Foothill Freak’s ski blog

I’m an easy to please kind of skier, but good god! It’s about time we got some snow in these parts. This weekend felt good to catch up.

Trying to get the camera out for .5 seconds of sun

So nice to ski without the presence of Weenie Wackers

Had to stop on the ski out to photograph the burning aspen

As the new year looms, it’s time to plan trips! Here’s a quick travel tip to help you start 2010 safely!

Figure 1. Consider booking your next airline seat somewhere other than over a known fracture point. Bon Voyage!

Book your seat in advance.

I go for the window seat so i can glue my eyeballs to the smeary/sticky window every time the plane goes over a mountain range. I also prefer to climb over people rather than have people climb over me, which also makes the window seat tops!

Additionally, consider the fore and aft position of your seat. Over the wing or in the tail are best in case your ride in the sky cracks open like an egg. (see figure 1) You wouldn’t want to be sitting on a potential fracture line!

dawg-gawn patrol in Millcreek. Helmut takes the lead. DaBoo passes the torch.

Helmut, being out of town, just learned about DaBoo’s passing. He’s posted a quality chain of memories and shots on his blog ChoppingTwigs. Now the torch of four legged back country badness has been passed on to itchy and scratchy.

Go, übes! Go!

The end of the season

Please check out Powder Porpoise’s photo gallery. I have made a new page on the new site here, or you can visit the original gallery here. PLEASE leave a comment or share a memory on foothillfreak.com or on our facebook pages, or better yet, just give us a ring.

There are also some nice picts of the über boo, as well as some other powder puppies, on the Foothill Freak Fido’s page. Do not miss the video below!

Our Ski Tour in Morocco took us to 3 different major drainages, each featuring
it’s own hut. Part 2 is about our first trek and our stay at the Lipiney
refuge, also known as the Tazaghart hut, next to the Tazaghart Plateau.

Our skis waiting for the donkey train.

This is the end of the road, but the beginning of our trip.

Princess trying to keep up with the donkeys, free of the souk salesmen at last.

A tale of two villages.

Photo by pp.

Photo by PP.

I love this shot. All the houses on the red dirt side of the canyon are red. All the houses on the grey dirt side of the canyon are grey. What color house do you want?

Pretty sure there’s snow up there somewhere…

In Salt Lake City, skiing usually starts directly outside your car door. The approach to the skiing in Morocco is a little bit longer. First there’s the 10hr flight to Paris. Then the 1 hour commute across Paris to change airports. Then the 3 hr flight to Morocco. Then a couple days to recover and drink orange juice in Marrakech. Then the drive to Imlil, the trek over the pass, the hike through the villages, the continuing up the canyon a few more hours and then “Voila!” your ready to start skiing.

This is where I really started wondering how we would get past a large cliff band that seemed to block our approach. Photo PP.

Princess below the waterfall that you really don’t want to fall off.

Princess above the waterfall that you really don’t want to fall off.

I’ve thankfully never been on Ciochetti’s Ribbon (a semi-famous, puckering traverse at Alta), but skinning up this thin ramp felt like a mini Ciochetti’s to me..

The Lipiney portion of the trip was a very introspective time for me. I felt about as far from home and the modern world as I’ve ever been. At first, the hut seemed to to be perched in an almost impenetrable drainage, isolated. The picture above captures this mood.

Lipiney hut. Wearing crampons to go to the bathroom is highly recommended.

The next morning we tried to keep bruno in our sights as we went up to the Tazaghart Plateau.

We ascended this amazing, twisting and turning couloir.

John, Caroline, and Scott nearing the end of the winding couloir.

This is on the highpoint of the Tazaghart Plateau, where we found a short couloir down to the main drainage.

Bruno set up a hand line to help with getting over a rocky crux.

This is everyone happily regrouping below the couloir. Photo PP.

The night after skiing the Plateau was incredibly windy. I don’t think anyone slept from 2 a.m. to 8 a.m. as we layed in our bags, listening to the tempest and even feeling the floors of the stone shelter shake under the strongest gusts. Trying to make it to the outhouse in the middle of the night was probably my most epic adventure ever. In the morning it was obvious that we couldn’t do our intended route up and over to Toubkal. After a Sat phone call that informed us of a bad weather forecast, we retreat to Imlil throught the howling, angry grey.

Thankfully, the winds died down by the time we reached the waterfall traverse.

Hiking down to Imlil was incredibly beautiful and dramatic as the sun went in and out of the clouds.

One of the many beautiful doors we walked by in Imlil. In one of the villages there was a door wrapped in steel that had a very modern pattern printed on it. Upon closer inspection, I discovered that the pattern said “sardines”. The steel sheet originally intended to become a hundred cans of sardines looked far more beautiful as someones front door.

