Dookey

After the previous day’s 7-hour jaunt, plus the threat of work looming on the very near horizon (i.e. the very next day), but with my snow jones not even close to having been satiated, it was time for a quick-n-dirty (that would be easy) ski day. Of course Moms Nature’s insistence on serving up an uncommonly hot--dare I say “sweltering”?--summer, our choices for snow are becoming vastly limited. Most of the regular mid-summer spots are completely burnt or, if they still do hold snow, aren’t really worth the effort in terms of a hike-to-turn ratio. Thankfully, there’s a bonafide glacier lurking underneath Dunderberg Peak; a nice, reliable chunk of snow and ice that is always, at the very least, somewhat skiable year round. With this in mind, a veritable “in-and-out” trip was planned for Jack’s Glacier. Given my time table--it really sucks when work gets in the way of skiing--we chose to forego skiing “Secret Samurai Snowfield”, which is the equally reliable sprawl of snow lurking above and behind Jack’s. My buddy Stev and I (he and his wife had been gracious enough to let me crash on their couch the night before so we could get a somewhat early start to our ski day) headed out on the road around 9:30 in the a.m. with The Clash’s London Calling as our soundtrack (said soundtrack would soon include Mike Zoot, Mos Def, Organized Konfusion, Cage, and other rappers, along with Echobelly, Mulu, Harvey Danger, Catatonia, The Verve, Sebadoh, and more--gotta love finding a stash of old pause-n-mix tapes underneath the front seat!). Our journey was only thwarted by unforeseen road work, but despite the delays we still made it to the top of Kavanaugh Ridge and were skiing well before noon. Jack’s Glacier itself was in interesting condition. The pyramid shaped slope had a beehive-shaped center that was a lighter shade of pale blue ice. Meanwhile, looker’s left had a narrow slit of snow, and looker’s right had a slighter wider slice of snow complete with a run-out that curved around the glacial pond. Speaking of the pond, this was the first time either Stev or I had seen it filled with floating mini-icebergs. Additionally, the bottom of Jack’s was in a state of precarious crumbling, with chunks just waiting to calve into the water below. Without much hullabaloo we decided that looker’s right would afford the best skiing and without any further dillydallying, Stev commenced the bootpack. I, on the other hand, was in lollygag mode and took my sweet, sweet time gathering my gear. It turned out for the best, though, as I stumbled upon an unopened can of Coors Heavy, which some recent skier (or snowboarder) had mistakenly left behind (who, in their right mind, leaves a beer behind like that? Serious and unacceptable party foul, my friends). Not one to look a gift brew in the mouth, I promptly buried it in the snow for an apres celebration. In terms of conditions, aside from the rather large ice center, the snow on Jack’s was the proverbial sweet summer corn that we’ve been enjoying all patch skiing season (that’s really the only benefit of the hot, sweltering summer we’ve been having: it’s made the snow really skiable and left the sun-cups melting in the aftermath). After my first run I decided to bootpack back up, then traverse across the top of the ice section and ski the opposite side of the glacier. Much narrower and shorter, it was also pitted with craters and uneven runnels; still it had begged to be skied, so I complied. For my third, and final, run of the day I returned to skier’s left (aka looker’s right) and milked 15 turns out of it. I even had to hop over a couple of mini crevasses/fissures that were beginning to show themselves on the lower shelf of the runout. Then it was time to enjoy that free beer. Interestingly enough, whilst basking in the cold smoothness of the Coors we witnessed the glacier calving. I’d just taken a pull from the can and was in the process of making the customary “ahhh” that you make after taking a pull from a cold can of beer, when a rather substantial portion of compressed snow broke off from the bottom and slipped noisily into the pond, causing a significant series of waves to ripple across the water and lap loudly against the opposing shore. While probably not as impressive as witnessing the calving featured in the documentary Chasing Ice, it was no less cool. Beer chugged and gear stowed, we hopped back into my trusty Taco Mama and headed down the hill. On the way out we ran into an old gent (complete with white Santa beard) who had ridden an ATV up near Alien Head Lake (the lake you pass on your way to Jack’s, btw) and had a solar panel system laid out on the ground in front of him. Turns out he was operating a ham radio and talking with folks in North Africa and Europe! He smiled and asked if we’d just been skiing. When we replied with the affirmative, his response was “Cool.” Heck, I thought it was cool that dude had 4x4’d all the way up there and was now engaging in what can arguably be considered the original Facebook. To celebrate the skiing and calving we decided to hit up Jolly Cone and Massage in Bridgeport (yes, they offer cones and rubdowns). For some reason this Tuesday was extra busy and the line at the JC was quite long, so we opted to head further north and snag a soft-serve at Walker Burger. Shortly thereafter, with scream in our bellies and smiles on our faces, we headed back on the road and were soon at Stev’s abode. All said and done our trip was completed by 3:30 p.m.. To quote my man Johnny T*: Boom! Done. *http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8REihYxB5Y0