It is not often that you are given a large chunk of time to do whatever you want, within economical reason.  Loving climbing, I generally gravitate toward a climbing oriented trip.  So when a couple of my friends mentioned a surf trip to the East Cape of Baja, they caught my attention, but they didn’t sell me on the idea.   I am not a surfer, not really even a water person, and really don’t care for the sensation of drowning.  Why would I want to sit on the beach for two weeks, with an occasional venture into the ocean to try surfing, when I could be climbing in Bishop or Red Rocks?   After a lengthy inventory of reasons why it was not a good idea; I decided to go for it and try something new.  After all, we would still have time to climb and bike in the Southwest after we returned and a little relaxing never killed anyone.

Staring down on the desert from the plane window, I started to doubt my decision. The never-ending dryness and lack of color was startling.   I reminded myself that people LOVE Southern Baja and everything was going to be great.   We landed, packed our rental car with four adults, groceries, gear and boards, gobbled up a few fish tacos and started down the washboard road towards Nine Palms.

First thing in the morning we headed down to one of surf spots.  We had the beach to ourselves; it was a beautiful bluebird day, the ocean was a gleaming turquoise, and the waves looked semi-friendly.  I was starting to understand why people loved being down there.

The only thing left to do was ‘surf’.  We had a range of experience in our group; from completely novice to nearly expert.  The more experienced plunged into the ocean and paddled out as if the waves welcomed them.  They made it look so easy. From my very limited experience I knew it wasn’t easy, but thought maybe things had changed.  I paddled with all my might and managed to make out past the break with only a few tosses.  The next step was to try and catch one of the waves.  Again, I was paddling with all my might, but this time towards the shore.  I missed the wave; however the next wave did not miss me.  It came crashing down on my head and sent me into what we came to term the ‘mixer.’  The mixer can basically be described as a human washing machine; first the brunt force of the ocean flips you, shoves you under, tosses you round and round, until you don’t know which way is up or down.  You are released for a brief moment, allowed to surface for a gulp of air, grab your board just in time for another monster wave to smack you down and send you back under.   Needless to say, it dampens your spirit and courage.

I did not manage to stand up on my board and ride a wave that first day, but that wasn’t for a lack of trying.  Despite the time I logged in the mixer; I wanted to keep trying.

Day after day, we would throw ourselves at the ocean and hope for success.  I came to discover that learning curve was quite steep.  My confidence level looked like a sine wave, rising high, only to sink to the bottom, with each toss in the mixer.  But progress was made, and eventually I did catch a wave just right and stood up on both legs, without falling off.  I even got to enjoy a few rides to shore and what a great feeling.  This did not come without a lot of punishment, and fear – lots of it.  It also came with plenty of Tecates, avocados, Baja Fogs, pink sunsets, lazy afternoons, walks on the beach, and campfires.  And ‘sitting’ on the beach turned out to be quite enjoyable.

The East Cape of Baja turned out to be a pretty wonderful place.  Just palms, sand, ocean, surfers, some very tame donkeys and good friends.  I didn’t leave Nine Palms a ‘surfer, I will always be a climber.  But, I would go back for more.

Environmental engineer Mariah McPherson is one of Cloudveil’s Inspired Mountain Ambassador.

We arrived in Seattle on Friday, got some last minute food and fuel at Feathered Friends (props!), and headed to the hill. I had never seen Mount Rainier and as its hulking mass loomed in the distance some 80 miles off, I must admit that I had a bit of cottonmouth. In the White River parking lot we slimmed our packs down even more, chased off the Dorito-fattened chipmunks, and got on our way.

We hiked our bivy gear in to St. Elmo Pass and set up camp at around 7,400 feet. We enjoyed a nice dinner, some amazing alpenglow on the Curtis Ridge, Seattle, and Pugeot Sound, and got to bed for an alpine start. We rose at 2:30 a.m., shoveled some oatmeal and candy bars down the hatch, and were on the move by 3 a.m. We spent three hours slogging across the Winthrop Glacier, ascended the Curtis Ridge, and finally obtained the toe of the route via the Carbon Glacier.

