The group wends it way through the Tetons Photo by Cameron Martindell

That afternoon, we shoveled more snow in the process of learning how to build our more permanent sleeping shelters called quinzhees. To build these four man shelters, we stood in a circle and shoveled snow to a three-meter mound. We then dug an entrance on the downhill side of the mound and proceed to hollow it out, very much like a snow cave.

After a few days of continued education regarding the avalanche triangle and carving up the pristine slopes, we packed up camp and hauled all our gear further west, deeper into the wilderness, along the ridge of the Snake River Range. Moving was an all day affair. This time we packed up our gear and pulled our pulks along the snowy slopes with the ease and grace of seasoned veterans, in stark contrast to our first day of discombobulated coordination. We also skipped the first night of sleeping in the tents as each group now easily constructed their own quinzhee.

Our new camp, like the first one, was also on the north side of the ridge, but 600 feet higher and offered access to steeper and more challenging terrain to snowboard down. In addition, the instructors enforced a stricter slope analysis and avalanche awareness .We continued our avalanche beacon training in the afternoon by setting up multiple buried beacons and conducting a variety of scenarios for teams to find and dig up.

The search and rescue scenarios were highly effective in teaching us the realities of avalanche danger and were equally humbling as the many factors that need consideration.

Of great importance was learning to avoid an avalanche. One of the more tangible classes involved digging a snow pit and analyzing the layers in the snow pack to better understand the stability of the snow and the possibilities of avalanche.

While all of these classes were comprehensive in their scope, the biggest lesson we learned was that experience is irreplaceable. Our instructors encouraged us to do a few backcountry trips with more experienced people, and in doing so, we need to take an active interest in evaluating the slopes to build a better understanding of snow.

Once settled into our second camp, the chores of living had all become second nature; we spent much more time snowboarding. It may baffle some as to why one would rather hike (or ski rather) up a hill for over an hour to only get a ten-minute snowboard run out of the effort. Why not just pay the $50 and go to a resort and take the chairlift up? Only when you have had your first backcountry run and carve through the virgin snow can you answer that question. The exhilarating and thrilling sensation is beyond description. The toils of the climb (although, many, like myself, quite enjoy the ups as well) quickly vanish from your thought as you salivate while converting your skis back into a snowboard. Deliberate pause is needed in the potential frenzy before bombing down the slope as you double and triple check your safety gear, the safety gear of your buddies, and the slope’s safety.

On our last day, we opted to make a big push from our more distant Camp II to the road where we were to be picked up. The winds had picked up overnight and were still blowing strongly over the ridge as we packed our gear in a semi-protected pocket from the torrent. Two of the students worked with the instructors in finding a safe route out. The plan was to duck down into the trees below the ridge for the morning and stay out of the wind. Our packs and pulks were only marginally lighter as we had consumed most of our food and fuel. The first section was so steep we put our pulks in front of us with our skis strapped on top as we booted (walked) down a short section, sometimes sinking thigh deep in the snow. By mid morning, the winds had ebbed slightly and we had our skis back on and pulks behind us again. With less wind we could travel closer to the ridge. By noon we were passing Camp I and starting our descent from the ridge into the Coburn Creek valley.

As we dropped elevation from nearly 8,000 feet to 6,600 feet, spring conditions became more and more apparent. We were well out of the wind now and the direct sun was warming and softening the snow below our skis. A long down section was gradual enough to ski with our sleds in tow, but as many of us found, a slight mis-shifting of the weight, or just a weak patch of snow would absorb our ski tips, often causing a forward tumble. The natural reaction is to put your hands in front of you to brace your fall. But this often proved to be a bad strategy. The slightly warmed snow from the sun would just absorb your arms and bury your front and face in the snow. The snow would then act like concrete. Movement would suddenly be impossible. The descriptions in the avalanche classes as how snow can act this way became totally apparent. You would lie there in quiet momentary contemplation as you realized you were almost completely immobile.

Some of us hit lightly enough to wriggle ourselves out of our predicament, but others required some extra help. The spring conditions became blatant as we reached the bottom of the valley and were traveling along bare patches of earth and the raging Coburn Creek. One student even lost her balance while crossing the creek and fell in.

We made it to the rendezvous right on time. The road that was snow-packed when we got dropped off nearly two weeks ago was now a bare and dry unpaved strip through the melting wilderness. Tired and smelly, we packed into the van and enjoyed sitting, despite the bumpy ride, for the drive back to the base. Hot showers and a pizza dinner awaited us, providing the luxury running water and somebody else doing the cooking.

-- By Cameron Martindell, www.offyonder.com.