I'd almost given up on skiing for the season after spending the past month soaking up the warmth of Southern Australia. Most people in town where I live have taken up biking as their regular activity. I wasn't, however, able to say goodbye just yet and was determined to make some final turns in the still plastered local mountains.

On a warm Saturday morning I toured up onto Mt. Plewman with my brother, dressed lightly in in Capilene for the climb. It had snowed an inch or two overnight and the mix of sun and cloud made conditions hazardous for balling up. I'd used BD Glop Stopper in preparation but this stuff appears to have an effective lifespan of about an hour, and was cursing before the first headwall.

We crested Mt Plewman (2241m) in gorgeous sunshine and studied the steep 'Birthday Chutes', our intended ski. Stewart was eager  to drop in, but I was less so. To me, the challenged seemed greater than the reward and so we skied off the south face, a moderately angled pitch that accessed another minor peak in the range. Turns came easily in the 3-4cms of fresh. And even though the descent was over quickly, it was wonderful to be up in the alpine again. It will be a long, slow 6 months to follow.

A group of local diehards have made skiing Old Glory a tradition for Canada Day. Old Glory is the highest peak in the Rossland Range (2376m) and by far the most alpine in appearance and scale. It is also by virtue of its size and position the holder of the last remaining skiable snow, with the north chutes presenting a steep, connected line.

Some thought biking in with skis/boots on back to be added fun, so in 30C degree heat and a 7am start, we rode 7km to the base of Old Glory, where most deposited the bike and scrambled up steep scree slopes to the summit. The Goat chutes were prime, firm but with an inch of softness on top and ran for 1000 feet before encountering rock.

The first few turns off the top made most nervous at a reasonable 50+ degree headwall and with thoughts that a fall would undoubtedly result in hospitalization or worse. But the middle and lower sections were just plain dreamy where corn snow sprayed over the rocks and the sounds of hissing skis and howls of laughter were infectious.

Boot-packing back up the chute was a 30 min lesson in front pointing. Notice the two tiny figures in the centre of the photo. To me, climbing the airy exposure of the last 30 feet far eclipsed any anxiety whilst skiing. Overall, I thoroughly enjoyed the day. It was fantastic to be skiing again and combined with the weather, the views, company and biking, it made for a memorable Canada Day.

As an adventurous individual, who has skied throughout the world, and often alone, I can count the times on one hand where death was imminent. The closest, for sure, was a cold day in February 02 where I plummeted from the summit of Old Glory in a wave of moving snow. I experienced that grave feeling of fighting desperately for breath while also sensing that those could very well be my last remaining seconds on Earth.

To quickly recount the day's events; a friend Steve and I decided to post-hole up the steep East Face of Old Glory in rapidly deteriorating weather. Old Glory is the highest and gnarliest peak in the Rossland Range, which isn't saying much as most peaks are mere hills compared to the glaciated mountains to the north and east. I had crampons on with skis on my back and I led the way up through some small cliffs and a few minor ridges. Steve was far below and must have been suffering without crampons of his own. The wind was howling and creating its own little maelstrom. I crested the worst of the terrain and could see the summit hut a short 50 feet away over an open 30 degree slope. Remembering it all now, I made the ill-fated decision to follow a firm wind-lip that looked shallower than the knee-thigh deep terrain below. I was in the middle of a living-room size expanse which fracture at the top and slid out as one cohesive slab. I tried to jump up and above it but it was too large and moving fast.

The avalanche to the bottom of Old Glory probably lasted only 20 seconds but I can recall mostly everything about it. I remember the cliffs that I bounced over and how I fought against the slide by trying to force my legs into the ground and let it flow past. But mostly, I fought for breath. Like a surfer under a wall of water, I sensed where the surface was by degrees of light and dark. I was probably tumbling backwards like a ball under the snow and poked my head out on one revolution and grabbed a mouthful of air.

The avalanched broke up and dissipated as it encountered flatter terrain at the base of the mountain and I floated to the surface; ending in an armchair position with snow up to my chest. My face was battered from either the snow of rocks and there was blood splattered throughout the snow, but the worst injury was my knee where I tore my meniscus. I toured and skied out of there on one ski and whimpered back home. I spent the entire next month on the couch.

