Click to enlarge. Ski tracks centre of picture.

The endless deep powder of December was fun, but nothing can replace high alpine action. Finally snow conditions and weather cooperated this past week. I was still groggy from too much Christmas food and mild Mount Washington terrain, and it took a bit of effort to switch gears. So what to do with this bomber snowpack? 2012 was the year of Atwell for me, so why not finish off the year with one more descent?

Bottom of line. You can see the climbing tracks cut across the ski tracks.

After frequenting the West Face so many times I try not to become too complacent. But when you round the corner and see the massive ramparts, spines and snow faces shimmering in the moonlight, any notion of complacency is soon erased.

A solid start time of 4am had me skinning in the high alpine under a semi-full moon. Sort of forgot that the sun takes a while to rise on December 30th. Travel was fast, and my hip-flexors were enjoying the lack of waist deep powder. On my earlier missions I had spotted one last line to the right of the Georgian. It was a little shorter than it’s brothers (Georgian and Squamptonian) but had some interesting features and several unknowns. Mentally, the dominant factor with this line is that it hangs above a large cliff at the bottom, with several thousand feet of cliffs, seracs and steep snow below that. So all climbing and skiing has this added spice. Also, an incredible rock tower blocks the view of the center of the couloir, and I had no idea whether there was enough snow to squeak through. As with the other lines near it, the exit ramp at the top looked incredibly thin and steep. Would it be skiable? Certainly enough factors to peek my curiosity and warrant another trip into the West Face arena.

Steep entrance spine extravaganza!

After some balanced moves benefiting from long legs, I surmounted the shrund at the bottom. From far way, the features around me looked small, but amongst it everything seemed very large and imposing. The snow was nice and climbing was slow due to knee-deep foot pen. I branched off right of the main couloir and headed towards the steep arête. Gaining it was an exercise in ridiculously steep wallowing. Climbing the steep arête in such deep snow was testing my comfort level. As soon as possible I dashed across the face into my main couloir. The fall line angled straight off the cliff below! Things choked and iced up beside the rock tower, but there was enough snow for skiing.

Summit ridge perch. North East face on the right. West Face on the left.

Climbing the main couloir was straight-forward, but the top exit ramp was still blocked from view. I was impressed with the consistent steepness of the couloir. Rounded the corner and encountered a perfect and steepening exit ramp to the summit ridge. The snow was still deep with some interesting layers so I desperately wanted to get the climbing over with. As with all ski lines in heaven, this one ended with no cornice, just a steep ramp that lead to a 5 foot wide perch on a snow mushroom. The Northeast face dropped off the other side. After enjoying the sun for a few moments, I made my first turns back down the line. I soon realized the unbelievable quality and stability of the powder. What an amazing feeling, having powder that steep with minimal sluff. With a surge of confidence in the conditions I headed out onto a steep arête for a few turns. The exposure was amazing. The rest of the turns in the couloir were totally enjoyable, yet each one was conservative due to the cliff below. Traversed over to the lower arête and made wonderfully steep turns down it.

pure bliss . . .

After exiting the final couloir, I still had several thousand feet of committing skiing. After some nice turns and negotiating the many seracs (things are still quite bare) I ended up near the lower half of the Siberian, with the Siberian’s classic ice cliff still showing a few hundred feet above. When I first skied it over 10 years ago, the conditions were icy down low. So to shred it in perfect powder was so cool! Very little avy activity allowed me to crank large turns all the way down the lower slopes towards tree line (usually riddled with debris and massive runnels sometimes 40 feet deep)

Click to enlarge. The Siberian. Track starts left of centre top, and ends bottom right of centre.

Click to enlarge. Tracks just left of centre. Taken from Brohm cabin.

Several hours of skinning and traversing brought me back to safety. I reached the truck about 14hours after starting. Pretty much the most enjoyable steep descent I’ve had. It’s such an aesthetic line with perfect snow conditions.

