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I skied down the
couloir a little ways first, then set up to take some
video of Chris. As usual, Chris arced down the
mountain and didn't stop. I hop turned the rest
of the way down to the apron and then settled into
some nice rhythmic turns down the snow-covered
glacier. The snow quality improved dramatically
once I exited the couloir, and I was really enjoying
myself. Until I ate shit. After several excellent turns through the windbuff, my right ski dove under a submerged crust
layer and I was instantly catapulted head over heels.
I felt my right ski release (thank god for releaseable
Dynafits!) and my shovel handle come flying out of my
pack (oops!) and launching down the glacier. My
pack served as an effective weight to cram my face
into the crust. I won't shit you -- this was
probably my scariest backcountry beater ever. After
concluding that I wasn't injured, I began the quest to
find my right ski. I looked around me and didn't
see it, so I concluded that it was buried under the
crust layer. I dug and dug and dug but couldn't
find it. The sun was now well behind the crest
and it was getting colder and darker by the second.
I saw Dan ripping
down the East Couloir and started frantically shouting
for him and waving my arms. I could use some
help in digging up my ski (Chris, Blaine and Matt were
way down the glacier unaware of my predicament).
Dan rode up to me and chuckled at the huge crater I
had dug looking for my ski. He cast his eyes
down the glacier and spied something way down there
sticking out of the snow. "Hey, is that your ski
down there?" "FUCK!" Sure enough, my ski
had gone on a little excursion down the mountain,
miraculously impaling itself in the snow near the toe
of the glacier. I mono-skied down to it (no
small feat in my condition) and clicked back in.
What a complete rookie move. I wonder how long I
would have continued digging there before giving up
and skiing back down to camp on one ski. Thanks
Dan!
Reunited with my ski,
I followed Dan down towards the others, who were
impatiently waiting and getting cold while I was
burrowing around. The snow got manky a little
further down, which was no trouble for Chris and Dan
on their splitboards, but the rest of us were having a
time. Matt and I managed OK, but Blaine was on
tele gear and -- as the only guy on tele gear usually
does -- was eating shit left and right. On one
particular beater, Blaine let out a scream of pain.
This is a guy who doesn't injure easily, so I knew
this could be serious. He was twisted in a
wreck, foot still firmly locked in boot, which in turn
was firmly locked in non-releasable hammerhead tele
binding. His ankle looked like it wasn't
enjoying itself on this fine day below the Matterhorn,
but Blaine shrugged it off like the psycho that he is
and we all skied back to camp.
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