If you devote yourself to practicing my precepts, your chest will be stout, your colour glowing, your shoulders broad, your tongue short, your hips muscular, but your tool small.
– Aristophanes, The Clouds
After blading our dream line in 2021 Garrett and I were both riding a high unlike any we had experienced before. But like any good high, it eventually has to end and we soon came crashing back to earth. Our bodies were physically wrecked from the effort, our minds stretched close to their breaking point. It was time to step away from the big mountain blading game for a bit.
We took the following year to rebuild. We dove back into boring life, pouring time into monotonous training and everyday life pursuits. But as any great adventurer knows the blandness of life without a guiding north star, a grand mission to work towards, can become suffocating. So, despite our promises to friends and family that we were done with cutting-edge blading, Garrett and I began to scheme again. We bided our time through the long winter, occasionally joining the “ski community” for some training laps, but mostly just trying to control our restlessness as 900 inches of snow buried all the big lines.
Finally the slopes began to melt out and we knew it was time to once again test ourselves in the mountains.
For our grand return to blading we chose to come back to where it had all started, Mt. Olympus. This time we opted to take on the famed Memorial Couloirs via Kamp’s Ridge. These remote lines sit deep in the heart of the Wasatch, not even visible from I-15. Seeking to deepen our connection to the mountains and enrich the entire experience we decided to forgo the use of a car on the approach. This meant approaching either via heli or via bike. Being stewards of nature we settled on the later.
We rendezvoused early to get our setups figured out. Knowing every ounce counted we thought through our gear list carefully. Luckily blade technology had advanced remarkably in the year we’d been away and I found myself selecting a pair of Fisher Ranger tips paired with a set of wobbly Marker Alpinist bindings. Garrett opted to go with some swallow-tail Moment Wildcats set up with a pair of even wobblier Alpinist Bindings.
Fitting both our blades and technical big mountain gear on our bikes was a challenge but soon we had things secured and set off towards the distant hills.
The objective danger was high as we made our way down 2100 but soon we entered the safe zone of Sugarhouse Park where we were able to relax. From there moderately complex route finding and the occasional dog walker threatened to slow us down but we stayed focused and made good time to Neff’s Canyon Trailhead.
Soon the trail grew too steep for bikes and we were forced to abandon them in the woods. We worked our way deeper into the wilderness on foot, forging through the rugged landscape. We had to cross several raging rapids, causing me to question my identity as an ex-stream hiker.
Mountain Project states the approach “will take the average person between 1-2 hours” but we have an above average desire to prove that we are above average so we hammered up the steep bushy terrain towards our route.
We reached the base of the route in under an hour (GPS watch failed to start recording unfortunately) and quickly prepared for the next phase of adventure. From there our world turned vertical and we simul-soloed up through blank, near-impassible terrain.
After hundreds (thousands?) of meters of climbing (hard to keep track when you’re flowing up the rock, completely in The Zone™, unencumbered by ropes, fully engaged in the moving art, the spiritual practice, the metaphysical dance that is free soloing) we reached the main ridge line that would take us to the summit.
The striking dragon’s back of rock splits the sky like a lightning bolt cast down by Zeus himself. The fin of rock offers a narrow channel through the otherwise unsurvivable water’s of Mt. Olympus. We tiptoed delicately up the ridge, careful not to anger our mountain host, acutely aware that retreat was no longer a viable option.
The intense exposure gnawed at our psyche and it eventually became too much, it was time to pull out the rope. At first I felt regret at sacrificing the purity of my ascent but then I thought about all the reasons I have to live: my partially built out van, my mostly-paid-off Alta pass, my Chipotle leftovers waiting in the fridge at home, and knew that I was making the right decision.
The terrain remained highly technical as we neared the summit, requiring every trick in the book1 to keep advancing upwards. Unfortunately Garrett and I aren’t very good readers so we had to rely on our bravery and stubbornness instead.
To our great relief the angle of the ridge eventually eased off and we soon found ourselves standing where few humans have ever stood before: the entrance to Memorial Couloir #5.
