?" My reply: I always wanted to go helicopter skiing. "Well then go!"

If you can have a minor in a recreational sport in college, mine was skiing. (To tell the truth it was probably my major until I got married.) The winter I was engaged to Becky was a terrific snow year in Utah and I probably spent more time with my ski buddy, Dave, than I did with my wife-to-be. Dave and I spent many days that winter hunting for untracked powder and dreaming about going helicopter skiing. If we could just spend a week in the Canadian Rockies we might be able to get our fill, at least for a day or two. The problem with helicopter skiing then was, of course, the expense. Actually that is still somewhat of a problem and the time required to travel to some distant place where they do helicopter skiing compounds the problem. Even with the expense, armed with the express permission of my wife, I started saving my extra money to go helicopter skiing.

I knew I couldn't go the winter of 94-95. I had torn up my right knee playing softball in May and had didn't want to go until that problem was taken care of. I had my knee surgery in August of '95 and needed to give it some time to get strong before I took on serious backcountry skiing. So in the fall of 96 I was ready to make a commitment to a time and a place to live a long sought dream.

I went shopping for a helicopter skiing operator at the Ski and Snowboard Expo in October. In talking to a couple of snow cat operators, I was convinced to try using a snow cat instead of the helicopter, mostly because of proximity and price. For what 1-day of helicopter skiing would cost I could ski for two days at most snow cat operations.

I made a reservation at Brundage Mountain in McCall Idaho for the last week of January for Dave another friend and myself. Brundage warned me when I made the reservation, that they required a minimum of 6 skiers before they would go out for the day. What was the problem? I had just given them three reservations and there were still 12 weeks before the time we were scheduled to go.

With the start of the New Year we were having terrific snowfall in the Cascades and I was starting to get stoked on what things would be like for our week. I called the resort to see how our reservations were shaping up for our week. There were still only the three reservations I had made. But they were very encouraging that that week would fill up by the time we got there.

I kept calling... Regularly…. Finally the Friday before we were scheduled to go I called Brundage again. Well as luck would have it, they still only had my 3 reservations, and in fact had not taken the snow cat out in the middle of the week in 11 days. I was upset. I was mad. I felt cheated. I canceled.

The problem with canceling was that it was not too late to reschedule anywhere else. I called everywhere and was unable to find an opening for three anywhere. We changed our plans to a couple of days at Crystal Mountain and a couple of days at Whistler/Blackcomb. I hadn't been to Whistler in many years so that was fun, but not what I had in mind in August of '94.

Unfulfilled after my ski week with my friends I started looking for someplace to go snow cat skiing by myself. Peak Adventures is a cat skiing operation a few miles west of Kellogg Idaho. A short, 6-hour drive from home. When I called Peak Adventures around February first they had one space available in the cat for February 19. Just the 19th. There was nothing available before or after until mid March. I took it.

February 18. I was stoked again. This time it was going to happen…. All those years of waiting… I left work about 4:00 PM so I wouldn't be driving all night to get there. The trip was uneventful and the previous weekend the skiing at Crystal had been very good. My son Ben and I had even some fresh tracks in Powder Bowl on Valentines Day. Saturday and Sunday the good snow continued and there was even some sunshine on Sunday.

When I got to my motel there was a message waiting for me. "Call Peak Adventures". The sun... over the weekend.... had turned everything below 7000 feet to ice. They were sorry but were not going to be going out the next day. But they would be happy to refund my deposit.

As I was driving back home the next day across Snoqualmie Pass, through a driving snowstorm, I thought to myself, is there something immoral about wanting to ski untracked powder snow all day? Why couldn't my reservation have been on the 20th instead of the 19th? How come I am having such a hard time trying to have fun?

The following Friday yielded an incredible day of backcountry powder skiing at Crystal. This only served to whet my appetite and fuel the desire further. I HAD TO HAVE AT LEAST ONE DAY OF MAKING FIRST TRACKS ALL DAY OR I WAS GOING TO SCREAM!!!!!

The first week of March was a huge week for snow in the Cascades. I HAD TO TRY AGAIN. This time I called Mount Bailey in Oregon, very near Crater Lake. Yes they had openings for the entire next week. Yes they had gone out every day for the past two weeks. Yes they had lots of new snow. (7 feet in the past week.) Thursday March 6 looked like they could fit me in and very likely Friday too, if I wanted to stay.

Mount Bailey Snowcat Skiing operates out of Diamond Lake Resort, 80 miles east of Roseburg. The anticipation of finally realizing a long hoped for dream made the 8-hour drive bearable. I drove through rain most of the way from Auburn till I was past Corvallis. The last 80 miles from Roseburg the rain had stopped and the climb started out easy. The further east I drove the more I climbed. Before long I was driving through a serious snowstorm. I checked into the resort at 11:00 PM and was so excited I couldn't sleep until after 2:00 AM. I was here, they had the requisite minimum number of reservations AND IT WAS SNOWING LIKE MAD OUTSIDE.

The day broke with a foot of new snow, a high sky and a hint of some hazy sun. I had the most incredible day of my skiing life. Eight runs of 2000 vertical feet each through the most wonderful snow I can remember.

On the 4th run the guide let me go first. The run was named "Hardway" after a retired college professor who had an incredible day here even though he was intoxicated. The chute starts out about 100 feet wide but narrowed down to 50 feet between some trees. I pushed off for my first turn and my skis bent into a perfect arc under two feet of incredible snow. First one turn the another. I picked up speed and angulated more aggressively into each turn. I whooped and hollered. This was incredible!!!! (My sons say that when I am ski powder I sound like a love scene in a cheap movie. The head guide at Mt. Bailey, "Oz", agreed). 1200 vertical feet later I turned around let out a jubilant shout and took some pictures of my perfect tracks. I must go back this winter.

To be continued...