Luke, Amy, and myself just returned from an amazing three days of backcountry skiing in the Sierras.

Thursday, Feburary 26, after cutting out early from a trying week of work in Oakland, we made a mad dash for the Sierras.  By the time we reached the trailhead — on highway 80 near Truckee, CA ( just north of Lake Tahoe) — the forecasted storm had set-in, bringing gusty winds and a mixture of snow and hail. Loathing the idea of prepping our gear in these conditions, we celebrated when Luke had the ingenious idea of sneaking into the nearby Boreal base lodge and assembling our supplies in its warmth and shelter.

After ditching the car we put skins to skis, donned our packs, and huffed along the 2.5 miles up Castle Pass (OK, in the interest of honesty, I was huffing. Neither of my companions were the least bit phased by the relatively mellow approach. The least of whom, Amy, the marathon runner, was constantly pushing us to climb higher!). The forecast had called for 100+ mph winds on the ridgetops, and cresting over Castle Pass, as dusk set-in, one thing was sure—the forecasters weren’t wrong. It was whipping!

Visibility was quite low and with the new snow there was just a trace of a track leading the way. So, after checking our position on the topo map, and confirming it with the gps (my favorite new toy, which Luke and Amy would have to tolerate all weekend), we followed Luke dropping down off the ridge and took our first turns in the somewhat heavy Sierra powder.

Just as dark set-in, hoots and hollers abound once we descended upon the Peter Grubb hut, lying in the sweeping meadow of Round Valley. With the low visibility conditions of the storm, we could see nothing around us, but trusted Luke when he told us that we were in beautiful country, nestled along the Sierra Crest.

Packs off, we pulled ourselves into the second story of the aging winter shelter, as the depth of the maritime snowpack had completely burried the ground floor. Upon prying open the weathered door, we discovered we were the only ones there, and swiftly moved to celebrating our solitude amongst friends with hard earned wine and pesto around the crackling woodstove. After many satisfied sighs, it was off to stoke the fire, climb into our cozy sleeping bags, and let slumber overtake us.

Morning brought a great surprise. After assuming we’d be locked into a stormy low visibility weekend, we awoke to blue skies and a warm sun beginning to illuminate the surrounding mountaintops, which just so happened to be covered with fresh untouched powder from the night before! What luck!?

We scarfed down a breakfast of eggs, english muffins and oatmeal while discussing avalanche risks and assessing a safe plan of attack. We eyed the surrounding peaks and settled on ascending the west ridge and skiing a big line down the south face of Basin Peak, which towered over us to the north. By the time we began skinning across the meadow, the sun was blistering hot, requiring us to resort to spring-like fasion, skiing in t-shirts with our pant shells unzipped at the sides for ventilation. After reaching the foot of the mountain, it was up-and-away with Luke and Amy alternating breaking trail and me behind wishing I too was a marathon runner.

On the hard windpack near the top, Amy, (tortured by slipping skins) sidestepped up the final pitch; I popped out of my skis and bootpacked, kicking steps into the face; and Luke charged up on his skins. Reaching the peak we were greeted with sweeping views across the Sierras. Trying to block out the noise of the buzzing snowmobiles in the valley to the north, we picked our line down. We dropped in, one at a time, and scooted around the shoulder to skiers left. We then picked our way through the windpacked snowfield, stopping to regroup just above the cliff-band in the center of the south face. With glee, we dropped in, Luke first, shredding the chute that split the cliffband, and arcing out of the narrow exit, cruising the powder-filled glade down into the meadow below, hooting and cheering all the way.

After a quick rest in the meadow basking in the sun, with Luke doing snow angels in the soft fluff, we launched back up Basin Peak for another lap down the south face. After about an hour of climbing, we stopped in the snowfield a touch short of the summit, positioned in just the right place to hit the chutes again. Luke and Amy peeled big arcing turns shooting over the ridge on the right shoulder of the cliff-band, and I happily shot the chute again. Again, we glided through the powder filled glade below and landed in the meadow for lunch.

We then skinned back to the hut, melted snow, and refilled our water bottles for the afternoon. Amy, with boundless energy, declared we’d point our skis towards Castle Peak on the other end of the basin and focus there for the afternoon. After two runs up Basin Peak, I was exhausted and bailed out at the ridge adjacent to Castle Pass, while Luke and Amy plodded on up to Castle Peak. After a quiet rest listening to the snow cascade out of the surrounding trees, I dropped-in and blissfully plowed my way through knee-deep powder, carving turns amongst the steep trees of “Serenity Glade” (as Amy dubbed it). Spitting out into the meadow, totally blissed-out, I collapsed in the afternoon sun and spent the next two hours watching Luke and Amy, tiny ants above, plod their way up the summit ridge of Castle Peak. As the sun began to set behind the mountains, Luke and Amy removed their skins, locked their heels down, and prepared themselves for their final ski descent of the day. My cheers echoed through the valley as they dropped-in off the summit cone, carved big turns through the snowfields, and glided down through Serenity Glade, blasting into the meadow with glowing faces.

We shared the hut Friday night with six others who had hiked in during the day, and feasted on Amy’s homemade red curry with fresh vegetables and tofu. Quite a backcountry meal! More wine and stories around the woodstove, and we were lulled to sleep under the bright stars of a clear Sierra sky.

Saturday, we unexpectedly awoke to MORE sun. After a lazy breakfast of Luke’s amazing signiture fried eggs with cheese, we packed up our gear, and went out for another blissful lap through Serenity Glade on Castle Peak. Then, just as the dozens of weekend daytrippers descended on the valley, we climbed out of the basin, over Castle Pass back towards the road, congratulating ourselves on our impecable timing.

Always ready to charge, as we were coming over the Pass, Luke and Amy eyed the ridge leading up the north side of Andesite Peak, with its tempting steep lines dropping down to our outward track below. The peer pressure overcame my sore muscles, and up the ridge we went for one last glory run! Along the ridge we passed a large Search and Rescue team running drills and setting up camp for the night. After some huffing, we reached a nice steep face, and dropped off the ridge — one at a time — for our final untracked turns in heavy but rewarding powder. The face spit us into our skintrack down the valley towards the road.

We made the ski out in about 30 minutes, (in comparison to the 3-hour hike in), and ended the trip right where we started, at the Boreal base-lodge for beers, reveling in the afterglow of an amazing backcountry weekend.

You can view our route on the topo map below, or by clicking here.
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