By 6 a.m. we were on the ridge-proper and headed towards Thumb Rock. The temperatures were a little warmer than ideal, but we deemed the conditions doable. Getting to Thumb Rock was a bit hairy, with enough rock fall for a medium soil factor. Thumb Rock, at 10,800 feet, provides beautiful views of the Willis and Liberty Walls, both of which shed an amazing amount or rock and snow throughout the day. These rock/ice falls were by far the largest movements of earth I had ever seen.

After a quick rest at the Thumb, we were on the move again towards the Black Pyramid. At 12,400 feet the Black Pyramid is an impressive formation of loose, chaotic volcanic choss. Herein lay the steepest climbing of the route and highly aerated ice, which was annoying to deal with but provided adequate screw protection. This section, leading to the Liberty Cap Glacier at 13,000 feet, was an absolute joy to climb.

After obtaining the Liberty Cap Glacier the route angle mellowed significantly. Plodding upwards for a few thousand feet, we navigated the upper bergschrund and reached the top of the Libety Cap around 4pm. We descended the Emmons Glacier and got back to our St. Elmo camp around 830pm. All told, approximately 19 miles and 7,400 feet of vertical gain and loss. An amazing experience with a great friend, the Liberty Ridge will always be one of the finer experiences of my life.

I climbed the entirety of the Liberty Ridge in Cloudveil’s Switchback Jacket, made of Schoeller softshell fabric. An amazing piece that covers every possible aerobic endeavor, the Switchback is the jacket of choice for mountaineering, backcountry skiing, or rock climbing. Immensely breathable, it also yields adequate protection against the elements before you need to throw the Koven Plus over top of it. I recommend everyone try it, it’s pretty sweet and allows you to move light and fast.

I am the hardgoods buyer for Alpenglow Sports in Tahoe City, California where we advocate playing as hard as we work. I enjoy deep powder, long trail runs, and my malamute Poppy.

Las Lenas went off this year.

I never know what the season will have in store when I buy my plane ticket and head to Argentina. The wind can blow upwards of 100 miles per hour for months. Access to the upper mountain is solely dependent on one chairlift, the Marte.

The Marte is an old, fickle lift that can ruin your trip or make it unforgettable (or both). This year the Marte chairlift ran almost everyday and the snow continued fall all season long. It was one of the best seasons I have ever had in Las Lenas. Afterall, who doesn’t like powder skiing everyday?

For more on the trip, please visit my blog JessMcMillan.com.

February. Usually a month of epic powder in the Alps, but it can just as easily go the other way, which it did. Fortunately, I had an assignment and a plane ticket from Geneva to Sapporo. The north island of Japan, Hokkaido, is known as a powder skiing Mecca. Featured in dozens of ski porn films, the Japan segments are always the deepest and often the most exotic. Sushi, hot springs, and neck-deep pow. What else can go right?

My travel partner, girlfriend, and Rossi tele-teamer Susanna Magruder and I loaded our well-worn fleet of Da Kine wheelie bags – seriously, where would we be without them? – making the train, plane, and automo-bus hop to Tokyo, then Sapporo. Landing in Hokkaido’s capital city was like transporting yourself to a city the size of Boston with a meter of snow on the ground. Except in Sapporo, they know how to deal with it. And do all winter long. The entire city has a sub-street labyrinth of walkways, almost like an underground mall that people use during the winter, explaining how the countless women in miniskirts and spiked-heel boots could negotiate the city.

After a night at the Sapporo Snow festival, a few Izakaya bars, and a guided tour of the Nijo fishmarket, we headed to the mountains.

Our first stop was Furano, where off-piste skiing is strictly prohibited. Oddly, it hadn’t snowed in a week, and the only powder we were going to find was in the forbidden zone. The immediate dilemma of wanting to respect the hospitality of the resort (having vip ski passes, hotels, etc.) and needing to get into that legendary Japanese powder had only one answer: Swift, Silent, Deep. Susanna had the perfect Hokkaido poaching camouflage outfit, while my tarmac RPK suit did the job just fine. We managed to get away with 2 days of sneaky off-piste skiing and decided to keep moving to where the snow was about to hit.

