March 19, 2008 | Snoqualmie Pass, Washington | Ski

All-women backcountry ski clinic leaves the lift noise and crowds behind

By PHUONG CAT LE
P-I REPORTER


After a quick check of gear -- avalanche transceiver, probe and shovel -- we smooth climbing skins onto the bottoms of skis for traction, click boots into alpine touring bindings and set off for Snow Lake in the Alpine Lakes Wilderness.

We're after fresh powder, a backcountry ski adventure and some peace and quiet away from cranking ski lifts and crowded slopes.
The morning temperature is below freezing. The air still. Our breaths form thick clouds in front of us. We move quickly to stay warm, heading toward Source Lake basin before cutting north to Snow Lake, in pursuit of the sun teasing us ahead.
A half-hour out, we've lost ourselves in the rhythm of skinning. Whirrrl, click. Whirrrl, click. Our skis slide softly across still-crusty hard snow, heels lifting and pushing us forward in long gliding motions.
"It's so gorgeous," says Selena Bryan, 49, a dental assistant who lives in North Bend, one of six women on this ski tour.
Our good-natured guide is Margaret Wheeler, a part-time mechanical engineer by trade, impressive mountain guide by every other definition.
In a sport mostly dominated by alpha males, Wheeler, 33, stands out. She's one of only two women in the U.S. to be a UIAGM-certified guide, allowing her to guide internationally.
On this Friday morning, she cuts a figure of a rock star, 6 feet tall with a shock of platinum-blond hair and a metal-studded belt slung low around her waist.
"It's all about conserving energy, regulating your heart rate," she tells us, as we zigzag up the snowy slope on our skis, relying on the traction of our climbing skins to prevent us from sliding back downhill. "Listen to your body and don't make it do anything you don't want it to do."
While the climb up and over the saddle to Snow Lake isn't particularly strenuous, Wheeler reminds us to pace ourselves so we'll have energy for the downhill turns.

Wheeler, who works for Pro Guiding Service in North Bend, saw a need and began offering "She Rocks the Alpine" courses to get women into the mountains. Her four-day introductory and advanced ski-touring courses cover all aspects of the sport -- how to do it, when to do it, and how to read terrain and snow conditions, conduct avalanche rescues and tour efficiently. (Pro Guiding offers similar coed courses).
"We live in a fabulous place and there's excellent skiing year-round," she says. "There's a large, healthy backcountry skiing community here."
More people are venturing out into backcountry than ever before -- drawn by fresh powder runs, lighter and better gear and a growing disdain for crowds and pricey lift tickets.
And while backcountry skiing may conjure up images of extreme 20-somethings ducking ropes to go out of bounds, the demographics of our group shows the sport has broader appeal.
"It's just something I've always wanted to do," said Ann Finlay, 39, a public relations consultant and mother of two, out for the first time. "I love downhill skiing but it's just so crowded."
Some may venture out without the skills or experience to travel in the backcountry safely, but Bryan is not one of them. She has taken Wheeler's course for a second time.
"It's surprising how many people go out here and aren't prepared. It's so key," she says. "I'm not one to go in blind. There's a lot to know."



The risky nature of the sport is soon apparent when Wheeler points out a spot on our trail where a snowshoer was buried and killed by an avalanche a few years ago. Already this season, nine people have died from avalanches in Washington, including two snowmobilers, three hikers, one showshoer and three snowboarders. Early winter storms produced more dangerous, unstable snowpack, creating higher risks of avalanches.
"People who get into trouble are people who don't know what they should be worried about," Wheeler tells me later. Then there are the people who know enough to get into the terrain but have "a cavalier attitude," while some are experienced people "who are at the wrong place at the wrong time."
Get avalanche training and backcountry instruction, she says. Learn to assess avalanche danger and how to travel safely in avalanche terrain.
The advice goes on: Check the weather and avalanche forecasts before you go. Travel with a partner. Carry basic safety equipment and know how to use it. Be flexible and willing to change your plans; don't be so set that you ignore the conditions.
Backcountry enthusiasts go through the trouble because the rewards are immense.
"When we're out here, you don't think about anything else," Bryan says. Even when the snow is crud and the skiing variable, she says, it's worth it.


This day is clear proof. The clouds have parted to a bluebird afternoon. We skin up through a forest of pine trees, its boughs bending under the weight of thick snow. The rolling terrain ahead of us looks like someone lined it with soft down pillows.
We admire the views of impressive Chair Peak and surrounding summits and feel grateful to have the place to ourselves.
After lunch, we run through avalanche rescue drills and take turns burying our transceivers in the snow (to simulate a buried victim). As often as I've done this exercise, my adrenaline always rushes, because I know the chances of recovering a buried victim drops precipitously after 15 minutes.
"Be slow to be fast," Wheeler says, as if reading my racing heart beat. We search using a grid pattern, sweeping left to right and then in the opposite direction until we get a signal. Then we move in closer, following the flux line until we pinpoint the signal to within a half meter. Out come the probes, and we're sticking it into the snow in a spiral until we get a hit.
"Victims" properly located, it's time for our first turns of the day. Climbing skins off our skis, we follow Wheeler for a bit of tree skiing before it opens into a nice bowl down to the frozen snow-covered lake.



Despite getting in no more than a couple dozen turns, no one is disappointed. "That was awesome," I hear someone say. We want more, no matter that the snow was thin breakable crust in some areas, powdery sweetness in others.
We put our climbing skins back on, climb back up the ridge through switchbacks and retrace our way out of the valley. It's all downhill from here, our delicious reward for eschewing chairlifts in favor of foot power.
Then we're all back on the cat track that leads out to the trailhead, and Wheeler tells us to watch for the busy line of Alpental skiers and snowboarders who use this "luge track" to get back to the resort lifts.
Realizing this, Finlay is floored. "There's a lift?"