The long history of the long ridge
Alison Osius -
Fri 03/24/2006 12:00AM
Lou Dawson and John Isaacs wanted to ski Highland Bowl, the amphitheatre above the Aspen Highlands ski resort, and from its highest point. Skiing the Bowl had long been a concept -- anyone who sat at the Sundeck Restaurant on nearby Aspen Mountain could see it, within its embracing ridge -- and it had even opened to guided hiking/skiing tours a month earlier. It was February 1982.
The two did not want to ski by arrangement, though; to them this was another personal backcountry adventure. Neither did they want to be arrested and fined, however. They skinned up the ridge early and quickly to poach the run.
Highly experienced backcountry skiers, they carried shovels and beacons, but, hurrying to elude patrol, did not dig a pit, or test-ski.
The Bowl is on the east side of a curved ridge that rises to a 12,382-foot summit, its flanks offering steep 1,500-foot shots, divine snow, and plenty of avalanche potential.
Today on any nice day -- or, more so, on a powder day -- dozens of skiers may snake up the ridge, their skis on their backs. I saw 60 on the summit on a warm day two weeks ago. But it took a long time to reach this point. The stories from over the years, and the sustained efforts, despite setbacks and even great tragedy, to open this high arena are a complex history unknown even to many of the most loyal regulars.
That day Dawson skied first, laying down dreamy tracks for 100 feet. He dropped into his intended gully, and then suddenly the tails of his skis sank into sugar snow. Just as he tried to escape sideways, the slope went. His feet moving away beneath him, he stabbed at the wall with his poles, but was pulled down.
Dawson had always imagined he could swim, or ball himself up, if caught by an avalanche. Instead, he was flung, in roaring darkness, limbs maytagging. Pressure built up and his femur exploded amid crosscurrents of snow. His other leg broke as well.
After 1,200 feet in 10 seconds, Dawson stopped at the flats below, mostly buried but with his head fortunately only covered by a few inches of snow, which he shook off. Hidden in shadow, he watched Isaacs search for him, but lacked even strength to shout out.
Isaacs found him, dug him out, and set off for help. Hurt and hypothermic, Dawson watched Isaacs pound back up to the ridge. As he crossed it, he was, astonishingly, met by ski patrollers on snowmobiles, with Mountain Rescue members.
An Aspen man, Bob Limacher, watching through a home telescope, had seen the whole sequence. He called 911, where, he says, the dispatcher at first accused him of making a false report. Then dispatch contacted Mountain Rescue, who phoned patrol.
"Any longer in the Bowl and I would have died on the flats," Dawson would later write on
www.wildsnow.com. He says today that the help "speeded up the rescue by two and a half or three hours." His body temperature was 94 degrees when he arrived in the emergency room.
Limacher says: "I was looking through the telescope at seven in the morning because I had (skied the Bowl) the day before, with the helicopter and ski patrol, and was looking for my tracks. It's a bizarre story. The odds of that were very slim." He saw Dawson drop into the gully, and make two turns: "Then I saw the crack, and he went flying down."
Over the years, various people had skied the Bowl, not necessarily legally. Two resort employees, Matt Wells and Jim Flanagan, survived a slide there in 1968. Locals including the brothers Theo and Mike Minor skied it numerous times, though not legally, in the 1970s. In 1979, however, the state of Colorado passed the Ski Safety Act, defining the responsibility of ski areas. Different ski companies interpreted it differently, and Highlands, then privately owned, felt the resort was responsible for its entire permit area, and obligated to crack down.
Dawson's experience sparked a personal reevaluation. He was newly 30, and had been starting to question the dangers in what he was doing, but was also at the height of his powers, having just completed a weeklong traverse of the Elk Mountains.
"I was at a junction when I was getting done with being the big risk taker, but I couldn't do it on my own, something had to break," he reflects. "I was so caught up in my own deal and so prideful, nothing was going to stop me. (But) I was going to get myself killed, or maybe others, charging along." Naturally something of a mystic, he segued into born-again Christianity. He also began to wish to share his experiences. He wrote his first guidebook during his recovery; four other books would follow, as well as "Wild Snow," a history of backcountry skiing. He backed off in terms of pushing it in deep snow, but over time became the only person to ski all 54 of Colorado's 14,000-foot peaks, for which he was inducted into the Colorado Ski Hall of Fame.
The year 1982, according to a longtime patroller, Jeffrey "O.J." Melahn, saw 19 hiking tours, in February and March. In 1983, the mountain conducted no Highland Bowl tours simply because weather and snowpack were unsuitable. In 1984 four helicopter tours took place.
In March of that year, a disaster occurred that still resonates. Three ski patrollers doing avalanche-control work in Highland Bowl threw explosives from near the top and then, seeing no signs of danger, they skied lower, and set off more charges. The second charge triggered an avalanche below them, but also brought a large one down from above. All three died.
One of the men, Tom Snyder, had been with the team that rescued Dawson. The other two were Craig Soddy and Chris Kessler, the latter from a longtime Aspen ski family -- his father, Sepp, was a fixture at the Sundeck Restaurant, and skied well into his 80s. Craig, a newlywed, and Kessler, had been patrolling for four or five years, Snyder for six.
Though a longtime local, I realized only a year ago that three of the mountain's classic difficult runs -- Snyder's Ridge, Kessler's, and Soddbuster -- are named for them. At the top of Snyder's, a memorial bears a line from a telegram from Liam Fitzgerald on behalf of the Snowbird Ski Patrol: "It is always sad when someone dies in an avalanche. It is sadder yet when someone dies making it safe for others." Pictures of the three grace the mountain restaurant.
The Bowl was then closed to the public for 13 years.
In 1988, however, some patrollers were allowed to gain familiarity with the terrain and prepare in case of rescues.
"A little bit later, we were allowed to start looking into the possibility of what it would take to open it safely," Melahn recalls.
In 1993, Melahn, then the area's Snow Safety Director, created an atlas of Highland Bowl, compiling measurements and other information. Town focus groups discussed the issue of opening it. Whip Jones, the owner of Aspen Highlands, had a master plan drawn up by Peter Lev and Beat VonAllmen of Alpentech, mountain-safety consultants.
"We guided them up there," says Melahn. "It was Beat's idea that there should be a race up the ridge and down into the Bowl, and it should be called the Inferno." Today that race is an annual, and it is a stunning sight to see the churning horde advance.
That year, Texas developer Gerald Hines bought Aspen Highlands, and the Aspen Ski Co. joined ownership in December.
For three seasons Melahn and his colleagues, Peter Carvelli and Kevin Heineken, studied the Bowl, and opened a section in 1997, employing pre-season boot-packing by patrol and locals to adhere the snow to the Bowl walls. Patrol increased the acreage annually, incrementally, and by 1999 allowed skiing from the highest point. In recent years, the gladed North Woods, on the far end, have been largely opened.
Patrol practices extensive monitoring and control work, including compacting, and uses lowered and thrown charges, and now grid-bombing (which means every 30-by-30 square in a certain area is tested), based on studies of the effects of explosives on snow.
The Bowl isn't always open. A standing question when you go to the area is whether it is open, or when it will be, and in which parts.
Melahn says the bottom line in decision-making is, "Would you let your kid ski there?"
The new Deep Temerity Lift, extending runs from the Bowl as well as from the difficult Temerity and Steeplechase regions, opened only this season, to delight and fanfare, but just as significant to many locals was that the mountain opened new terrain in the North Woods yet again. The patrol director, Mac Smith, has stated his goal as to open the woods fully.
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