“Asahidake. That’s the best place in Japan,” Candide Thovex told me last year. He was dead-on. A volcano in the middle of Daisetsuzan National Park with a 100-man tram, no patrol, and no piste. Now we’re talking. We were shacked up in the opulent onsen (natural hot spring) La Vista resort; kind of like The Shining hotel, but really nice. Day one was just clear enough to see the top of the cone, and the steam vents that billowed sulfurous gas before the onslaught began. A meter of Hokkaido cold smoke the next day, and another meter the next. By the end of day two, there were only four of us on the tram, including the driver, who played Marley and Little Feat on the stereo.

We’ve all had runs that were over-the-head, for 5, 10 turns. I mean truly Over. The. Head. But we were literally struggling to breathe for hundreds of meters at a time. Shroder Baker, a legendary powder skier in his own right, introduced me to the term “forking”, where the snow forks around your head. At times, I wished that forking was even an option. You’re never going to hear me use the term “too deep”, but no shit, I would watch Susanna drop the knee and submarine, actually disappearing altogether.

Back at the hotel, we would change into the provided kung-fu pajamas, hit the hot springs for an hour, and melt into the 10-course dinner. “What the hell is that?” asked Susanna. “Chicken Sashimi?” Yep, we tried it and didn’t get sick, and it definitely wouldn’t be the strangest thing we ate.

As the storm raged on, we poked around and explored the tiny village, discovering the Nutappu lodge. Run by Nappa Haruna, this place is the funkiest guesthouse we came across. Nappa was featured in a 1980 National Geo article, described as a “ski kichigae” or ski maniac. Our kind of host. Musical instruments are scattered all over the lodge for impromptu jam sessions, and Nappa makes the best bowl of mountain garlic ramen you’ll ever eat. Endless cups of tea and great conversation mad it hard to leave. But when high winds eventually closed the deserted tram, we packed up and headed toward Niseko, the fabled Mecca of Japanese powder.

The three resorts that make up Niseko United are Annapuri, Higashiyama, and Hirafu. Proximity to Australia and new ownership/management from down under means that the pistes and the village are literally overrun with Aussies. Who generally, are low-intermediate snowboarders. And realtors and tour operators. So they are bringing loads more in, and we arrived at the end of the Aussie national holiday. English was spoken almost everywhere, which is cool but not really why you come to Japan. In Niseko, you had to look hard to find an authentic place to eat dinner with the locs.

But you didn’t have to look far to find fields of joy, powderfields just beyond the ropes and diamonds everywhere inside and between the trees. Niseko boasts the most progressive open-boundary policy in Japan, and the only snow control program. And when they’re done with “Abba Lunch control” (see photo), get ready for some serious forking. Night skiing until 9:30 every night ensures that the super-keen can get 13 hours of pow a day. Think about that on days when it snows a meter at a time, stacked on a meter the day before and the day after. And stadium-wattage lighting makes the ethereal tree skiing a nighttime option.

For a week, we worked back and forth across the three resorts, always managing to be in the right place when a gate opened. I made friends with the Avie forecast-guru Shinya, who would high-five me on my way out the gate. It’s hard to come up with words to describe the powder without sounding cliché. It’s deep. And light. And devoid of the stress that comes on a big day in North America, or the Alps. It is pure magic. The locals loved my Rossi Steeze’s, probably reminded them of some weird Japanimation cartoon…I knew they would fit in somewhere. Smaller resorts just down the road like Moiwa and Rusutsu beckoned, and delivered the same incredible low-key powder experience. It isn’t the steepest skiing you’ll ever have, but it is the highest-quality powder tree skiing in the world. And it sure didn’t get old.

Our last night in Niseko, we stumbled on a restaurant that had the real local flavor, and in the bar, a photog was giving a slide show of the winter to date. I’ve been lucky enough to work with the best in the business over the years, and I always love to see these impromptu slide shows that showcase their oeuvre. We were the only westerners in the place that night, and the stoke was in full force, and they welcomed us into their powder tribe.

Back to Sapporo on the train and it all felt like a dream. We both knew it had been the best ski trip of our lives, and wondered if we just got lucky or if it’s always like that. One thing’s for sure; I’ll be working on my Japanese this summer. But my favorite translation (courtesy of Nappa): ski in Japanese means love. That’s what Hokkaido is all about.

