Pro Guiding Service - The Ptarmigan Weekend

Sven and Oly, a couple of Swedish skiers from Ballard, Washington, concocted the scheme at the pub over a brew. They were bouncing around ideas on new records to set when a light flickered in Sven's high-voltage brain. "I know," says Sven. "We can ski the Ptarmigan Traverse in a weekend."

The Ptarmigan is the classic high-level traverse through the North Cascades. The route threads through small cols flanked by precipitous peaks, contours the sides of massive mountains, and follows glacial highways through a convoluted geography. It's a traverse of expansive vistas and remote peaks, making it popular among summer mountaineers. But in springtime when heavy snows blanket the slopes, only about a dozen skiers hazard the 40-mile route.

Most skiers budget four to six days for the tour, but on their weekend trek the mighty Swedes began at 4:00 a.m. on a June Saturday. They marched the 5-mile trail up to Cascade Pass, skis strapped to their day packs, then struck off to the south, climbing to a small col and cramponing down to a scenic tarn where most parties camp on day one. Here, people usually wax poetic over the pristine wilderness but Oly was in military mode, monitoring his Casio he grunted, "We do more by 9:00 a.m. than most people do all day."

Three hours later the two had traversed past Red Ledges, the steepest single impediment along the route, put on skis as the snow softened, climbed up the Middle Cascade Glacier, and schussed down to Yang Yang Lakes, executing telemark headplants to control speed. At the lakes, Sven effused about the area's beauty. The headplants, however, had Oly confused, "We do more by noon than the army does by 9:00 a.m.," he muttered.

Next, the Rambo duo blasted up the steep slopes south of Yang Yang Lakes, breezed over to the Le Conte Glacier, bounced over a few small passes, and followed fresh footprints down to White Rock Lakes, two tarns surrounded by a wasteland of rock and snow. They encountered several bipedal slugs here who had needed 3 days to reach the very spot the Swedish geniuses had ascertained in 12 hours. And here the geniuses hunkered into their bivy sacks for a night of shivering.

The next morning, by the grey light of dawn, the two resumed their marathon. In four hours they flashed up the Dana Glacier and had linked telemark turns on the long southern slopes feeding Cub Lake. Then they climbed into the Bachelor Creek drainage and hit the wall of primordial Cascadian bush and the wall of their endurance. Wearily they floundered through the slide alder and out of the high-country with Oly muttering, "Why do so much by 9:00 a.m. when the army does it for you?"

By evening, however, the Swedes were back in fine form, sitting at their Ballard pub and touting their formidable exploits to an audience of awestruck skiers. Well, not everyone was awestruck; one nonplussed fellow eventually asked, "So what's the big deal? A few years ago some real men skied the Ptarmigan in a single day."

"Ya, that's pretty good too," said Sven. "But it's twice as nice when you're first to do it in two days."