Kokanee Provincial Park's reputation as a backcountry skiing mecca has traveled far beyond the boundary of the West Kootenay, where it is located. In fact, the number of skiers wishing to stay in the Park's palatial cabin is so great that a lottery system was established to deal with the over-demand. There is nothing prohibiting you from snow camping inside the park however, and if you're willing to endure a long day slogging up forestry roads and beneath threatening avie slopes, you will be rewarded with a free, powder bounty. Snowmobiles can alleviate much of the mind-numbing plod up to the Park's entrance at Gibson Lake,  but from there to the foot of the Kokanee Glacier is a further 5+ hours of skinning through serious avalanche terrain.

At 8378ft (2554m), Airy Mtn is hardly a giant of the mountain world, but it is one of the high peaks of the West Kootenays and offers gorgeous ski terrain. Andrew Gross and I toured into Airy and the Norns Range on the first day of February to attempt the SE Face. We reached Shaker Cabin in 3.5hrs from the road, dropped off our gear and climbed high to the shoulder of Little Airy for an afternoon run in variable conditions. The following day brought clear skies and light winds, which made skinning fast and views magnificent.

Andrew set a burly up-track directly up the main face and 2hrs after leaving the cabin we were perched at the summit. Avie danger was low to non-existent, with no new snow in 2 weeks and we tentatively made slow arcs down a series of rollovers into the main bowl. Snow conditions were tricky with patches of old powder occupying a predominantly wind crusted face. Nevertheless, the descent was first-rate, exciting, spectacular and insatiably long. The 10km logging road back to the car went by in a flash and another peak on the list to do was ticked off in style.

Skiing has probably been the most significant event in my life, accounting for more time than all the years of employment or schooling. I've skied on most continents, climbed high peaks in foreign lands, acquired a decent stack of season passes and have chased winters at many of the world's great ski locations. And throughout the years I've gathered rich memories, some of which are more fond than others.

Best Skiing Experience

Nothing prepared me for the wonder and awe that surrounded me during a cold and snowy, 3 weeks in St Anton, in January 2002. Enormous, delectable mountains rose above quaint Tyrolean villages, still clinging to their agrarian ways. Gorgeous woman in fur coats walked the streets. Charming bakeries sat next door to fine jewelers, and dark, Belgium ales poured from most bars throughout the valley. But foremost was the incredible skiing that has made the  Arlberg recognizable throughout the world. Beyond the 83 lifts and miles of marked runs lies an off-piste paradise. The Rossfall, Maroi, Himmelegg, Valluga Nord and Gamsroute served up the best turns of the year. 60cm fell one night and the memory of bouncing turns down an untracked Gstansboden with St Anton below me can still shake my head in disbelief. It was quite simply, the best skiing of my life.

Best Powder Experience

There was a time when I was completely fixated on skiing powder in profuse quantities. This eventually led me to Grand Targhee, Wyoming.

I spent a bitterly cold winter in Targhee in 1996/97, 2 months of which involved shivering in a snowcave on the edge of the parking lot. But each day the resort and surrounds was pummeled in fresh, deep pow, most runs were chokers and any grumbling I had regarding my accommodation instantly dissolved after my first face shot of the morning. One storm dropped 36" (90cm) on the first day, 18" on the second, and 16" on the third. It is still the deepest snow I've encountered, submarining down the fall- line, arms above my head with a slight roll of the ankle to turn. At the end of the winter and 120+ full days under my belt, I was convinced that no-one on earth had skied more powder than me that year.

A trail map from Gulmarg arrived at alpinetouring.com last week which I'm sure will please many of you.  Click on map to enlarge.

Rogers Pass is a long, and quite taxing 6+ hour drive from Rossland. Its a mountainous journey that follows the Southern Selkirks all the way up to Revelstoke, and then a further hour east to the Pass. The mountains around the Pass are higher, gnarlier and more abundant than anything we view on the drive and the boredom of being behind the wheel is quickly erased and forgotten when Rogers approaches.