Early Saturday morning, Rob, photog & fellow canyon explorer Whit Richardson, Tor Anderson and I headed out from Moab, Utah to the Robbers Roost, near Green River, UT, to explore two beautiful canyons in the area- Mindbender and the Not Mindbender. Each canyon would take a day to explore and climb. Rob was on his 146th and 147th canyon adventure, respectively. There is an art to this sport, and multiple systems, mechanisms and approaches to style and safety. Rob has incredible, extensive knowledge in this arena, acquired from time spent in canyons all over the world- wet and dry, as well as from courses taken to receive his ACA certification.

These canyons can take you to literally some of the most remote corners, and we did not see a single soul for the entire weekend. The campsites were beautiful and pristine, and the canyons relatively untouched by humans.

After very different types of experiences in each canyon on Saturday and Sunday, the following are just a few of the considerations if you are undertaking a more adventurous canyon:
Rappeling, and hanging rappels
Knots- Munter, Bolen, Overhand, and Eights
Webbing, Static Line, Harnesses, Belay Devices
GPS AND/or excellent map & compass skills
Some basic climbing/scrambling skills- up to perhaps 5’4 or 5’5 with some comfort with exposure
Be prepared for some super jerry rigging- off rocks, packs, and deadmans etc- and to be able to pull the systems clean
Clothes that can withstanding shredding, and some good sneakers, Wetsuit

Like the sport of rock climbing, there are differing opinions on bolting, anchors etc. Be prepared to take care of yourself if none of the aforementioned options are available..And for more details, links, and guidebook info on routes near your area-check out some of the sites below:

The video site
www.CanyoningVideos.com

Canyoning photos site

The Yahoo canyons group

For some beautiful canyon stock photography:
www.whitrichardson.com

And for excellent General Utah Info: You have to pay to be in the “circle of friends” for the beta, and for General US info

The Treasure Mountain Hut, reached via a paved to dirt road outside of Silverton, Colo., is an exquisite spot from which to explore the mountains of Southwestern Colorado.

Starting from Eureka, the approach is a straight forward five-mile skin, most of which is a slightly uphill traverse until the last vertical gain up to the hut. The views are jaw-dropping, and the journey to the cabin is a beautiful 2.5+ hour excursion. At about 11,800 feet, the hut sleeps roughly 13 people and has most basic amenities to accommodate your party.

Owner Stan Prichard guided us in last Monday. Prichard is a long-time guide for Silverton Mountain and undertook this hut venture with fellow investors and friends Blair Clark and Max Wanatka. The fellas built the hut themselves (with help from many others) and have spent quite a bit of time exploring the vast region that surrounds their property. They own 10 acres, which serves as a jumping off point to thousands of more.

Prichard effortlessly guided our large group around his backyard, finding us powder off of beautiful ridges and through steep trees. His laughter and humor are contagious, with his love of the mountains spilling through every chuckle and quick witted comment. His only request of all of us is that we have a good time.

The hut has two levels, with a small climbing wall on the upper floor. The guys also built both a sauna and outhouse to accommodate other needs. With a cooking stove, general kitchen supplies, wood stove, sleeping bags, beds, med kit, and even slippers, we all had the simple task of carrying in only our food and beverages.

The hut is available for rental in both summer and winter.

Owners & Contact Info:
Blair Clark/Stan Prichard/Max Wanatka
Phone: 970-387-5471
P.O. Box 429 Silverton, CO 81433
info@treasuremountainhut.com

Cloudveil ambassador Kim Havell secretly likes to breakdance.

Lying in the hospital bed in Revelstoke, BC with broken elbow that looked like a Popeye arm, I clung to the slight chance that I could keep skiing in British Columbia, Canada for the remaining 27 days of my month-long trip.

But as it turns out, my hope was shattered along with my joint. The nurse told me that because of poor circulation to my hand, I had to be operated on as soon as possible.

In survival mode, I was not yet really depressed but in shock, hoping to awake from the terrible nightmare.

I had big plans for the winter and had been patiently waiting in Arizona until I could express my true self through telemark skiing. In mere seconds, that changed. I was injured and heading home, a few weeks into the season and three days into a trip of a lifetime.
Earlier that day …

The snow was ridiculously deep and I was psyched to be skiing in BC. I was a bit frustrated with the pace and organization of the first few days of the trip and just wanted to ski some lines – plain and simple.

