Chris repairs the day's first failure
While the trails in town have surrendered their snow to the 50 degree temps, the weather has been perfect for crust skiing in the mountains surrounding Anchorage. On Saturday I was invited to join a few of seasoned experts who seek solitude and distance on their crust skiing excursions. An early alarm (5 am) and a drive down to the Kenai Peninsula brought us to some pretty amazing skiing -- accompanied by three pieces of broken equipment.
We skied along a frozen river and an (unlawful) snow machine trail to a broad meadow. Much of the trail was rutted and it proved challenging to maintain one's balance. After skiing into a deep rut I heard a snap and instantly knew that my trusty pair of rock skis would never be the same. When I caught up to the group, they immediately set to work mending the cracked ski with the duct tape I was advised to bring along. Luckily, Chris brought along an emergency ski tip for such an occasion and fastened it to the shortened ski. Moments later a broken pole required more tape and a few cottonwood branches.
A fixit shop among the trees
We skied along a frozen river and an (unlawful) snow machine trail to a broad meadow. Much of the trail was rutted and it proved challenging to maintain one's balance. After skiing into a deep rut I heard a snap and instantly knew that my trusty pair of rock skis would never be the same. When I caught up to the group, they immediately set to work mending the cracked ski with the duct tape I was advised to bring along. Luckily, Chris brought along an emergency ski tip for such an occasion and fastened it to the shortened ski. Moments later a broken pole required more tape and a few cottonwood branches.
Corey ties up the repaired pole (notice the ski with the funny tip)
With all gear adequately mended the tour continued into a bright white meadow where the crust was perfect for high speed cruising. We skied to the top of the meadow and looked toward our intended destination - a high pass unreachable with hobbled gear and a greenhorn. We made the call to turn back at about 11 and rocketed back down the meadow toward the riverbed that would take us back to the trialhead. Sure enough, a bit of hotdogging snapped Martin's ski beneath the foot and forced him to ski most of the return trip on one foot. As for me, I'll be scouring Craigslist for another pair crust/ rock skis.
All smiles and speed in the meadow
