Trip Report

Skiing Hatcher Pass Lodge Alaska

Every now and then you stumble upon some very cool little scene, some nugget that just feels right. During our stay in Anchorage, we kept hearing people suggest that we try skiing up at Hatcher Pass, about 90 minutes north of Anchorage above the town of Palmer. Finally, we loaded up the Dodge Ram rental truck and headed for the hills.

Hatcher Pass is in the Alaska front range and like much of the surrounding landscape is a craggy, snow covered part of the state’s endless mountains. As soon as we drove in we were immediately reminded of a combo of Austria’s Silvretta Group and the Sierra Nevada. It just looked like a great place to ski lots of peaks, and better, there is a small lodge sitting all alone at the end of the road with small private cabins.

We parked at the lodge to see if there was room available and were soon unpacking ski gear in our own small cabin. The owner of the place, Hap Wurlitzer, checked in on us to make sure we were all comfortable and also to make it clear that he is a great character. Eyeing my unusual skin color, he remarked, “What the hell happened to you? How did you get so dark in Alaska?” Our kind of guy.

We told him we would be skiing until late but he assured us salmon burgers and beer would be waiting. The evening was shaping up to be perfect, and it was, we climbed to the top of the peak above the lodge, dropped into a steep couloir at sunset, skied that remarkably good Alaskan powder all the way down and then hung a left and made one last turn at the lodge’s door.

The mountains hanging above the lodge are not huge, but they are ski peaks, with big, open bowls, couloirs, and plenty of options. Get up high and Denali becomes the dominant landmark to the north while south stretch endless layers of mountain peaks.

The Hatcher Pass Lodge

Some good beers in Alaska

Later that night we had dinner with Hap and he told us the story of the area. Originally a mining town, the mountain has some varied history of mountain activities. There had at one time been a rope tow for the old gold miners to ski, later it became the spot to backcountry ski, so popular in fact that backcountry races were held in the early 80′s from the lodge up to summits and back down (maybe ski mountaineering was invented in Alaska?), but then the snow machines took over until recent seasonal closures has caused their numbers to drop. Finally, today there is a big mix of users, from backcountry skiers, lots of nordic skiers, snowboarders and of course people playing on sleds.

We felt right at home staying in the lodge, loved the friendly people we ran into and thought Hap was the ultimate hut keeper. All on its own, Hatcher Pass is probably not a reason to go to Alaska, but with all the other draws Alaska is obviously a must visit for every mountain sport lover. Just remember, when you do go schedule in some Hatcher Pass Lodge time. For more info, visit Hatcher Pass Lodge

The Hatcher Pass Lodge Sauna

Hap Wurlitzer, Hatcher Pass Lodge's owner in the kitchen

YES, sun in Alaska

Dan Oberlatz and friends bootpacking

Climbing rocks to ski powder

Interior of the Hatcher Pass Lodge

Hatcher Pass Lodge views

Dan Patitucci skinning to Marmot Peak

Janine Patitucci skiing above Hatcher Pass

Alaskan sunset

Rating: 5.0/5 (1 vote cast)

The 2010 Sellaronda Ski Marathon

Mar 6th, 2010

by dolomitesport.

9 comments

While laying in bed Friday morning March 5, an SMS came in from my friend Andreas Irsara, “I am sick, can you take my place in the Sellaronda?” My life rule of saying “Yes” to all cool opportunities was adhered to, I jumped up and began packing, the race was the same day.

The Sellaronda Ski Marathon is 42 kilometers (26 miles) with 2800 meters (9280 feet) of climbing. It goes straight up, then straight down 4 times around the Dolomites famous Sella Mountain group and is done in teams of two which must stay together throughout the course. It starts at 6 o’clock, p.m…

In the last couple of years I have gotten pretty into this ski rando racing here in the Dolomites, but until this race I hadn’t done a truly big International event. The Sellaronda is part of the World Cup and as such would draw some big firepower.

