Skiing the slide

(Editor's note: this Excursions column appeared in the Jackson Hole News&Guide in March)

By Amy Schenck

What: Skiing the Gros Ventre Slide

Where: Off the Gros Ventre Road past Kelly

When: Late winter and early spring when there is a deep snowpack

What to take: Food, water, warm clothes, avalanche gear and a spirit of adventure

Elevation gain: About 2,000 feet

My alarm sounded obnoxious at 5:15 a.m. Didn’t it know I deserved at least a couple more hours of sleep?

Nonetheless, by 6:30 a.m. on Thursday, Karen Colclough and I were driving toward the Gros Ventre slide on a mission for some R&R (recreational reconnaissance).

Telemark skis and two overly amped dogs filled the backseat of Karen’s car. Pink hues reflected off overcast skies and the few inches of freshies that fell during the night.

On a scrap piece of yellow lined paper, I had written down directions obtained from a friend of a friend.

As we got our first good views of the slide from the car, I pulled out those directions, and Karen and I poured over them, trying to figure out the best route up – and down – the well-known landmark.

The directions, and our own logic, told us to hug the west side of the slide, following “fingers” or small gullies, and avoiding fields of car-sized boulders.

We had been warned: while the boulders themselves can be problematic, the hollows around the boulders are a big danger too.

The feature we were scheming up ways to ski is a geologic freak.

Information found on www.ultimatewyoming.com and attributed to the Forrest Service gives the following facts on the Gros Ventre slide:

On June 23, 1925, a slope on the north side of Sheep Mountain unraveled, sending 50 million cubic yards of rock and debris hurling down toward the Gros Ventre River. The slide rolled 300 feet up the opposite side of the valley, blocked the river and formed what today is known as Lower Slide Lake.

In 1927, part of the dam created by the slide collapsed, flooding Kelly and killing six people, along with hundreds of domestic animals. That disaster caused Kelly to lose the county seat; it went to Jackson instead.

Karen and I parked the car at a lookout point on Gros Ventre Road. The directions on the crumpled up yellow paper bid us to turn onto Taylor Ranch Road and park in a scrapped out area just before the bridge across the Gros Ventre River. But a plow hadn’t yet uncovered Taylor Ranch Road, and we decided we’d rather skin for an extra 15 minutes, rather than risk getting stuck.

We set out, totally unsure of how the day would unfold.

After a season of following established skin trails on Teton Pass and in Grand Teton National Park, it felt downright invigorating to find our own route.

We picked our way up a narrow gully at the mouth of the slide. The few inches of new snow made the going easy: enough to give us good grip, but not so much as to bog as down.

Dogs Zippy and Oscar had it a bit more “ruff.” Their paws sank until they were literally up to their ears in sugary snow. They swam through it, totally unfazed.

After about a half mile, the gully began to level out and split into threads.

We cut west. Then up. Then west.

For a couple of hours we continued this way, snaking through dense forests, avoiding boulders, and generally drifting west.

The slide rose up before us, like an amphitheater reverberating with a symphony of rocks, boulders, cliffs and young trees.

We paused, often, to take it in.

The slide had always felt impressive from a distance. But to be there, standing in it, struck us with a sort of giddy awe.

Eventually, we gained a ridge that leads to the top of the slide.

We would have liked to have followed that flank to the 1925 starting zone, but we were pressed for time. We pulled off our skins 30 minutes shy of the very top.

Throughout the day Karen and I had observed that ominous “whomphing” sound synonymous with avalanche danger. So we had no intention of putting our nose into the slide’s steepest sections. Instead we chose a relatively safe line that flirted between tight trees and open glades.

Unexpected light springy powder made our descent nothing short of a delight. We leapfrogged each other, pure elation in our smiles.

Toward the bottom, we did a good bit of ski shwacking (short for bushwacking). More than once, during the schwacking, I audibly thanked my helmet.

Ski schwacking may not sound like a lot of fun, but for some odd reason it was.

Before we knew it, the slide spit us out back at the Gros Ventre River … two happy people and two panting dogs, unscathed from a day in the giant.

