On 9 May 2001, Aaron Lefohn and I climbed and skied the Pfeiferhorn, which reigns over the Maybird and Hogum Fork drainages.
Spring skiing has arrived in the Wasatch. Determined to make the most of the brief window of corn skiing and seek the more outrageous lines we could think of, Aaron and I once again agreed to rendezvous in the early morning on a fine Wednesday. After a period of cold spring weather, the temperature was rebounding, softening the surface of the well-bonded snowpack. I picked Aaron up a little after 5am, and we were at the White Pine trailhead in Little Cottonwood Canyon just before 6. Me and Aaron at the parking lot, ready to go at 6:15.
Part I: The trail was mostly snow covered, and there were only a couple of blowdowns. The sky was cloudy over us, though sun shone in the valley. We got great views of the Tanners Gulch couloir, which looked not quite skiable all the way down. Also note the mammatus clouds hanging over the peaks. After a couple of hours on the trail in the woods, we arrived above Lower Red Pine Lake and got this view of the alpine terrain ahead of us. Both Aaron and I were pretty pleased at this point, as the snow seemed to be soft but not slushy, and the clouds kept the sun from baking things further. Soon enough, however, the sun did come out as the clouds parted. From Upper Red Pine Lake, we headed up the east-facing slope to the ridge that leads to the Pfeiferhorn's summit cone, skinning until it got too steep, then booting up with skis on shoulder.
From atop the ridge, we could see the summit cone and our proposed objective. From this view, I became far more apprehensive about skiing down off the summit, as the exposure to cliffs below and the steepness of the slope became more apparent. We decided to wait longer before making a decision, so we snapped a few pictures (Me and Aaron with the summit pitch in the background, and a nice scenic of White Baldy to our southeast) and headed across the ridgeline towards the Horn. We skied across the broader part of the ridge, but soon it became clear that we would need to switch from skis and poles to crampons and ice axes. Looking towards the ridge, you can see why (although in retrospect, it would have been faster and safer to circumvent the ridge by dropping off on the south side and climbing back up to the base of the summit ridge). In that picture, you can see our route, which follows the snowfield just to the climber's left of the central ridge. You can see where we continued our ski descent, off the north (right) side of the ridge just below the summit cone.
Part II: Once we got across the ridge, Aaron and I took deep breaths and headed up the summit snowfield, invigorated by summit fever but monitoring the snow conditions with every step. It was very soft down below, but the snowpack seemed very stable. On the upper sections, we sank in less far but the surface was still soft and seemed like it would ski well. The steepness and exposure remained a cause of concern to me, so I told Aaron that he could ski down first.
Part III: The mood on the summit was a little strange. While we both enjoyed the view and the chance to check out the entrance to the Northwest Couloir, our biggest concern was to get down safely, as quickly as possible. After summit photos (Aaron and Me) and a quick bite of food, we donned our skis once again and headed down. The sentiment as we departed the summit was similar to that when we skied the southeast face of Mt. Superior in late March. In the immortal words of Julie Burns, "this is not a good time to fuck up". Aaron was very cautious with his first several turns, but the conditions were very good for skiing, with soft corn on top of a solid but forgiving base. So confidence inspiring was the snow that we were able to link our turns more boldly on the steeper second pitch down to the rocks. Here are two action shots (1, 2) of Aaron, with Boxelder Peak and Utah Lake in the background. For those interested in numbers, I measured the slope angle at 43 degrees just below the steepest part.
We celebrated with whoops of joy and ecstasy to have the most serious part of the day behind us (besides the midafternoon drive back through Salt Lake, of course). From here on out, we anticipated a relative cakewalk. First, though, a retrospective shot of the summit cone. We traversed from the base of the summit cone to the apron beneath the ridge and after measuring the slope angle again (45 degrees), I let some telemark turns rip and howled in glee. To avoid a long slog across the flats at the bottom of the basin and a climb over the ridge back to the Red Pine drainage from Maybird, we traversed around the bottom of the bowl. As we traversed, I couldn't help lament over all the turns we missed on the beautiful corn below us. From the other side of the bowl, we burned our last picture on a shot of the summit cone and our ski line down the vertical-looking face just below the left-hand summit ridge.
Part IV: The ski out from there was at once fun, exhausting, and adrenaline-charged. We encountered brushy slopes, narrow skin tracks, and fallen trees, and as a highlight, flirted with the possibility of catastrophic snowbridge failure. Thoroughly wasted back at the car, we dealt with our needs in order, one by one, as we re-entered the reality of Salt Lake summer.
Cheers
Justin