My partner for the race was Werner Pescosta, a friend from the Val Badia and also part of the same team I am on for cycling and ski rando racing. Werner is a 2:30 marathoner, extraordinarily strong cyclist, built like a lumberjack and is known for being able to put away 3 pizzas, 5 liters of beer and 7 banana splits, all at once. It was his 13th Sellaronda, it was my first. I knew I was in for it, I have seen Werner in action, he squares his shoulders, puts his head down, and charges like a bull in Pamplona. My job was to stay with him amongst 740 participants.

-20 degrees and very windy up high. Up high, as in where we were headed. This was the forecast for the race. We went to sign in wearing only thin lycra one piece suits. I was already shivering. The start was in the village of Canazei, a classic Italian Dolomite ski town sitting beneath both the Sella Group and Marmolada. Thanks to Werner’s previous years fast times, we had a good starting position near the front, key for not getting tangled up on the first climb.

The entire village, along with every ski tourist and supporting friends were on hand for the start. The sound of cowbells filled the air and only stopped for a moment of silence for the race’s founder, Diego Perathoner, who was tragically lost in an avalanche this winter while trying to help others.

It was time to start, 5:50 pm, and in the day’s last light. The gun fired, we set out into the night and up our first climb of the Passo Sella. As is typical in Europe, race starts are an explosion of lycra and the sounds of scurrying bodies and heavy breathing. We wound our way on a narrow track through the village beneath fans screaming from balconies and windows. Many were swinging cowbells with enthusiasm to match that of the athletes – it was the classic European scene and sound that we Americans love about watching bike or ski races. Once we punched out from the confines of the town we were on the first climb. It was here that the helicopter rose from the slopes ahead and began following our progress. I remember thinking to myself how I am trying to introduce this amazing sport to the US, where it is basically unknown, and here we have hovering helicopters. In ski rando racing, I am playing a game that I know many friends and like minded people would be as happy as myself to take part in. I looked up ahead to the towering vertical walls of the Sella, neon pink and orange as the sun called it a day. My goosebumps weren’t only because of the cold, I was in heaven.

The Sellaronda's first pass of four, the Sella

We climbed. Werner and I found ourselves up near the front as we arrived to the Sella Pass where we removed our skins, took some hot tea and began the first descent, in the dark, on piste. Here I was baptized. The experience was more like a video game, torches lined the piste and in the pitch black we plummeted, turning was not an option, instead you tuck like a World Cup downhiller and point your tips to the bottom. The darkness, as it always does, plays tricks. Small rolls on the slope looked like massive dropoffs and I expected to be airborne anytime. It was a combination of bliss and terror.

Arriving to Selva di Gardena we were once again met with screaming fans, hundreds lined the street which we had to run down while carrying our skis. Back to the transition zone, on with the skins and back into climbing mode. The Gardena Pass is the shortest of the bunch and went relatively quickly, but here signs of fatigue were beginning to show with the pack breaking up and becoming more spread out. And here I too began to hurt, more so as I watched Werner clearly wanting to power away.

Once on top, the speed began again, we dropped like missiles to our Valley, the Alta Badia. Screaming into the town of Corvara we were met by a huge crowd swarming the transition zone, Werner and I, in the local team kit, were the stars and our arrival was announced to the fans, “Arrivano Werner Pescosta ed Andreas Irsara”……. I was Andreas, my name had not been changed on the start list. But, a priceless moment followed, for Andreas, otherwise known as Tata, is one of the Valley’s loverboys, a true Casanova with a large female fanclub, and it was this fan base that I heard screaming with delight. As I stood in the mayhem I laughed out loud as friends called me Tata, but Werner soon grabbed me and again we started to climb.

