(Check out the related photo gallery at the bottom of the page).

01/23/2023

Sunday night sadness was creeping in on me. After a weekend of skiing and touring in the Wasatch Mountains, I wasn't ready to go back to school. But there were twelve hours until I had to be in my 9 A.M philosophy class. I might as well make the best of it. 

I woke up at 5 A.M Monday and stepped out into the darkness on the campus of the University of Utah. A few minutes later, I was riding in my friend Luke’s truck with his roommate Keller and our friend Caedon.

We pulled into a small parking lot on the side of the road. As I got out of the car and looked at the looming silhouette of Mt. Superior, I noticed two small lights a third of the way up. To my surprise, two people were already on the mountain. 

We started up, following the skin track that was barely visible in the huge apron of glowing, moonlit snow. I moved more quickly than my friends and was gaining on the group ahead. I stopped below the mouth of the chute we planned on skiing – Suicide Chute – and took off my QST Echo skis and pack to wait for my friends to catch up. The headlamps above me occasionally swiveled in my direction. Clearly, they recognized that someone was coming up behind them. 

When my friends arrived, we strapped our skis to our packs to boot pack up the last thousand feet or so. As I took each step in my MTN boots, the walls of the chute, the cold air being sucked into my lungs, and the sun’s emerging morning light all faded from my mind. All there was the next step and the step after that.

Finally, I began to near the ridge crest where the rock walls of the chute formed two small sub-peaks that morphed into the greater mountain. I reached the top at the same time as the group in front of me. They opted not to attempt to reach the true ridge crest because the large overhanging cornice blocked any clear path. I punched my way through the last ten-foot section. Atop the crest, I could see down the other side of the mountain into the canyon and Salt Lake City. Caedon and Luke joined me at the top, and we enjoyed a moment of glory before transitioning to skiing. 

I stood at the edge of the chute to the side of the cornice and waved to Keller, who was filming us from afar. After a fist bump, I dropped into the line. The snow was light and blew into my face and chest as I arched between the walls of the chute. The snow was now illuminated in a soft golden light, providing mediocre visibility on the smooth slope.

My QST Echo’s strapped to my MTN boots felt like an extension of my body – familiar but much lighter than I was used to. A minute later, I was back at the mouth of the chute and reunited with my friends. 

After a 40-minute drive back to campus, I arrived at my dorm just after my class started. In desperate need of a warm shower and some food, I decided I could miss it.