Just go with the flow...maybe something cool will happen!

   In my experience, it's a whole lot easier to deal with things not going according to plan if you haven't started with one to begin with. A great adventure will almost always occur if the right gear and an open mind are brought along. Sometimes, too, it's fun to go climb up something that is not in a guidebook; where we haven't memorized a detailed description of what to expect and there is a little bit of routefinding and an air of mystery about the route.
   We left Tahoe on Friday night headed south for the eastern Sierra with only some vague ideas in mind and a pile of skiing and climbing gear in the truck. We were perhaps going to climb and then meet up with friends to camp on Saturday night near Sonora pass, or camp farther south and ski Tioga Pass with another friend on Sunday, or...who knows? After a strong start, our rusty packing skills and lack of mental checklists caused us to turn around after the summit of Luther Pass Hwy 89, when Kit had to confirm his climbing harness was not in fact inside the haul bag. Now we definitely needed to go climbing, just to make that extra trip back to the house worthwhile!
   Our first stop was Travertine hot springs in Bridgeport for a soak and low-key camping. The next morning we decided to work toward Granite Basin to climb, a bit southwest of Mono Lake. Passing Virginia Lakes on 395 we spotted the top of an intriguing line on a peak just the next drainage to the south. The speculation began: how can we get there? Is there a road? Should we investigate? The answer is obviously yes to the latter two questions. We had passed the Lundy Lake turnoff countless times on the way to and from the Mammoth/Bishop area, noting the sign and figuring it was just another one of those places where retired folks go to hang out and fish (not that that's a bad thing). Little did we know the amazing ski terrain that lay up that road!

   The couloir visible from Conway Summit was awfully thin and would require a lot of hiking up icky talus slopes, so that wouldn't do for this time. This mountain, later found to be Gilcrest Peak, also held a number of other gullies which had the appearance of forming quite nice couloirs earlier in the season, perhaps accessible without too much hiking from the winter road closure. Driving farther up the road revealed many more incredibly good-looking ski lines begging for exploration, including the one we chose on Mt. Scowden. The closest approach appeared to be blocked by a vast beaver pond, but at last as the road wound to its end, the pond subsided into a creek surrounded by a maze of aspen trees of all sizes, fallen and standing. That we could deal with, unlike splashing through murky knee deep water.
   It was about 10 AM by this point, and we sat debating for a few minutes after some initial exploration of the approach. Having missed out on skiing Bloody Couloir only a month ago over concerns about carrying a heavy pack for hours, I hesitated for a few minutes about how wise an idea it was to jump into something like this. Then, the worrywart voice was silenced by the much deprived adventure-craving part of the brain, and I said "Let's do this!" I had felt much stronger over the last few weeks and was beginning to think it was about time to test a few new limits.

   Shouldering our unwieldy packs, we proceeded to clamber over, under, and across a mass of fallen trees at various angles; catching skis and boots on stray branches and near misses on slippery logs. We hit an old mining trail shortly after crossing a short talus field and it led us to a creek at the bottom of the couloir. Skins were applied, and a short while later as terrain steepened I pulled ski crampons out of my pack. We had both bought these after an icy early morning going up Mt. Whitney where only one friend was able to skin while all the rest of us miserably slid around and eventually put on boot crampons and carried our skis, but in the last 3 years I had not found myself in a situation where they were necessary (that means it's time for more ski mountaineering trips). I decided to try and skin as far up the couloir as possible just to see how well they worked, and it was quite amazing--I'll never do another spring trip without them! I stubbornly refused to carry my skis until the very last 200 feet or so which steepened a bit more and contained more rocks to maneuver around. I'll admit it was probably a bit ridiculous making steep kick turns every 10 feet, but I kept pace with Kit as he bootpacked and never felt overly precarious.

   At the top of our main objective we estimated to be about 2/3 of the way up the mountain, and there was still continuous snow above for most of the way to the summit. We debated for a few minutes whether a trip to the summit would be worthwhile; my tired legs said to leave it for next time, as another 1000 vertical feet was not sounding terribly attractive at the moment, and the wind was whipping around the peaks ferociously--I despise windy conditions at high elevations. The snow in the couloir was also getting quite soft and considering our late morning start we didn't want to have any issues with wet slide avalanches.

   The decision was to ski back down what we had climbed up. Snacks consumed and skis on, we stood at the top for a moment before I told Kit to drop in while I take a few photos.

   Watching him confidently make turns down the steep pitch between the rocks I had a minor panic attack. Is this a terrible idea? Though not a "no-fall" line, it might not feel good to crash in the wrong place. This would be my third day on tele gear, refusing to ski it on any resort days in order to be able to make more than 2 runs without exhausted legs. Though I had skied some steeper chutes at Kirkwood several weeks ago, it was on alpine skis, and things look way steeper and more scary on floppy free-heels! Oh well. When all else fails make parallel turns and hope nobody is looking...after this short pep talk I shoved off and carefully picked my way down to Kit, making a million tiny turns and gaining a small amount of confidence.

  I mustered the courage to make tele turns through the middle of the couloir and found a bit of a rhythm. Kit found a very sticky patch of snow and went flying, but fortunately the soft sticky snow also kept him from sliding endlessly downhill on his face. By the bottom I started feeling much more comfortable with dropping a knee and carved some bigger turns out the bottom of the couloir.
 

   All too soon we were back at the creek, much to the relief of my burning quads. We skied almost to the end of the snow and removed our skis practically in the creek, made the short scramble down to the mining trail, and stayed on the trail all the way back to the parking area: a much easier way than our approach.

   We passed a few ruins from the old mining days, a reminder of the history of the entire eastern Sierra and the beginnings of many of these small communities, and arrived back at the truck around 2 PM. A little overwhelmed with the awesomeness of the last few hours we just sat around in the sun relaxing and letting gear dry out. How could we possibly top that adventure? I have no idea...we sure didn't try. We bailed on plans to ski Tioga Pass on Sunday because of the wind, and spent most of the afternoon driving around nasty rough dirt roads looking for friends supposedly camped by Sonora Pass, whom we later found out were not actually there. We did find a decent campsite for the night but were quite bummed to be a) not with our friends and b) not soaking in hot springs. Oh well. The price we pay for recreating out of cell phone range; sometimes it makes last minute excursions a bit complicated when other parties are involved.
   Driving back toward home the next day we had the excellent idea to stop and climb at Woodfords, since it is located right on Hwy 88 on the way home... We had after all brought climbing gear, and remembered Kit's harness. I don't recall what our favorite climb was called but it was likely the best 5.10 crack climb I've done in a very long time, and the bomber hand jams helped both of us completely forget about the previous evening's frustration. It made for a completely rad weekend after all and we both can't wait to go back to Woodfords again and Lundy Lake next spring!