The third climb, the Campolongo, is a bitch. A long flattish section through a forest lulls you into a state of exhaustion, then the track rears up, straight up for about 800 meters. Pain was now becoming a companion. Every gram that I have saved at the cost of many hundreds of Euros and Janine’s dismay, was truly appreciated. Werner’s ski tails were just ahead yet I could not stay on them, I wanted this section to end. My own post of Born to Run Ski Bike Climb came to mind and I thought to myself that this was the moment I had been writing about, when you look inward and see some truths about what you feel, and what I felt was good. Above, the crystal clear night revealed endless stars twinkling as they always do, I peered behind and below me to discover that I was followed by an endless stream of headlamps, twinkling in their own way.

Finally the top and my spirits soared, I grabbed some dried fruit as Werner helped remove my skins. Werner claims to hate water as it is a waste of space that could be better utilized by beer. He passed on the tea, and encouraged me to move. 4 minutes later we were 2200 feet below in Arraba.

The last climb, the Passo Pordoi is my favorite pass to ride on the bike. But tonight, it was the venue from hell. 3 hours in the well below zero temps with high speed descents in lycra were catching up. My core was frozen, all 130 lbs of me were stiff and achey. I was a Dansicle.

Up we went, but this time Werner disappeared ahead, I was hurting. My left leg so tight and frozen I could barely slide it, my hands so numb I just thought it best to forget them. No matter how hard I worked I couldn’t warm up. It was difficult to see teams pass us when I was keeping Werner back, but nothing could make me go any faster. I just put my head down and slid along. Finally, the brightly lit pass was just ahead and I knew the mental suffering was about to end. I vaguely remember seeing a huge group of skiers holding fiery torches descend the piste in perfect arcing turns. Fans were once again lining the course screaming, “Forza Forza” and here I thought to turn my grimace to a smile, something I learned a long time ago. A smile flashing across the face is like a restart. But I was too frozen, my cheeks wouldn’t flex. Arriving to the top I realized just how cold I was. I couldn’t pop off the skins and I could not get my fingers to close my boots. Somehow, from someone, it all came together and we were dropping into the darkness one final time for the 3000 foot descent to the finish line.

A frozen body combined with tired legs made for a wobbly descent. I tucked in behind someone, maybe three meters from the ends of his poles when suddenly he careened out of control and began tumbling on the icy snow. I swerved around him and continued alone through the darkness. I thought it would never end, and somehow this was okay, but soon the lights from Canazei came into view and I knew I had skied around the Sella, I knew a magnificent experience was coming to a close.

Arriving into the finishing straight I had to find Werner, he was waiting, he descended like Bode while I descended like Bambi. I skied alongside, grabbed his arm and together we crossed the finish. He was looking at me the whole time with a huge grin, he knew I was psyched. Once stopped we were swarmed by girls, perhaps they thought I was Tata, but they were only there to make sure we were okay and to help us get out of our bindings. I am sure I was a mess, I couldn’t move I was so cold, they kept saying “A posto? A posto? Ma sei sicuro?” But I was okay, and once out of my skis I stood with Werner as a photographer approached, he pointed the camera at us and it was then I realized I was smiling after all, it was just frozen in place.

Werner Pescosta and Dan "Dansicle" Patitucci sporting a frozen smile

Without hesitation we headed away from the finish to find the car and warm clothes. But within minutes realized we were not just cold, we were desperate to get warm. I suggested we go into a hotel next to where we were standing. We went through the huge sliding doors in our one piece suits, carrying skis and looking like frozen mummies that Reinhold Messner might find stuck in a glacier. Of course having good taste, I had selected a four star hotel who’s lobby was another world, most noticeably a warm one.

I was half expecting to get the boot, but instead we were met by the concierges who knew were in some trouble. They helped us with our skis, brought us tea and made us comfortable in the lounge. A crowd gathered around to listen to Werner provide details as to our evening’s activities. I soaked it all in while trying to control my shivering and teeth chattering.

Finally, half an hour later, we were able to move. We found the car, put on every item of clothing we had brought, and headed straight for the pasta party. Once warm, life resumed normalcy.

