Three Days for Ten Turns

In March, I cold-emailed a handful of ski guiding companies in New Zealand, chasing the dream of an ‘endless winter’. After a month of radio silence, I had nearly given up. Then a heli-ski operation replied saying they’d just assessed staffing needs and were keen for a chat. A couple interviews later, I had a job lined up in Wanaka and one month left in Salt Lake City. The clock was ticking and I wanted to squeeze in adventures with friends before leaving - and then my buddy Will sent me this juicy text.

Salt Lake, where Will and I are based, is known for its powder skiing. But if you want to get on a glacier, you’re tens of thousands of years too late by expert estimates. The Wasatch range is also famous for its accessibility - you never “have to” overnight in the backcountry because any ski line can be a day trip. Mt. Olympus would provide the opportunity to gain some more glacier and overnight experience all while checking out a novel area. I was stoked.

Sidebar - there are a surprising number of Mt. Olympuses (Mt. Olympi? … turns out the plural form is actually mounts Olympus). There’s the one overlooking Millcreek Utah, the one we’re attempting to ski in Washington, and even a Mt. Olympus club skifield in New Zealand I’d love to visit someday).

Just want to say, there are a few of Mt. Olympus’es (or is it Mt. Olympi?…turns out it’s actually most accurate to say mounts olympus). You have the one overlooking Millcreek Utah, the one currently being covered in this recap, and

Heading out

Logistics for Mt. Olympus couldn’t have gone smoother. Will had just taken an engineering job a few weeks prior with Black Diamond, and perks included copious amounts of stuff gratis (e.g. the giant red duffel that we threw all our gear in. Thanks Eric for the picture and the ride!). I had an Alaska Airlines companion pass with two free checked bags that made it economical for us to fly into Seattle ($250 RT each after we split the difference). Will is from Bainbridge Island, and his parents graciously offered to feed and accommodate us including pickup/dropoff from SeaTac airport. That just left budgeting for gas, backcountry meals, and incidentals (campsite fees and ice cream).

Day 1 - Long and flat

In the morning, we liaised with Pat and after a Walt’s Burgers sendoff we headed for the Hoh Rainforest.

We hiked towards our first campsite. And hiked. Aaaand hiked. Before we knew it, we had to rely on headlamps for vis and we still weren’t close. Things went wrong for a few reasons. First, we probably lingered a little too long in Bainbridge and started too late. Second, even though the approach was flat, the cumulative weight of our ski and backpacking gear slowed us down more than expected. Third, we spent unnecessary time route-finding. At mile seven, the trail disappeared. I pulled up Outmaps to course correct and to my dismay I realized I had forgotten to download our route for offline use. I took a screenshot (below) at that moment because it was actually comical - the section of trail data that wasn’t cached was exactly where we were stuck. After fifteen minutes of morale-sucking bushwhacking, we eventually realized we needed to backtrack a little and cross a river. We pulled over nine miles in and called it a day, three miles short of where we intended.

I actually love the offline maps feature in Outmaps and was fuming when I realized I had forgotten.

“The word adventure has gotten overused. For me, when everything goes wrong – that’s when adventure starts” -Yvon Chouinard

Day 2 - Long and steepish

We made breakfast, took some pictures with the local deer population, and headed out at 9am.

Things went pear-shaped once again. The gradient on day one’s approach was only 2%. Day two was where we gained the lion’s share of vertical, with a gradient of ~10%. We tired way quicker and realized that we’d need another day, which we didn’t have, to go tag the summit nor would the impending rain allow. It collectively dawned on us that we weren’t going to be ‘successful’ long before Mt. Olympus even came into view. Our minds pivoted toward trip-salvage mode and we came up with some amusing proposals. We decided to just stay the course and see how far we could get.

Eventually, we reached an overlook and I snapped a photo of Pat. Mt. Olympus is the tallest peak in the distance.

So close, yet so far. Suddenly -and I shit you not- I ran into a couple friends 18 miles deep into the backcountry on their way back from bagging the peak. They had done it in a fast-pack alpine style, the “right way” of doing Mt. Olympus. We quickly exchanged hellos and then they bolted. After taking in one last view, we managed a handful of ski turns through surprisingly good corn on an adjacent snowfield and headed back. The numbers at the end of the day came in - we lugged our ski packs 16 miles and up nearly 6000 ft of vertical for roughly 10 turns. Hard to say if the juice was worth the squeeze in that moment.

Day 3 - Long and sheepish:

On the way in, our egos had been fluffed up by wide-eyed comments from fellow hikers - “Wow you’re going to go ski?”. Now on our way home, our egos had deflated with no chance of lifting the trophy. “Wow did you go skiing?”. “Uhhhh yeaahhhhh”.

The last 3 days on our feet took its toll. Will’s feet. Pat’s neck (for the joke’s sake, I’m not sure if Pat’s neck was troubling him). My back. We silently brooded in our respective pain caves and hoped that each turn in the forest would finally spit us out to the carpark. Finally, trail turned to asphalt and we beelined for the Rainier beer waiting for us.

The drive back to Bainbridge became a post-mortem. In summary: Less. Smaller. Narrower. Lighter. Earlier. Harder. Better. Faster. Stronger. The road to becoming a bean-counting ski mountaineer sure is paved with good intentions isn’t it?

We didn’t summit, nor did we even get close. But we had a damn great time and learned a lesson or two or three.

I took some pictures on this trip!