SKIING MCMILLAN PEAK

The story starts a day earlier.  Deb Wheeler texted to invite me to ski Telluride on Tuesday.  Since Nori and I had bought season passes to the tune of $850 each, and we had only skied one day, it seemed like a great excuse to cut the cost to $425 per ski day.  Nori was in Santa Barbara visiting friends and waiting out the extreme lack of snow in the San Juans.  At lunch we ran into three good friends, Barclay Daranyi, Laura Kudo, and Terry Savelli.  The skiing was good, but the company was great! 

Terry, Barclay, Laura, Ralph, Deb

Deb has been a great friend to me over the years.  Her phone call to Alaska in 2012 was the final push to get me to move to Ridgway, so any day we can get into the mountains or onto a bicycle together is a pleasure. 

In the evening, Deb and I called our friend Lance Snyder and met at the Colorado Boy pub and pizza in Ridgway.  Lance is an American Airlines captain on the international crew based in Miami, but he and his wife, Olivia, also spend their spare time at their home in Ouray.  We have become great friends, so besides fine dining, we cycle, climb, and ski together whenever he is in town.

Among the friends who gravitated to our table was my old friend, Dave Carman. Near the end, Deb twisted our arms to ski up McMillan peak area in the morning.  Lance suggested that another friend, Pete Lev, join us.  The alpine tour goes up SE from Red Mountain Pass above Ouray on an old county road, then branches left up to the top.  Low down an icy snowcat track was our path that turned into a ski track.  Lance broke off a little from the top, while four made our way higher; Peter spied a beautiful piste of virgin powder, so we headed for it. Dave and Deb veered left to catch a great line of untracked powder. At the top Peter and I had a cup of tea, took off our climbing skins and rested.  Not a cloud.  No wind.  Perfect.

Pete, Dave, Ralph

Peter and I have known each other since 1965 when he was a guide for Exum and I was a ranger at Jenny Lake in Grand Teton National Park.  Later, Pete became an owner of the guide service and I went on to Alaska. Over the years we have kept in touch, and as fate would have it, we both ended up in the Ridgway-Ouray area, the "La Brea Tar Pits" for old climbers, according to Bill Lisk.  

The sun was beginning to make a tougher snow, so we headed down while the snow crystals still sparkled on top and our skis carved fluffy turns.  It only took minutes to reach treeline where the angle steepened, and the snow was deeper between the pines.  

The climbing world 40 years ago was a small one; I had known Dave since we were park rangers together in the Tetons in the mid-70's.  Not only did we work and climb together, but he was on one of my early kayaking trips to the Owyhee River in 1975 and watched me flounder my way down some big rapids. So when he moved from Jackson Hole to Ridgway a few years ago, I had yet another ski/climbing/kayaking partner.

  

Lance had gone on ahead, so we hit the road and clattered our way down the mountain on the icy ruts.  Not so bad, really, but way different from the incredible powder above.  The slopes off McMillan were surely the most traveled and possibly the safest venue for backcountry skiing right now.  The weather report was for strong winds and warm temperatures the next day, so we were pretty pleased that we had picked the last great day for a while.

Lance, Ralph, Dave, Peter, Deb

We ended up having a beer and appetizers until the sun set.  A perfect day.

AND THEN CAME THE RAIN

AND THEN CAME THE RAIN

We are back safe in Ridgway, Colorado. We have escaped the Thomas fire, the largest wildfire in California history by the thinnest line, just a half mile from the house.  Then, on January 6 we received a warning on the phone of possible flooding and landslides above Montecito where our home sits.  Nori and I spent the next couple of days glued to the computer watching KEYT.com for live coverage as the huge boulders, mud, ash and debris rolled down Hot Springs Road from Hot Springs, San Ysidro, and Romero canyons, destroying everything in their path. 

Highway 101, the main north-south artery through the region is closed indefinitely.  The power is off at about 1,500 homes, gas and water are off in Montecito.  Mandatory evacuation orders are in effect for a significant portion of Montecito to allow the Corps of Engineers to move in heavy machinery to open roads, search for victims, and repair gas, water, and power lines. 

It is a very serious and grim situation. The flash flooding, the first rain since April, came in 2 and 3 inch deluges, soaking the ashen hillsides already denuded of any vegetation after the Thomas fire.  It couldn't have been a more awful combination.  Now all the beaches are closed from Summerland to Goleta.  Bacteria, chemicals, and toxic debris have choked the roads, fields, and then flooded into the ocean in front of town.