In the end we were 59th out of 320 teams with a time of 4:10.31. It was the coldest ever Sellaronda. Thanks to Werner for showing an American the way, and some patience.

The Sellaronda Ski Marathon

Rating: 5.0/5 (3 votes cast)

Dolomites and Zillertal Backcountry Skiing

Feb 19th, 2010

by dolomitesport.

No comments yet

DolomiteSport has dropped off the radar a bit this last week due to a super busy schedule. A friend from the US, Brandyn Roark Gray, is here enjoying the Dolomites and Zillertal Region and we are of course shooting backcountry skiing each day. The usual list of comments are coming from her about this area, the primary of which is, “Wow, this place is amazing, why don’t more Americans know about it?” …….I am doing my best to share.

I had the great pleasure of discovering that my close friend and Mountain Guide, Alberto De Giuli, was booked for five days of work with two North Americans who discovered the opportunity of a Dolomite trip after finding this website and getting inspired to have a look at the Dolomites. Alberto was with them at a nearby hut so Brandyn and I set off to meet them for a ski and dinner at the Fanes Hut. For me, huge rewards come from showing the Dolomites and Zillertal Mountains to people – and especially to see them marvel as I have at what I feel is the most beautiful and culturally perfect place I have seen on this earth.

Brandyn Roark Gray climbing the Zillertal Alpen's Hörnspitze

Ski touring the Dolomites Cresta Bianca

Alberto De Giuli scores a 10 with his Ski Roll

Dolomites Ski Touring with the Tre Cime di Lavaredo behind

The Fanes Hut, Italian Dolomites

Interior of the Fanes Hut. Yes, it is in the backcountry

The Fanes Hut kitchen

Alberto De Giuli with some very happy visitors

Rating: 5.0/5 (2 votes cast)

Skiing California Sierra Nevada Fourteeners

Jan 26th, 2010

by dolomitesport.

1 comment

Skiing the Eastern Sierra Nevada Fourteeners

by David Page with photos courtesy Christian Pondella

This article first appeared in EastSide Magazine

From a distance it looked perfect. Perfectly epic. But from the summit, with skis on, looking down at an enormous chockstone wedged into the trap door of a fifty-five degree couloir, nine thousand vertical feet above the trucks, a sliver’s width passage to either side and only the thinnest of early-spring rot to look forward to, the prospect suddenly became, as Pondella would later recall, “frickin’ dicey.”

Chris Davenport approaching the Sierra Nevada's Keeler Needle and Mt. Whitney

Davenport had flown out from Aspen a few days earlier, had rented a car in Reno and driven down to Mammoth to catch Pondella. The plan: to effect a quiet, personal, media-light tour of the highest peaks in California’s High Sierra, to tick off as many fourteeners as time and conditions might allow, to get some sun, some good pics for the sponsors, to camp out in the sagebrush with friends, maybe do some bouldering, etc.—you know, easy, Eastside-style.

Having already bagged every last fourteener in Colorado—climbing and skiing off fifty-four summits in just under twelve months, and publishing a book about it—and having ticked off Rainier and Shasta soon thereafter, this was all that was left: fourteen more wind-battered patches of rock and snow to complete the whole list for the Lower 48.

Although the pace would prove blistering by mortal standards—at least two big mountains for every three days—Davenport didn’t seem in any real hurry to finish. “The idea is just to submerse myself in the range,” he said, like a man beyond last call contemplating the olive at the bottom of his martini. “It’s like meeting a new girlfriend, just kind of figuring her out.” As if to say: Hey, what’s the rush? Let’s put another quarter in that juke box.

In less than a month he’d be back to real business: helicopters, film crews, full entourage—and the pressure of getting it absolutely right down four of the most iconic and difficult lines in the Alps. “It’s brutal,” he would say later, on the phone. “But it’s work. And I have to work.”

