Home for the holidays
Bouncing Around the Northern Swans
I just graduated from college, so I came back to the Flathead for a little while over the holidays. Not super excited about the statewide low tide, I wasn’t expecting a whole lot when I got up here. But, what do you get when you combine no snow at low elevations with a high-pressure period in late December? Pretty unique ways to access the mountains! Usually, my favorite spot for early or late-season laps is a long walk without a sled this time of year, however, the roads at low elevations were pretty dry and driveable. I skied some dang good pow up there, doing fun loops and circuits with a few different crews. A refreshing change from the apocalyptic snowpack down in Bozeman.
The Northern
From the Swan Crest, Great Northern Mountain actually looked pretty good. I’d never gotten a chance to ski the west face before, since I’m not into snowmobile approaches. I’m not necessarily anti-sled (as long as slednecks aren’t highmarking pretty pow fields ripe for skiing, but that’s a discussion for another blog post), but I’ve made it this far without one, and would like to keep the streak going. I set out early one morning with Owen Desroches, Noah Golan, Anders Soyland, and Nate Inglefinger, heading past Martin City towards HH Reservoir. A good mix of familiar and new faces. We had seen Blase Reardon, the head avalanche forecaster for Flathead Avalanche, while skiing a few days prior, and he said that the road was probably still driveable. That was enough for us to try to scratch the itch.
We headed up the winding climbers trail, with just enough snow to warrant wearing ski boots, but not enough to put in a skinner. Once we reached the skiable snowline, the sun was rising, and the Northern came into view. What a heater of a day it was going to be– bluebird, with the infamous Flathead Valley cloud deck below. December is the new April! We made short work of the ridge, eventually transitioning to crampons and started the long, traversing bootpack. Weaving up and down, we eventually gained the ridgeline proper. The lack of massive cornices made the ridge walk pretty mellow but fun. Rime-plastered rock and ice guarded a few spots along the ridge, but none of it was too tricky. Looking north, all of Glacier’s iconic peaks were in view. Everything from Cleveland to Heaven’s to Stimson to Saint Nick were on full display.
At the summit, we decided the snow was getting fairly warm and made a quick transition. The cream cheese surface made for good turns over the sea of clouds. The whole west face was skiable, but with such poor low-to-mid elevation snow, we had to ‘schwack a majority of the way out, which was pretty easy as far as northwest Montanan bushwhacks go.
Into the Park
The next day, I couldn’t keep my mind off Glacier Park. I was pretty determined to ski something out there, now that the westside was open again. With a 2:45 a.m. alarm clock set on New Year’s Day, Owen, Anders, Nate, and I headed out to a particular basin that rhymes with “Jerry.” There’s really nothing like a spring style approach on January 1st, is there? Starting with skis and boots on our backs, we walked a good ways in the dark, eventually skinning into sunrise. I think approaching distant lines in the dark really makes things more enjoyable–you can’t see how far away the objective is; you’re illuminating such a small space that you can put your head down and let the legs do the work. We followed a lone set of wolf tracks for a few miles, and I’m sure it was close by.
Eventually, we made it up to this said glacial basin. The objective was the obvious peak that rises from it. If you’ve been up there, you know what I’m talking about. We skinned a little ways, then transitioned to booting, trying to preserve as much of the slope as possible to ski. As we got higher, the clouds began to thin out, and we eventually saw sunlight for the first time all day. Boy, is that a nice feeling after shivering through all hours of the morning. To my amazement, a Brocken Spectre appeared below us. This rare atmospheric event happens when the sun is at a low angle, and the individual wavelengths (colors) of light are split by thin clouds, creating a sundog-esque rainbow known as a glory. My shadow was being projected onto the clouds below, perfectly centered in the glory. The bootpack led us to an aesthetic knifepoint ridge. The cloud deck was so high that only the highest peaks of the park were visible– it felt as if we were on another planet. Moments like this make it all worth it.
Mount Brown
Two days later, the high pressure remained, and I wanted to get back into the park one last time before leaving town. Camas Rinehart, James Walker, and I headed to West Glacier early in the morning. Camas is one of my lifelong friends and ski partners, and is a local firefighter and paramedic at Kalispell Fire Department. James, also EMS, is an excellent splitboarder and is always up for an adventure. We left the car just before dawn, racing the rising cloud deck as the morning sun began to shine. Heading up towards the Mount Brown fire lookout, the burnt forest was laden in an erie haze.
We stopped at the fire lookout for a quick snack and then continued to head upward along the ridge. The sun was beginning to feel rather hot, and while the snow wasn’t glopping up yet, I wasn’t in love with the idea of skiing our line’s exposed exit underneath a massive south-facing bowl. Just as we got to the top of our line, high-elevation clouds began to roll in, providing a nice cool shade. The SE couloir on Brown had good coverage, and conditions were good enough to ski. Dust on crust made for fun hop-turns and slough chasing. Camas and James met me at the bottom of the bowl beneath the couloir. The Brainstem Wall, a massive ice climbing venue, was directly below us at this point. I shuffled my way down through snow ledges, finding a passage through the large cliff band riddled with blue ice. The north face of Edwards looked phat, with massive ice plastered all along it, like sap on a tree.
Weeks like this are why I fell in love with northwest Montana. The spirit of adventure still lives on up here, and you never know what you’ll expect around the next corner. I cannot wait to move back permanently someday; I want nothing more in life than to explore the remote corners of Glacier National Park with skis strapped to my feet.