On this trip it was just Stewart and I. We climbed up the Illecillewaet Glacier, summited Youngs Peak from east, and skied a wild, wind-crusted 'Seven Steps of Paradise' down to the Asulken Cabin, where we rolled out our sleeping bags. The following day was overcast and windy so we toured across and up Dome Glacier for some easy, knee deep turns back down the Dome. That night we camped in the van, cooking a some pasta and sauce on the MSR and soaked our bones in the Hotel's hot tub. We awoke the following morning to find 15cms of fresh on the van and it still snowing hard. With the avie danger increased, we drove down to Bostock Creek and toured up to McGills Shoulder for some great skiing in the open glades back down to the creek. The snow was up to our thighs and stability excellent as we lapped our skin track a few times and shouted in glee at the near perfect conditions, as it is so often at the Pass.

The quiet point on the Pacific had changed considerably since I last visited 12 years ago. No longer was it a ramshackle grouping of a few palapas which housed the majority of surfers. Back then, guys (it was only guys) slept within spitting distance of each other, camped tightly in hammocks or sharing patches of sand for their tents and I couldn't even recall if a restaurant existed or not.

Today, October 2005, the small communal living quarters had gone, replaced by a long row of concrete cabanas and large wooden, double story dwellings that afforded commanding views of the ocean and the privacy the modern surfer expects.

Making the decision to fly to Nexpa came easy in the end as all other candidate breaks (Matapalo, La Libertad, Santa Catalina) were either impossible to gain with frequent flyer points, or the camping was too rough and presented little creature comforts. My brother and I had witnessed the reliability and quality of Nexpa before and by virtue of its economical savings, ease of access and the salubrious lifestyle, the verdict was unanimous over a few beers.

I cannot understate the difficulty I had obtaining accurate and detailed maps when I wrote the guidebook for the Kullu Valley. Over the course of a decade, I accumulated a stack of maps (mostly trekking) for the region that where mostly vague, unclear and filled with erroneous facts and figures. I spent close to a year drawing my own, based largely on my adventures and recordings I made in the field. But within 2 years of publication, the most incredible mapping resource emerged on the internet - Google Earth.

Google Earth, based on satellite photography, became instantly one of the most valuable and perhaps, distracting tools for the modern day explorer. I have since spent hours, more likely, days perusing through the glaciers and snowfields of the world, mapping vast valley systems, finding remote peaks and always adding gradually to my next planned trip. But I will never forget the first time I cruised over the Pir Pinjal and saw the peaks of the Solang Valley, the Rohtang, Manali and the rest of the Kullu ski universe. My jaw dropped in sheer astonishment as questions of topography were finally answered. And although Google Earth demystifies for what many consider an integral part of ski touring in foreign lands (exploration), it is simply too intoxicating, too gorgeous and far too useful to be ignored.

The first (top) image is the heart of the Kullu Valley ski country, from Jagatsukh, to the Rohtang and the Chandra River. Note that almost all of Google Earth imagery, as far as I can tell, is taken during summer months. The second or middle image shows the two highest peaks in the Kullu watershed, that of Indrasan 6221m and Deo Tibba 6001m. The Jabri Nala Valley is on the right. The final (above) image is another shot of the Kullu Valley but far broader in reach and taken from possibly 30 km in altitude. The town of Kullu would be at the bottom edge centre, while the white peaks of Lahaul occupy the top right. Every tour described in the guidebook can be found within this image. Note the verdant colors of the valley bottoms and the delightful ring of spines and peaks that crown the north/south running Beas River. No wonder the Kullu is so special. Thankyou Google Earth. I just wish that you were around when I wrote my book.

From mid Jan till mid March, 8 weeks without a drop of snow. A typical prime time for the West Kootenays turns into a devastating drought period. The ski hill turned into an enormous bump field and rock garden while the backcountry morphed into something more common seen on the moon. The best we could find was the odd slope of soft corn on the warm, south faces and strive for a decent set of raccoon eyes.

Its easy to forget when a few years pass with regular snowfalls, but that mid winter of 2005  will be forever etched in my mind as the time I learned to love hardpack.