After clambering and hiking for an hour up onto the shoulder of Cody Peak, I watched Mrs Roo drop in, labouring through the deep, heavy snow of No Shadows. “Bad Roo?” I hear and look down the arête to see a vast moustache with some skiwear attached to it. It’s Arty. Behind him is lph, scoping a steep line. No matter where you were at the Jackson summit, you were never alone.
Things started off badly. As Karl Stall gave us a lift from the airport to Teton Village, Mrs Roo received a text message to call home urgently. With no mobile coverage and the time difference to the UK it wasn’t until the next morning that she had the opportunity to call back only to find that some very close friends had been involved in an accident in South Africa. Mike had been killed instantly and Moira was hospitalised with a basilar skull fracture, severe facial injuries and her radius bone sticking out of her arm. Watching your wife just dissolve into tears on the telephone is an experience I don’t want to repeat. Feeling pretty low, we skied the teeth chatteringly hard groomers without a great deal of relish.
The arrival of both some much needed snow and Gincognito, Mit and Lia did much to lift our spirits. Skirting the rope below Central Chute and ducking into Cheyenne Bowl yielded fresh tracks for lap after lap, and it was fun getting sloughed by the poorly bonded new snow on the short slope by the dead tree. We also managed to score some of the first tracks into Tensleep Bowl, carving delicate arcs through the tram sized boulders in the Rock Garden. Corbets was closed all week although we did witness one or two poachers and a patroller make their way down. The drop in from skier’s right was maybe ten or fifteen feet last time I was in Jackson, although now it looked twenty plus and beneath the dusting of new snow lay some seriously case-hardened ironwork. One for the tourists to brag about from the Emergency Room.
The new snow lasted pretty well although it provoked a feeding frenzy on Cody Peak as an ant-like swarm of skiers ascended the ridge and macerated the chutes, Powder 8s and the lower faces of No Name and Four Pines. Karl Stall graciously offered to take us out there but I felt a little conscious that my desk jockey ass would severely slow him down on the way up (and on the way down) so I just listened to his routefinding advice and took a lap with Mrs Roo.
Perhaps the part I should have listened to was Truth’s recollection about how technical the ascent up a loose shale face was. Or possibly that he had hurled twice on the bootpack up. Admittedly this had more to do with the shambolic state he’d been in the previous night, but I had visions of some sort of march of death. Putting a positive spin on to Mrs Roo, we strapped our skis to our packs and set off, clambering through the rocky outcroppings. I could tell after a short while that I was not popular with my spouse but there was no turning back. We made it up to the top and were treated to some magnificent views, the privilege of watching some supremely skilled skiers and boarders, a chance meeting with the Kirkwood boys and a slope that would have been in primo condition had we hit it 48 hours previously.
After splitting with lph and Arty on the way down, we managed to negotiate a rather gnarly traverse between two cliffs that ended in a hop over rocks onto a steepish slope. Mrs Roo managed to get her skis see-sawing on the pivot point and at one point I heard her shriek as she thought she was going backwards over the cliff. More stink eye for Roo. After this, the slope was pretty benign and she got her smile back by the bottom. She’s subsequently admitted that she wants to go back up there, so it can’t have been that bad.
Still, you don’t need to go out of bounds at Jackson to have a truckload of fun. Skiing thigh-deep snow in Tower Three Chute never gets old, nor does skiing with a gang of demented Canadians on the boulder spine that runs the length of Saratoga Bowl. If you enjoy hucking, this could well be the most fun, sustained run I know. Every fifty feet there’s a sizeable rock you can traverse up onto and then hurl yourself off. Double stagers, technical landings between trees and fat acid drops were the order of the day. Mit was a star here, flying off one rock , screeching over into the next drainage on his teles and performing some sort of inverted railslide on a fallen tree. It sounded gnar. Gincognito performed the move of the week, leaping off a pillowy boulder, misjudging his landing and impacting right on an icy ramp that covered another rock. He landed and was then instantaneously catapulted into the air again, as if he was made of rubber. Desperately trying to get his legs back underneath him, this usually sickeningly tidy skier looked more like a rodeo bull rider for all of five seconds. Except without the homo-erotic leather accessorizing.
It was great to hook up with some old faces. Ubersheist was willing to bomb everything with the same GS turn, regardless of angle. Kellie’s skiing made us all ‘happy in the pants’ until she wiped on a groomer and tweaked her MCL. Fix up soon, gal. It was also fun to ski with some new maggots. Shmerham was always on it as was weibo and VTskibum. It won’t be long before MiniMagette bruises quite a few of our egos either.
In the meantime, it was still good for her to observe the hierarchy, being plastered in snow by weibo at Targhee as she fell off the side of a groomer. Targhee rocks. If you have the means, I highly recommend it. The hike-to stuff at Mary’s is gobsmackingly beautiful. Line of the day there on Friday went to shmerham with a neat line from the top through the rock bands. Getting face shots three days after a storm was most unexpected but welcome nonetheless. I only used one lift all day and can’t wait to get back there.
It was cool to meet so many new faces. We established that Sherpastyle would kick my ass at wrestling and that the campiness of Frozenwater’s dancing is a clear indicator of intoxication. Kellie generously invited us back to her truck for an airing of her beef box (free) and the Mardi Gras celebration wouldn’t have been the same without the utterly unintelligible but otherwise very charming Mr Stinky. Spanky demonstrated the benefits of a nineteen foot arm span during the Powder To The People schwag grab while Gincognito baffled us all as to how a person who subsists on Gatorade, cookies and milk doesn’t have an ass the size of a bison. Loved the talk from Theo Meiners, especially when he instantly ditched the ‘infallible guide’ visage and let us in on the more human aspects of big mountain guiding. Damn good nachos supplied too.
Cool to finally meet folk like Foggy, McWop, Bob Mc, Schuss, Mildbill, Basom, Tom, Comish, Cornholio, Woodsy, Karl Stall, DougW, generous host Froz and countless others. Also cool to hear how EPSkis escaped serious injury after his ‘King Of The Rocket Men’ assault on the Rock Gardens. Get well wishes go out to Kellie and Plakespear. Mit and Lia have a ton of dirt on Gin and as such were very entertaining company. I’d like to round off by dedicating this TR to Mike Cooper. He did more in his 23 years than most of us manage in 40 and will be dearly missed by many. A ripping snowboarder, keen climber and huge hearted guy, Mike would have made a great maggot. RIP, Coops.
(pics coming next…)
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