After stomping a line with a 20-footer and a deep powder landing, I scoped out another one with a 30-footer at the bottom. I visualized that sweet line over and over again until I was ready to flash it.

I dropped in and immediately cut out to my safe zone as the top layer of snow slid over cliffs and into the valley floor. I was skiing immediately after the small avalanche passed me, picking my way through a few landmark trees, past the rocks and toward the final “goal post” air.

At that moment, I hesitated, debating whether to exit out my escape route or continue with the line, a split second discision and I was airborn, flying perfectly toward my deep landing.

CRACK.

SMASH!

“Oooowww!!!!” The landing was hard, not deep. Not soft.

My elbow hit a lurking rock and shattered. And that was it.

My BC trip was over and I was heading home for surgery and bed.
The emotional rollercoaster ride that started soon after the accident may have been blessing in disguise, another lesson in life, but it was very difficult to see the positive and often left me lost, confused and depressed.

What was I supposed to do now, I thought. Skiing is my way of life, it’s what I do, it’s my job. I had been waiting, training and dreaming all year for this trip, for these few months when powder pours from the sky, for another opportunity to push and express myself.

It’s a dangerous game we play and I know the consequences of what I chose to do.

When skiing and pushing my limits, I truly feel alive. I feel comfortable and at peace in this vast world.

Mountains, snow and skiing are my roots, this lifestyle is my culture. I would rather experience life to the fullest through skiing as a way of exploring the mountains and go down doing so than never really understand the essence of living and being.
So, onto the disguised blessing:

This accident has given me a deeper look into the risks involved with what I do. As I am resurging from my time out, from healing, I am more motivated, inspired and stoked than ever to get back in the mountains and charge.

Despite my downs, I am thankful for the path my life leads including every injury and every success. This accident and surgery has been nothing short of a “rite of passage:” a ritual or ceremony signifying an event in a person’s life indicative of a transition form one stage to another.

As in rituals of old, there’s a parallel to my surgical event in that it plucked me out of my daily routine, my normal ritual of skiing everyday and took me to a foreign place where I had little control.

When humans experience such states of being, we then have the choice to resist the current or to surrender our fate to a higher power.

My everyday ritual of buckling up my boots, putting on my helmet and focusing all my energy into skiing was instantaneously transformed into a surgical ritual, a rite of passage.

As a Zen teaching says, “In this life, pain is inevitable- suffering is optional.” And now I’m back and stronger for my pain.

Cloudveil ambassador Nick Devore is a badass tele skier.

Not too many words for this one on Hueco Tanks.

We went, we climbed, we had fun.

Photo courtesy of Andy Mann. The photo is me sticking the crux move of Barefoot on Sacred Ground, a V12 in Hueco.

Chuck Fryberger is a Cloudveil Ambassador and frequent contributor to The Mountain Culture.

I’ve always been curious to know if new bouldering areas could be found by using Google Earth alone, and as it turns out, the answer is… sometimes.

I recently had the opportunity to travel to the Sultanate of Oman in search of some of the largest free-standing boulders I’ve ever seen.

My research on Google Earth showed that there were some real monsters there, up to 300 feet across. Most of the boulders appeared to be concentrated in an area of the country near the Selma Plateau, a massive limestone uplift located about 120 miles south-east of the capital city Muscat. I knew that where there are boulders of that size, there would surely be a selection of smaller boulders that would be perfect for climbing. With the help of Cloudveil and Momentum Video Magazine, I bought my ticket and got ready to do the age-old task of putting my money where my mouth was.

The first job was just getting all my stuff over there. I couldn’t afford to pay extra luggage, so I had to figure out a way to get all three of my crash pads, a full camera kit with tripod, camping gear and clothing to Oman without breaking any of the airline’s rules. I had to remove the foam from all the pads, and I couldn’t take the thick foam for my larger pad, instead opting to buy new foam when I arrived.

The flights to Oman were uneventful. I opted to take a day in London between flights to see the town, drink beer and see a play in the theatre district.

On arriving in Oman, my first job was to get my Jeep and try to find some foam, which took about two hours at the local market. I cut the foam down to size and stuffed my large pad. From here, I was free to explore the countryside with my print-outs from Google Earth. … I think I’ll let the video tell the rest of the story… Enjoy!

Chuck Fryberger is a Cloudveil ambassador from Colorado.