Our boots resting on the steps of Amhed’s Gite. His comfortable headquarters (and a steaming kefta tagine) were a welcome change from the stark, cold and wet Lipiney shelter.

On the next phase of our tour, we head off to the Toubkal shelter.

Powder Princess and Foothill Freak wearing the traditional Moroccan Jellaba cloak on the streets of Marraketch.

Here it is, the Morocco Report.

Part 1 is about our stay in Marraketch, four days of intense shopping, cooking classes, eating, and looking for the perfect postcard before the ski tour.

The ancient Medina of Marraketch is an amazing place: vibrant, dirty, in-your-face, and it serves up the best fresh squeezed orange juice on the face of the planet. We stayed in a traditional riad, a 3 story structure built around a beautiful, open air courtyard, minutes away from the frenzied plaza where snake charmers have hypnotized cobras and snakes since the dawn of, well, snake charming.

After we first left the airport, our taxi driver mentioned that the road is too narrow to drive us all the way to the hotel and that we

This is the front door of our Hotel. If we didn't have a local kid show us the door, we'd never found it.

This is the atrium of Hotel Sherazad. Amazing, amazing place. Go there. (cost us around $30 a night).Photo PP.

If you go to Morocco, you simply must stay in Marraketch at the Hotel Sherazade. Here is their website: hotelsherazade.com. The peace and tranquility there was a very welcome respite from the crazy streets outside. But eventually the insanity draws you back out…

Walking the streets you have to be careful to not get run over by a veiled woman driving a moped while talking on her cell phone. Photo PP.

Or a horse drawn carriage, a bicycle with 3 kids on it, a donkey pulling a wagon, a sleek Mercedes Benz suv that somehow squeezed through; you never knew what might run you over next.

In the Souks you could find more hats than in the Powder Princess's closet. Photo PP.

We didn't have a problem locating nuts. Photo by PP.

On the other hand, it was very hard to find beer or wine, especially in the old Medina where we stayed. Even just asking where to buy wine would get everyone looking at you.

All forms of transportation are used and over-burdened in Morocco.

If you can imagine it, it

When it comes time to buy something in the souks, you have to be prepared with nerves of steel for the negotiating. Some caffiene was helpful too.

Here a member of our group discusses the price of a carpet with a local Moroccan, after enjoying a traditional cup of sweetened mint tea.

Here's the carpet that Princess bargained for and purchased. She was so stern and determined I almost felt bad for the shopkeeper. Almost. Back at home, the Powder Porpoise approved it immeadeatly. Photo by PP.

Princess wins the culinary adventurer award for eating pigeon tagine. And she's a vegetarian!

The cooking class we took was, oddly enough, one of the greatest experiences of my life. It was organized beautifully and perfectly by an organization called Souk Cuisine. Here is their website: soukcuisine.com

Princess mixes up an intoxicating blend of spices in our cooking class.

The whole time we were in Morocco the Princess kept drawing parallels with our experiences to the movie “Star Wars”. She called the Medina of Marrakech “like the cantina scene, but the jawas ride on mopeds”.

Star Wars was filmed in Tunisia. I don’t know what she’s talking about.

(Morocco pictures coming soon, i promise!)

Going up the South face of Little Superior yesterday morning, I decided that the skinning (even with ski crampons) was getting a bit dicey. After a couple short slips, I decided to make the switch to booting. I told the Powder Princess my decision, but she pushed on, calling the skinning “easy and brainless”.

After a fair amount of futzing around with the switchover, and answering natures call, i booted onward. Just as i was beginning to think that I’d never catch up with the Princess, I noticed her suddenly, standing across the slope from me at almost the same elevation as myself.

“How the heck did you get over there?” I asked.

“I just slid here!” she replied, dusting herself off.

It’s a good thing she was able to stop her slide as just 10 feet beneath her, the snow ended in one of the many steep rocky pitches found on the south face of Superior.

She composed this poem on the rest of the ascent: (She determinedly skinned the rest of the way!)

Ode to a Whippet

Oh dear whippet,
How I love thee so
Just to look upon you
Lights my face aglow

A pick, an adze, a shaft of great might
All on my ski pole
Yet, still so handy and light!

Oh dear whippet,
How you allow me to gain
Elevation on snow
And keep me from sliding to pain

And when I set my sights upon that line so steep
Your invaluable company
In my hand I will keep

Climbing 4000 ft for 8 turns is sooo worth it.

PowderPrincess: “there’s a 95% chance that it won’t be skiable. Let’s go for it!”
We dropped in, skiing about 3% of the line before loosing spirit in the rollerball fields of eternity. We booted back up and skied home the way we approached, through stunning fields of surface hoar crystals, drunk on the champagne sounds as we sliced deep through the shimmering surface.