Carving Out Steep Thrills in Bowl of Ice

We were looking for spring snow and a chance to ski one last time before summer. A friend, Seth Miller, and I drove toward the Sierra Nevada, figuring it would have the conditions we were looking for. Driving toward the mountains, however, it became clear that the only skiing would be around the tallest peaks, and getting to them could require too much time and effort.

In Mammoth Lakes, a retired forest ranger, John Ellsworth, told us that part of the Tioga Pass road toward Yosemite National Park was open to traffic. We could drive straight to the pass at 9,945 feet above sea level and quickly be on slopes as high as 13,000 feet. Best of all, the road west of the pass into Yosemite was still closed, and we would have the mountains largely to ourselves. There was plenty of snow, Ellsworth assured us.

From Tioga Pass, skiable slopes rise almost directly on both sides of the roadway. The inclines range from rounded, treeless hillsides to concave bowls and rocky couloirs--steep gorges with strips of skiable snow barely wider than elevator shafts.

Our spirits rose as we drove toward the pass before sundown to scout out the Ellery Bowl, one of the most popular ski areas in the region. Back-country skiers have descended Sierra Nevada peaks by countless routes, attracted by the usually generous snowpack, the solitude and the technical challenge of skiing around steep granite peaks. Most people simply trudge up a slope with a moderate grade and then ski down it. Others lower themselves with ropes into nearly sheer couloirs where skiing can involve a lot of jumping and twisting in the air.

Our plan for the next day was to spend a few hours hiking up the bowl, relax a while at the top and then ski directly down to our car.

I fretted about the Ellery Bowl late into the night. There was a wind-driven wave of ice and snow cresting from a rocky ridgeline known as a cornice. Skiing underneath it could be dangerous. Truck-sized chunks of ice have been known to break loose and sweep away any skiers below it. I looked at a photograph of the bowl and traced escape routes should a snowslide occur. I also worried about altitude sickness. Just walking around Tioga Pass, I’d felt a bit lightheaded.

But my anxieties evaporated with the crisp, sunny morning. We arrived at the foot of the bowl at 8:30. My friend and I are both telemark skiers, favoring a style of cross-country skiing developed in Norway that resembles a series of deep knee bends.

Gauging the terrain above us, we decided to strap our skis to our packs and kick steps into the snow with our plastic ski boots. Other skiers behind took advantage of our trailblazing and ascended the stair steps we had notched.

I didn’t realize at first I was struggling. During our first hour of hiking, I was enthralled by the immensity of the jagged crest of mountains all around. What forces of nature could shape all this?

I felt like laughing. But instead I began wheezing. My heartbeat was rapid. My stomach churned and my throat forecast a retch.

Other skiers and snowboarders trudged past me with kind words, but even so I was angry. My legs felt fine but I could barely stand on them. I was taking a breath every step as if I were climbing Mt. Everest. But soon even that wasn’t enough. I ended up sprawled on a sunny rock with a 13-year-old dog at my side. Old Kiwi couldn’t make it up to join her master and whined in annoyance. I hear you, dog.

At 11,000 feet, there is a third less oxygen in the air than at sea level. If your body isn’t acclimated, nausea, dizziness and serious fatigue can set in. The remedy is simple. Go down. Left untended, so-called high altitude pulmonary edema can be fatal. My symptoms were relatively mild, but I wasn’t going any higher that day. I needed to rest and drink water.

My companion and a half-dozen others, mostly local skiers, continued hiking above me and soon had reached the ridge top at 11,600 feet. I knew what must be happening above me: food and water consumption and excited conversation about distant routes visible from the ridgeline.

Then, the skiers would get down to the business of picking a line--planning their descent into the Ellery Bowl. Picking a line is of value in snow sports generally but especially so when skiing down steep terrain. A “line” is the route you visualize that links your first, second and succeeding turns. A good line allows you to avoid hasty turns that may lead to dangerous obstacles such as exposed rocks or cliffs.

After 45 minutes, I heard the echo of whoops as the first skier launched off a gap in the cornice, slicing his skis into snow that was ice-like in the morning but in full sun resembled wet cement. All watched as the first skier completed his run. Skiers can set off avalanches, so by descending one at a time, the risk of danger is minimized. The next skier fell near the top and lost equipment as she tumbled, gaining speed. She came to a stop 30 yards downhill from her fall, avoiding injury but sending a tremor through the group remaining on the ridgeline, skiers said afterward.

The Mono County search and rescue squad has to evacuate a handful of skiers every year from the Tioga Pass area. There have been fatal falls down rocky chutes, skiers buried in avalanches and backs broken high in alpine country.

At last my partner skied down to where I had abandoned the hike. He was winded and struggling to maintain his form. I still wasn’t feeling great but felt strong enough to strap on my own skis and join the fun.

Unfortunately, the snow conditions fell short of the famous Sierra Nevada “corn” that Ellsworth likened to “a baby’s bottom.” Corn snow develops over time through a daily cycle of snowmelt and refreezing. Snowfall, which happened the week before we arrived, actually messes up the cycle. For us the snow was icy, then gluey, then slippery, then crusty and fast in the shadow of a tree.

I was gasping again but no longer despondent. I crouched low into the turns and tried to stay balanced. My regret at not reaching the top fell away with each successful turn. Ultimately I had traveled more than 1,000 miles for this single run. It was worth it. I’m already picking my line for next time.