The 4th is glorious, and it is great. But it’s also sweaty and crowded. Sometimes jamming into a public arena with half the valley to swap “oohs and aahs” over exploding ordinances as the temps just drop below 90 is less than attractive. Whiny me.
So this year on the 4th, as they often do, the cooler and quieter mountains called. Why not get a quick shred on? The therapeutic effect of feeling the air temp cool by double digits as I careened up LCC brought sweet release from the temple-piercing swamp layer down below.
The objective was Gunsight, the popular inbounds run of Alta. I accompanied friends Scott, Gillian and Sam and met at Scott’s house, which happens to be on the summer road that heads up Grizzly Gulch. After some chips and guac and a PBR and a quick glimpse of our national pastime on TV (it only seemed right), we headed up, around 5 pm for our post-appetizer, pre-dinner ski.
We parked at the top of Sunnyside Lift, a trailhead for a multitude of hikes in the Albion Basin. Gearing up for the backcountry is usually a sprawl of skins, base layers, various energy gels, and gravely important electronic devices. Today it involved a blob of sunscreen and boardshorts.
I can, I believe, without fear of internet ridicule and being reckless, say we waltzed up without avalanche gear with no actual worries. When 95% of the 2,200 acres of Alta is covered in plush greenery or bare rock, and we pass old-timers making a push for Baldy, a beacon today seemed like wearing a helmet on a treadmill.
Following the service road, we made a few long switchbacks on Alta’s backside, on a dusty, rocky trail with skis and boards in tow. Trekking to ski among blooming wildflowers felt the most perfectly strange thing to do on a national holiday.
Gunsight was desiccated to a twenty-foot wide strip, about 350-feet long. North-facing Gunsight was tucked into a gully, protecting the stripe under the shade-bearing walls to keep it hanging around for the summer on failing life support. There was more black and brown in the slush than white, as well as a sprinkling of dirt, flowers, twigs and rocks.
Though a bit slippery, it only took about 20 minutes to hike up the landing strip of snow and find where there was, again, no snow. What a view, as always. Chad’s Gap sat in the distance as a yellow lump of chopped up mine tailings and many slope’s color gradient abruptly shifted from soft green to white and grey as the meadows gave way to rocks.
The turns were about as unimpressive as we knew they would be, but who cares? Kind of sticky, the slop blubbered around like butter in the sun. Not soft was the smattering of pebbles or full on stones my board grated over every few turns. Nothing like adding to your base problems in July.
But it was a dreamy 4th and they were turns nonetheless. It was equal part surreal for the surrounding bare fields, and part the only Utah reality I know, as they were the same mountains after all. The novelty of it resulted in good times and laughter, making for a happy holiday. After going two months without a snow fix, the refreshing feel of sliding and turning pushed the reset button on the spirit-withering powers of the Utah heat. For that opportunity, more power to the original G-Dub, George Washington and his merry band of freedom pranksters.