I was tired but felt strong. Each step I kicked into the hard snow was a mixture of exertion, balance and trying not to look up at the top of the hill. The skis on my shoulder were heavy and my fingers of my right hand were getting chilly as the held the poles on the windward side of the ridge.
But I felt strong! I was trekking along the ridge above Loveland at 13,000 feet, going much farther and hiking much higher than I had originally planned. While my breathing was labored in the thin air, I also felt powerful and in control. Being above timberline, in summer or winter, fills me up in a way little else can. The 360-degree views, drop-offs on both sides, a point to hike towards, and the rest of the world far below, unwilling to join my commune with nature.
After going through 'Gate 3 South', I looked for a place to descend, that wouldn't risk breaking my neck. The cornice overhanging the steep slope to the ski area was intimidatingly high and I worried it could break off under my skis if I got too close to the edge. The large "death cookie" chunks far below were evidence of previous avalanches and cornice break-offs.Those are all from Ski Patrol and avalanche control right?
Side-slipping along the ridge, I finally found a place that felt safe with several hundred feet of windblown powder, an empty canvas waiting for my skis to paint s-curves upon it. I start down, feeling clumsy and slightly off-balance, but manage to keep it upright. Puffing from the exertion I turn to look up the hill. With some pride I see that I've I managed to lay down a respectable track, snaking down the hill. Only I knew how close I'd come to falling.