Pondella had made an early-season recon flight with Glen Poulsen, just before Christmas, which had shown the southern peaks fairly ready to go. The Palisades, where in a fat year a crew like this might be able to knock out a handful of summits from a single base camp, were all exposed rock and ice. “We weren’t sure about Whitney,” recalled Pondella. “But we could see Langley was in, Split was in, Williamson was in. We weren’t sure about White.”

It seemed natural enough to start with Langley, at the south end, and work north from there. So they slept in the truck at the top of the moraine, right at snowline, and before dawn set out up the Tuttle Creek drainage toward the peak formerly known as Old Mount Whitney.

It was the third week in March and the Sierra Nevada was already deep into premature springtime. Snowpack was barely average. Still, the climb was straightforward and they were able to ski off the true summit on decent winter snow, dropping fast down the southeast couloir and all the way back to camp on fine corn. Up and back they were the only two people in the world. And by the end of the day they were blissfully bedding down in the parking lot at the Whitney Portal, requisite permits on their persons and a modest quotient of Tecate in their veins.

Chris Davenport skiing the Sierra Nevada's Mt. Williamson

From the Mountaineer’s Route they watched dawn splash bold across the east face. They crossed paths with two parties on the way up, the only other humans they would see in the backcountry that week: one, a pair of exceedingly well-encumbered gents, outfitted as if to spend three months besieging Everest (“as if they’d just robbed an REI store,” said Davenport); and later a solitary European fellow who had summited early and though equipped for a few nights out was already on his way back, having forgotten to bring fire for his campstove. For the former party there was nothing to be done; for the latter a spare lighter was produced from Dav’s first aid kit.

Chris Davenport skiing Sierra Nevada's Mt. Whitney

At the ridge they were surprised—and not a little pleased—to discover a thin tongue of perfect chalky snow right to the summit. It was an exciting rock-scramble for the last three hundred vertical feet, and “definitely a no-fall zone coming back down,” but they were able to ski the whole way. And still make the last hour of sun at the Buttermilks.

“It was one of the greatest days you could ever have,” said Pondella. “To climb and ski Whitney, to watch the sunrise on the east face, across some of the most beautiful granite in the Sierras, and five hours later to be climbing up the granite boulders at the Buttermilks—there’s not many places you could have it that good.”

To cap it off they decided to forego the cozy intimacy of the truck in favor of “Jacuzzi, internet and nice beds” at Pondella’s place up the hill. And the next day afforded themselves a break, went down to the Gorge for an afternoon’s fingerwork on welded ash. But by moonrise that evening, having met up with John Morrison from Tahoe, they were back to work—with a good fire going and a plan for taking Williamson.

Morrison dropped in first. “And as he was sidestepping in,” Pondella remembered, “he took all the snow right down to the rock.” Davenport tried the other way, around the right side, sidestepping down three or four feet and hopping into the air. “It was one of the sketchiest turns I’ve ever seen,” said Pondella, “but he stuck it.”

He also scraped the place clean, leaving the poor photographer to undergo what he would later describe as a “mini-epic.”

Down where Davenport had made his hop-turn, Pondella found himself tips and tails on rock. “My skis were doing the bow-and-arrow-thing,” he remembered. “I was sketching.” The only option from there was to point it for five feet—then stop. “And I’m like: I can’t do that—this could be the last—I fuck up that’s it I’m done.” Finally he slid his pack off, ever-so-gingerly, unhitched his crampons, threw his axe into the snow and managed to get one ski off. “Once I got that first crampon on I was fine.”

Hemingway once tried to make the case that bullfighting was “the only art in which the artist is in danger of death.” This in the days before high-powered energy drinks, before fat skis and alpine touring bindings and synthetic climbing skins, before Davenport & Co. The artistry of it, Papa argued, was in the matador’s performance, in the degree to which he was able to control the amount of danger, to run it “exactly as much as he wishes”—without dying. Surely this is also the measure of those few individuals who, with or without specific promises of financial remuneration, choose to leap from the planet’s highest pinnacles on skis.