It will take a long time to clean up.  At this time, 20 people are confirmed dead, 5 are still missing, 70 homes have been wiped away, hundreds more filled with mud, and most without power or water.  It is unbelievable.

THE THOMAS FIRE

 THE THOMAS FIRE

I just heard the fire alarm sound in our tiny town of Ridgway, Colorado.  It brought back the vision of the Thomas Fire that started a month ago above Ventura, California, and quickly spread towards Carpinteria, Summerland, Montecito, and Santa Barbara.  As I write this on January 4,2018, the fire is 92% contained.  Over the past month it has burned over 281,893 acres, destroyed 1,063 homes and other structures, and damaged 280 more.  It is now the largest wildfire in California's recorded history.  Because it has been so extensively covered by the news media, and all the photos belong to the news media and others, I'll refrain from describing the fire itself and tell you our story.

Noozhawk photo of the fire burning toward the beach

We were spending November and part of December at Nori's home in Montecito when we heard the news of the fire.  Nori immediately recognized how significant it was, even though it was approximately 22 miles to the east of us.  In just the first day it had swept from the mountains down into Ventura, burned hundreds of homes on it's path to the ocean, then headed east.  The smoke was dense; ash fell from the air like snow.  The city had several distribution centers for face masks to protect lungs from the harmful microscopic particles that filled the air. We wore the N95 masks whenever we were outdoors. Nori started to make plans for evacuation: we made a mental inventory of the precious items in the house and made arrangements to stay with her friend, Melinda, in Goleta, about 10 miles further to the west.

It didn't take long.  By Friday we were notified by our cell phones, radio, and television that we were in the "Voluntary Evacuation Zone". On Sunday the "Mandatory Evacuation" order came, so we loaded up the truck and the car with all the artwork, important papers, computers, and personal effects we had brought with us from Colorado.  We were the lucky ones, because we had time to prepare and weren't hit with a rushing fire.  Initially I was not too worried, because there was a great presence of fire fighters in the area ready to protect the dwellings.  The news reported that over 7,000 firefighters, 700 fire engines, 30 plus helicopters, two DC-10 aircraft, a number of C-130 planes, and a super-tanker from Colorado were dropping slurry and water on the fire.

Nori holding Sheyshey and wearing a N95 mask leaves the house.

Notice she is standing in the ashes that are falling like snow.

We lasted three more days, watching television nonstop to keep abreast of the fire and it's progress.  Melinda was a great friend to us and let us have run of her home.  We went to the gym and exercised, afraid to breath the toxic air outdoors.  We went to the movies and saw Coco to take our mind off the flames and horror in the mountains near us.  Finally, after listening to the Public Health doctor every day warn that all children and elder folks over 65 should leave the area to avoid long term damage to their lungs, we packed up our car and truck, left our valuables with Melinda, and drove home to Colorado.  The smoke was thick as we left town, and I actually wore my N95 mask in the truck as I drove.  As we left Montecito I looked out the window and saw that the entire mountainside along highway 101 was burned to ashes.  Hardly a tree stump remained due to the intense heat of the fire, and the destruction continued on my left as I drove east for the next hour.  All ashes.

The ash covered hills above Rincon and Faria beaches as we drove Hwy 101

Nori land I arrived back in Ridgway the next Friday evening, trying to forget that the flames were still burning strongly towards Montecito, and that her home had burned 40 years ago.  Tall eucalyptus trees a hundred feet high were waiting like giant matchsticks in the back yard.  The old coastal oak tree spread its branches over the house.  On Sunday the local television station, KEYT, announced that it would be a "Red Flag" weather day with wind gusts up to 65 MPH down the hillside into Montecito.   We sat in front of the computer watching KEYT live coverage all day as the fire approached at high speed to within less than a mile of the house, resigned that it would be lost.  Again, we were the lucky ones, because there were over 5,000 firefighters and 500 engines in the neighborhood battling the fire on East Mountain Drive just above the house.  By the time Sunday had ended, the winds had subsided, and we breathed a small sigh of relief. 

However it was still not over.  The mandatory evacuation order was still in effect, the fire was not contained.  Still burning strongly in the back country, we could see the flames and smoke on the computer screen.  It wasn't for several more days until the order was lifted and the house was out of danger.  It had beaten the Grim Reaper...this time.