Like modern day Prometheuses it was time to return to the human realm with our gifts for humanity (sick photos and inspiring stories). We clicked into our bindings and shuffled up to the blind rollover at the top of our line. Looking down at the void below us Garrett started to get cold feet so had to call his mom for emotional support.
Comforted by his mother’s affirmations Garrett found renewed strength and it was go-time. The steep, wooded entrance wasn’t exactly a gentle warmup after two years off blades, but the muscle memory runs deep for those of us who grew up on blades before we could even walk. I dropped first and immediately felt all of my worries fade away as I linked my first few turns. I was home.
I made my way down to a safe zone and Garrett came down to join me.
The remainder of the couloir passed in a blur of joy. We found nothing but perfect snow and the lazer-cut walls of the couloir guided us back to civilization.
Eventually the couloir widened and we began to encounter sections of mixed blading.
We reached the bottom of the line worse for wear but deeply happy to be alive. More importantly, whereas our Tolecat descent had left us shattered and unsure if we would ever return to the big mountains, we emerged from Memorial Couloir hungry for more. We knew it would take time for our wounds to heal and our bodies to recover, but it was clear that all of our training and preparation had paid off. We were back in the big mountain blading game and ready to take things to another level.
Our opportunity to step things up came a few weeks later during a rare perfect weather window in early June. With conditions lining up perfectly we knew it was time to go for the big kahuna, Heart of Darkness via the South Ridge of Superior.
I found myself unable to sleep the night before our planned descent, perhaps due to the anticipation of the adventure ahead. I was relieved when my alarm finally went off signaling it was time to get up and start the day.
We made fairly quick time up the South Ridge, slowed only by the last minute addition of a skier “friend” who insisted on dragging full size skis up the climb. Luckily this meant there was plenty of time to do a mid-climb photoshoot while we waited for the friend to untangle his skis from the many trees that dot the ridge. My Strava may not have appreciated the delay but my secret Tinder profile certainly did.
We regrouped on the summit and began the knife-edge traverse towards the top of Heart of Darkness.
Reaching the top of the line we stared down into the darkness below, saying nothing. We stood in silence, each of us battling our own internal demons. It was clear that we would emerge from the bottom of the couloir changed people, that is if we emerged at all.
Garrett started to pull the rope out of his bag to prepare for the rappel into the chute. “Stop!”, I instructed. I was tired of leaving stuff on the table, tired of living a life controlled by fear. It was time to take my place in the pantheon of big mountain blading. Before I could lose my nerve I clambered over the edge and into the maw of the mountain.
I could feel my audience holding their breath as I began the intricate downclimb. The rock had looked splitter from above but I soon discovered it was anything but. Loose blocks thundered down around me as the mountain threatened to spit me off. I could feel my strength waning, my grip beginning to loosen. And then I felt snow under my feet. I was into the couloir! I fought to keep my focus knowing I was just a couple hundred jump turns away from making the first ropeless ski blade descent of Heart of Darkness, an accolade that speaks for itself.
I committed to my first hop turn and felt the blades come around and bite into the steep slope. I was in the zone now.
Without pausing I leapt back around for another, and then another, and another, and then probably at least a few more after that. And then I was out the bottom, flying along the apron.
Garrett’s mom didn’t pick up this time (and the skier’s mom probably wasn’t in the picture or something) so they didn’t feel up for the downclimb and decided to rappel. I waited at the bottom while they set up the rappel and cheered as they worked down towards me.
They joined me with massive smiles on their faces. The contrast in energy from the top of the couloir to the bottom was massive, a huge weight off our shoulders.
Although the main challenge of the day was complete we still had to navigate the exit out Mill B. The terrain here was truly a blader’s dream and we found ourselves dancing down through a complex maze of rock and snow.
We arrived back at the car alive and with minimal puncture wounds. Word of our descent had already spread and I already had a few missed calls from John Branch. It was clear we were returning to a different life than the one we had left that morning; it was even more clear we were returning as different people. We had reached a new level in our blading abilities and discovered hidden mental strength buried deep within ourselves. We paused for a final look at the mountains before beginning the drive back into the valley.
- Freedom of the Hills, 10th Edition ↩︎
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