For the tech nerds out there, my setup was Dynafit Huascaran skis 177cm, Dynafit Superlight bindings 185g DIN 10 (the best ski mountaineering binding ever . . . period), and Dynafit TLT5 Performance boots with the power straps and tongues removed of course ☺. Bring on the fat ski / ultra-light boot and binding combo revolution!!! The future.

the calm after the storm

Atwell is a stunning peak. Its pointy summit, which is mistakenly attributed as Diamond Head, can be seen from all over Squamish and Howe Sound.  It’s part of an ancient volcano, and because of this it stands isolated on its own. Its volcanic rock is horrible for climbing, but has created amazingly steep pitches for skiing.  The West face is it’s longest and most technical face, providing about 3000 feet of some of the Coast’s most committing lines. Although it is relatively close to Squamish and is easily viewable from Brohm Ridge, the heinous approach has repelled many parties. It was first climbed via the Siberian and Armenian in 1985 (during a -30 degree cold spell – hence the name Siberian), and skis touched these same routes in 94 and 92 respectively.  While possibly being climbed several more times, the West face was not skied again until ten years later when I soloed the Siberian in 2003. After this descent, I headed to the Himalaya for a year, and the Rockies after that. With the taste of bigger mountains, Atwell faded from my mind. It was another ten years until my interest peaked again, and I began to frequent the face.

Here are some memories of these lines. The descriptions are short and the various approach routes non-existent, in order to keep some of the adventure alive.

Siberian Express (May 2003)

One of the most infamous lines on the Coast, probably due in part because if its name. It is the most attempted line on the face and has repelled a handful of parties.  In 2003, I accessed the face for the first and only time via bushwhacking 7 hours up the valley from Cat Lake (just off Highway 99). I began at 7:30 pm after work, and reached snow at 2am after down-climbing jungled cliffs and ascending the sides of waterfalls well below treeline.  Punching through the 4 foot cornice on top, and feeling the sun on my face was an experience only trumped an hour later by dropping back off the cornice and landing my skis onto the 55 degree slope.  24 hours after starting, with very few rest breaks, I arrived back at my car. Might not have been repeated since.

Taken with my grandpa's old point and shoot. Looking into the abyss of the Siberian.

West face: Cheekye Glacier (April 2011)

This is the only line that can be seen from Squamish. During a circumnavigation of Garibaldi, I stumbled upon the idea of dropping in on the West face (the only line I did not climb beforehand). I was soon arcing turns in between the massive vertical walls of Dalton Dome and the 100 foot seracs of the Cheekye Glacier. It was a huge run with minimal steepness, but with significant exposure to rockfall, icefall and avalanches.

Top of the Georgian (yellow) and Squamptonian (orange).

Georgian (Feb 2012)

Skiing this was a total fluke. Terrain spotting from below is very difficult on Atwell, and I ended up climbing the wrong line.  About halfway up I realized I was on the wrong part of the face, but forged upwards.  I climbed steep terrain to gain the Georgian spine, one of the most striking skiable features on Atwell. From the top of the spine, I literally tunneled my way around this overhanging rime feature to get to the summit ridge. Transitioning from climb to ski mode was difficult on my two-foot ledge above vertical rime.  The top involves some of the steepest skiing around! To exit the bottom of the couloir, I inched my way down a 2 foot wide, 50 foot long ribbon of snow surrounded by 6o degree ice.

High on the Georgian spine.

Squamptonian (Feb 2012)

The line I originally intended to do. I headed there the day after the Georgian.  From across the valley the top pitch looked almost vertical. A beautiful couloir climb, with a crux of steep ice and rock halfway up. This was bypassed via a snow-covered ramp running diagonally through the rock band.  The line steepened considerably until it climaxed at the summit ridge.  The skiing was amazingly steep for the first hundred feet. The top of this pitch would be near vertical early season.  Even after exiting the couloir, there’s still a couple thousand feet of 40 degree skiing through seracs. I was lucky that there was no cornice at the top, since a five-foot cornice materialized just a week later.

Looking down the Squamptonian.

Canadian: Armenian variation (May 2012)

It’s a roll of the dice when it comes to deciding what the most epic line for me was.  But this variation of the Armenian probably takes the prize. The massiveness of the lower couloir with the huge upper face stacked on top is impressive.  You then climb a ridge with several thousand feet of cliff exposure on the Southwest face (can be seen from almost anywhere in Squamish), which leads to the South ridge. From there a moderate ski can be had off the South summit.  Skiing back on to the exposed Southwest face, and then dropping in on the 60 degree upper section of the West face is one of the most humbling experiences I’ve had on skis.

High on the Canadian.

Looking down the main face of the Canadian.