The line down the southeast face of Split—next on the list—was considerably less hair-raising. Still, it distinguished itself, off the top, with some of the worst so-called snow either man had ever skied. Redemption came swiftly, though, in the form of nearly seven thousand vertical feet of smooth, high-grade corn—enough of the stuff to cover the vertical drop from the high-altitude doughnut counter atop Pike’s Peak to the Dunkin’ Donuts on Colorado Avenue in downtown Colorado Springs. With, in this case, plenty of packaged chocolate mini-donuts waiting at the trucks.

Chris Davenport skiing the Sierra Nevada's Mt. Langley

Then the weather changed. By the following morning, by the time the sun hit the cold backside of White Mountain Peak, there was enough wind sluicing down the canyon that they found themselves shouting at each other.

“It’s nuking up there!” yelled Pondella. Davenport nodded: “You can’t argue with the weather!”

So they turned around, punched their skis back out through the rabbit brush and scrub oak, drove up around Montgomery, took a nice long soak in one of the old tubs at Benton, and headed back down to the Gorge: you know, easy, Eastside-style—with the olive still marinating in the bottom of the glass.

________________________

DolomiteSport is excited to have this contribution by Mammoth Lakes locals David Page and Christian Pondella. David is a superstar writer for clients such as Men’s Journal, the NY & LA Times and even DolomiteSport. Christian Pondella is a combo skier extraordinaire and the go to guy for the best professional skiing photography.

David Page’s site Sierra Survey is a great resource for mountain sports and stories in the Sierra Nevada

Christian Pondella’s Professional Photography, Stories and more are at his blog: Christian Pondella

Chris Davenport is a professional skier and hero of many ski movies

Rating: 5.0/5 (3 votes cast)

Facebook Poach Your Line?

Jan 25th, 2010

by dolomitesport.

9 comments

Today we returned to ski the same backcountry peak we skied yesterday, the same one I wrote about, and posted photos of, right here at DolomiteSport. Unlike yesterday, the parking area was not empty, it had a couple of cars. Why? They saw 1) the turns from the road and 2) the post.

Together with friends we laughed at the power of the web – the post certainly got some traffic. But how does this broadcasting of experience really make you feel? We see info sprayed to followers for everything, and from this info we can gather our own necessary data to make decisions about where to go and what to do.

The example: You go ski a line, a peak, whatever. Your buddy posts how great it was on Facebook and others head over to poach what free lines remain.

Are you:

1) Psyched to see other people out

2) Feeling like your turf is being invaded and fully prepared for a territorial dispute

3) Going to de-Friend your friend on FB and un-follow on Twitter

4) Understanding that there is plenty of room for everyone and aware that you too glean heaps of info online

5) Could care less because you are headed to a sweet couloir that you saw on SuperTopo

6) Don’t understand what I am talking about because you came here looking for a Hotel in the Dolomites

No one seemed to mind and we actually knew the other skiers. There was peace and harmony when the groups crossed tracks. Nevertheless, as we were skinning a friend asked if we wanted to ski a secret tree stash tomorrow that is not in the new Sierra Backcountry Guide, “But no Facebook!”, he added. We are going, but you won’t be reading about it here. Eastern Sierra Privacy Laws.

Rating: 2.7/5 (3 votes cast)

Sierra Nevada Ski Conditions

Jan 23rd, 2010

by dolomitesport.

4 comments

This does not suck

A start in the pre-dawn darkness was necessary this morning so we could ski Red Mountain. We headed out with best friend John Dittli who had to be down early. As is usually the case, it was tough to rise but in the end very worth the effort.

Conditions: Perfect powder – certainly some of the best backcountry skiing I have ever done in the Sierra is happening this year. Heads up for instability, we are seeing activity both natural and skier related. Our strategy has been to stick to the trees and on lower angled slopes. There is a lot of snow out there.

Thanks to Leslie who saw us coming and fired up the waffle maker.