It was the worst of tours, it was the best of tours

Words that COULD be used to describe this weekend’s adventure: cold, long, skiing on tailing piles, no headlamps, busted bindings, why leave the Sierra, blisters, sufferfest.

Words that SHOULD be used to describe this weekend’s adventure: hilarious, Skeeter & Hambone, 2000ft of 2ft pow, rare, the inspiration of Jimmy Carter, mountain mahogany, and so many more…

The Story:

A few weeks ago Wolfy and LocalCrew brought up the idea of trying to search out some rare desert snow in the Toiyabes to ski, rather than stick around Reno and ski with everyone else.  I was both immediately drawn to the idea and convinced that they were insane to want to leave a place that had just received over 6 feet of snow.  As I continued to mull over the idea and the standard meeting to look over maps and finalize plans at the Brewery approached, I knew I would be joining the trip.  Over the course of the week, two folks dropped out and one person joined.  The new addition was an individual named Huck Tater, who has spent many a day touring through Nevada ranges.  On Friday evening, the three of us set out for Spencer Hot Springs in Big Smoky Valley on the East side of the range.   The general plan was to get to Spencers on Friday, soak and camp, wake up on Saturday morning and get as far up the Kingston Canyon Road as possible and then skin up to the top of Bunker Hill, ski down, head back to the truck, return to the springs for a post tour soak and then decide whether to sleep or push back to Reno.  That was the plan.  Reality was a wee bit different.

We arrived at the turn off to the springs by about 8:30pm and discovered that snow, an elusive element in the desert, was not going to be an issue.  The entire basin was covered in it and the 7 mile dirt road had been driven (once), but there we serious drifts and treacherous was one word that came to our collective minds.  But this was still early in the trip and our spirits were high, not to mention our butts since we were in LC’s 1988 F250.  We went for it and 30 minutes of white knuckled driving later were sitting in the steamy waters laughing about it all.

In the morning we woke up to this!

Excited by the prospects of our good fortune, we gathered our gear, ate some breakfast, and prepared to head out from the Springs to the mouth of Kingston Canyon to begin the tour.

Meet the boys:

LC aka “Skeeter”

Huck Tater aka “Ham Bone”

But first we had to recross the valley covered in snow.  Here’s Skeeter’s white knuckles and steady hand at the wheel.

 

The drive from Spencers to Kingston took about an hour given the snow and our driving, but the entire time we were looking right at the mighty Toiyabes.

Our original plan was to drive up the Kingston Canyon road a ways in order to save time and effort on the way up to Bunker Hill.  Upon arrival to the canyon we quickly realized that this was not going to be doable.

From here the real trip begins and the photos end, sadly.  We hiked approx. two miles up to Victorine Cyn, where we saw very little snow, but one big slide on the upper left side of the picture.

The next 4.5 hours were spent gaining the high ridge line.  It involved skiing across tailing piles, whacking through mahogany, sugary/rotten snow, a mild snow storm, and Red Beard getting two blisters.

Once on the ridge, we peered over into a beautiful spruce covered moutainside that ran for about 2000ft.  Sitting on top of all this was enough great powder to make the drive and slog up worth it.  As we began to ski down Skeeter’s binding broke off, we’re not totally clear how or why.  He’s meticulous about his gear, but this is the second time its happened.  The only other time occuring further east in Nevada.  He then proceeded to lose his camera and thus all the pictures from this side of the trip.  Night fell as we finished our run and then came the fun of finding our exit road and fixing Skeeter’s busted ski without the aid of headlamps and a limited supply of duct tape.  Luckily, we had Ham Bone with us to keep the mood light.  Several duct tape sessions and a 4 mile ski later we returned to the truck laughing like school girls and deeply happy for the day to be done.