SHIPROCK 1961

Shiprock 1961

	Shiprock, March 1961 or 62 Credit: AKTrad [Edit this Photo]

Spring break, March 26, 1961, my friends Milt Hokanson,Dave Wood and I loaded my little Jeep and drove from Salt Lake City to Shiprock, NM. I had read Jack Kerouac's "On the Road", and road trips were in my blood. We checked in with the Navajo Tribal Police in Shiprock and left our names and contact information. They were kind and helpful, wished us well, and we headed to the base of the rock in the dark. A few hundred yards short of the campsite I dropped the Jeep into a steep ditch onto its side. With the gas leaking out, we three lifted it back upright and continued on. I don't know how we did it, but I remember it was a super pain, with lots of digging and lots of pushing. I must have been stronger then; and we had Wood, nicknamed "The Logger" with us.

	My first lead off the ground in the cave at the base of the rock. Credit: AKTrad [Edit this Photo]

Early the next morning we climbed up in the dark and surmounted the initial overhang in the cave at the start of the climb. I did much of the leading, and I remember being appalled by the quality of the rock after the great quartzite and granite at home. We had the description on a postcard and made good time.

	Climbing up the black chossy rock on the west side to a notch. Credit: AKTrad [Edit this Photo]

	Climbing into the notch in the early hours of the morning. I have on a red nylon anorak I bought through the mail from REI. Rappelling back down this face in the dark with no headlamps was a trip. Credit: AKTrad [Edit this Photo]

The climbing was fairly vertical, but blocky, so there were a lot of holds and the climbing was fast. We climbed over a notch and found a type of rhyolite, rather than the basalt-like choss we had been climbing

	Dave Wood leading the traverse out onto the SW side of the mountain. I scanned the slide poorly, so the border shows! Credit: AKTrad [Edit this Photo]

We carried an extra Goldline rope to fix the two 80' rappels; we left it hanging so we could climbing the overhanging water gully on the return trip. This left us two more ropes between the three of us for the summit.

	Dave steps up in a home-made etrier. Cool socks! Credit: AKTrad [Edit this Photo]

After rappelling down Dave led across the traverse out of the gullies which had a couple of 1/4" bolts for protection. It was winter, but here in the east bowl, the sun warmed us, so we had lunch.

	Milt Hokanson belays me as I lead the Horn Pitch Credit: AKTrad [Edit this Photo]

Milt was as strong as an ox, and he did a lot of the belaying. I'm glad I got a photo of him; it may be the only one I have of the hundreds of climbs we did together as kids.

	Yours Truly starting the Horn Pitch. Cool nickers! Credit: AKTrad [Edit this Photo]

Steve Roper had climbed the peak the previous fall, and we knew he had done the Horn Pitch free. I remember leading the Horn Pitch to the summit in a strong wind as the sun was sinking.

	Nearing the horn Credit: AKTrad [Edit this Photo]

	I clamber over the horn. Credit: AKTrad [Edit this Photo]

At the summit there was a little register, we saw the first ascent party's names: David Brower, Raffi Bedayn, John Dyer, and Bestor Robinson. Fred Becky had been bolting a direct route the previous year. We knew Becky from his trips through Salt Lake, but I'm sure we hadn't asked him anything about the climb. He was an old guy then...maybe 38 years old. We were 18 or 19.

	Yours Truly rappelling off the summit. The sun set soon afterwards. Credit: AKTrad [Edit this Photo]

During the descent we had to climb up the hanging ropes; I led hand-over-hand, because we didn't have much to tie a prussik with. I remember using parachute cord around little horns for rappel anchors; we knew it would hold 550 lbs, so it should be good. We rappelled most of the climb in the dark, completing the climb in under 18 hours or so. The little white jeep eaded back to Salt Lake in the morning. It was awesome! Dave wood went to medical school and became a psychiatrist, but unfortunately passed away many years ago. Milt Hokanson, the guy I started my climbing career with at age 14 lives in St. George. I count him as one of the most influential people in my life, and likely among the toughest sons of bitches I've ever known. Together we explored the West, floated the Glen Canyon in tiny rafts in 1956, learned to climb and made our first ascent of Lone Peak in 1957, and made our first ascent of the Grand Teton in 1959. It is sheer luck we are still alive.