I think that with spring on our doorstep, when Ben floated the idea of attempting to ski Dragontail peak, I was all too excited for what I knew would be a sufferfest. Hell, it was mid April, volcano season in the cascades, but the weather in the forecast said otherwise. We could expect a 3" snowfall saturday night, with temps dropping to the single digits and a “blustery” wind bringing wind chills to the negatives.

The crew was Ben, myself, and his two friends Andreea and Yev. I’d never met either of them, but I knew people crazy enough to agree to this trip would be my kind of people. We met up at Ben’s place in the morning, where Ben cooked us breakfast, and we drove to Leaventworth and left the car at a casual 10am.

The previous week had gifted the area with a fresh coat of snow even at low elevations, so we all left the car from the winter gate along 8-mile road in ski boots carrying high expectations for blower powder at higher elevations. Within 100ft we switched to skinning and settled into the long road walk, pointing out peaks and couloirs, and eventually breaking real trail.

We were in high spirits when we made it to the real trailhead, and the snow was getting good. We weaved our way through the trees, in awe of how lucky we were to be out there. We would be reminded many times on this walk how alone we were, because the trail-breaking progressively increased in difficulty. This was especially true on the wooden bridges, where we carved our way through huge pillows stood piled in the way.

We took turns breaking trail, climbing our way up towards Colchuck lake. As we climbed, a storm rolled in and occasionally unleashed buckets of fat flakes on us. At the lake, we picked a spot in a small bay protected from the wind, set up our tents in a whiteout, cooked dinner, and were gifted with clearing, cold skies that revealed the surrounding peaks at dusk. Colchuck Balanced Rock loomed over our view, and its steep, craggy lower flanks reminded us that we were in a big, magical place.

The sky was clear when we woke up, exposing the quiet lake to the stars. We all made animal-like noises from our tents as we crammed our feet back into our frozen ski boot shells. Yev had taught me to use my boot liners as a pillow, which kept them warm and helped a lot with this process. What didn’t help; however, was my wet gloves, which had received a lot of the condensation from inside our tent. I sat melting snow, staring at nothing anticipating the big day ahead and that big cup of hot coffee.

We were all eager as we skinned across the lake. The sun was rising and we were in awe of the view of Dragontail peak from the middle of the lake. We had originally planned to go up Asgard Pass, but upon closer inspection in the clear light of day, we discussed that the exposed rocks and ice, along with the large cornices on top, added too much risk. We decided to head up Colchuck Glacier to Banshee Pass, where we would cross to the south side of the mountain and attempt to climb a couloir that would bring us past a feature called Pandora’s box and within reach of the summit.

A relatively mild wind was blowing across the lake, but it was cold. My hands were freezing, and I hadn’t been able to feel my fingertips since we left camp. Andreea gave me some hand warmers, one of which was frozen solid. I put the non-frozen one in my coldest glove and skinned quickly towards the glacier.

We started up, weaving long switchbacks through the lightly spaced trees. The snow was deep and stable. Breaking trail was slow. Eventually we made our way up to the glacier and fell into a groove, switching leads, with Yev the machine breaking trail for more than an hour at a consistent, rythmic pace.

As the morning dragged on, our pace slowed as we approached the top of the pass. The snow was piled deep here, wind loaded from west winds. We took shelter behind a huge rock atop the pass before hopping over the wind whipped ridge to the south side. Here, we entered a different world. The snow beneath our feet felt different, and we soon discovered large and reactive wind slabs when attempting to traverse down to enter the couloir. Almost simultaneously, we all agreed to turn around and ski the glacier to the lake.

We skied the north-facing, shady glacier in style, ripping long, winding powder turns. The snow actually got better as we got lower. Our last few turns on the lower treed slopes were in the sun and felt glorious.

When we arrived at the lake, we saw three fellow skiers approaching with plans of their own to ski the glacier. They headed up as we left to pack up camp, and when we were done we planted ourselves on the lake in view of the sunny glacier. Our new friends were transitioned and beginning to drop into the treed section. We got on their radio channel and heckled them as we looked through binoculars at their attempt to ski the sloppy, newly sun drenched hot pow.

We left the lake and skied our way down through heavy but still deep snow, following our skin track from the way in, which had been destroyed by two ice climbers “having the worst day of their lives”, who booted most of the way to the lake before turning around. We continuted, now hot and tired, eventually transitioning to downhill skinning, then skiing again down the remainder of the road, sidestepping patches of gravel and dirt.

We felt like we got away with murder, squeaking out what might have been the last of winter’s fresh powder before spring turned it to slop. It was a great adventure, and a gift to spend so much time at a place usually so packed with people in the summer. I will definitely be back to this area to ski more in the summer. But for now, my sights are set on spring.