A bird's eye view

 

(Editor's note: I'm going to start posting the last several installments of my Excursions column, which appears every other week in the Jackson Hole News&Guide)

By Amy Schenck

What: tandem paragliding

Who: with Matt Combs of Jackson Hole Paragliding

Where: from the top of the gondola at Jackson Hole Mountain Resort

Cost: $225

As a ski instructor at Jackson Hole Mountain Resort, I’ve watched countless 6 year olds stare awe struck at paragliders circling overhead.

“Amy, look!” they shout, eyes glued to the ski and finger pointing overhead.

Truth be told, I feel my own wave of awe on each of these occasions. Something about a nylon wing skimming the horizon gives flight to the imagination in a way the cold, hard metal of an airplane never could.

Two weeks ago, more than just my imagination got to lift off the ground.

I was headed up the gondola for lunch when I got a call from Matt Combs, with Jackson Hole Paragliding.

The conditions are perfect, he said. Would I want to go on a tandem flight? Matt and I arranged to meet an hour later on top of the gondola.

Serendipitously, I happened to have everything I would need with me: a helmet, goggles, warm layers and even my camera. My skis stayed behind, a seemingly mundane mode of travel compared to what I was about to experience.

The pre-flight preparation went by in a flash. I signed away my life in several pages of paperwork. Matt unfurled the wing, clicked each of us into our harnesses and offered a few instructions for takeoff. Then, without hesitation, he gave the signal: “run.”

My ski boots dug into the snow, as I fought against the resistance of the wing inflating with chilled mountain air.

Within just a few moments I found myself kicking at the gap growing ever wider between the two of us and the slope below.

We soared out above the mountain. We veered right to get a bird’s eye view of Casper Bowl and the Craigs. Casper chairlift seemed to tickle my toes, appearing to be nothing more than a few stitches on a snowy white canvas.

Calm coursed through me. The quiet of the sky felt all the more palpable having launched from the spring break mayhem still carrying on below.

Matt and I talked about the type of lift paragliders use to gain altitude – thermal lift, convergence life and ridge lift.

A healthy dose of instability in the air made for strong thermal activity. We chased down the warm columns, catching them and then riding them upward by spinning in circles.

After playing with thermals for a while, we cruised out over Teton Village. Matt showed me how to slow down, speed up and turn the glider. He then let me take control of our overhead wing.

I piloted the glider in long looping circles, leaning hard in the direction I wanted to go while simultaneously tilting the wing.

Before taking off, Matt had asked me if I like roller coasters. I told him I did, but would surely get nauseous if we did too many acrobatics. So, we agreed to leave the “ride” for the end.

In the last two minutes before coming in for a landing, Matt sent us swinging, plunging, spinning and twirling. I let out a cry of part terror and part delight.

Just as I was beginning to wonder if my stomach could take it any longer, Matt swooped the glider down toward the resort’s cross-country ski track and we came in for a soft landing.

In the afternoon sun, I found myself absolutely grinning, from ear to ear.

Matt rolled up the wing with extraordinary efficiency – just one of the many signs that he’s been at this sport for several years.

We hopped back on the gondola. Matt was after another flight and I needed to retrieve my skis.

In addition to tandem flights, Jackson Hole Paragliding offers instruction. Classes begin May 1. The cost starts at $1,500 and goes up to $1,900 during peak season. The price includes a minimum of 25 flights using Jackson Hole Paragliding’s gear. During those flights students learn how to do high wind launches, low wind launches, 360 degree turns, figure eight turns and spot landings, among other skills. At the end, students earn their novice rating.

The novice rating can be earned in as little as two weeks, but most students take longer, because of work and weather conflicts, said Scott Harris, co-owner of Jackson Hole Paragliding.

Scott suggests interested students start with a tandem flight to figure out whether they’re interested in spending the time and money to pursue the sport.

The $225 price of a tandem goes toward the price of lessons.

Scott said that paragliding in Jackson is unsurpassed by anywhere else in the country because of the amount of vertical and number of launch sites in the area’s vicinity.

“If you learn to fly here you can fly anywhere,” Scott said. “It’s kind of like of skiing, if you can ski Jackson, you can ski anywhere in the world.”

March montage

Here's a snapshot of what I've been up to lately ... what a good life!