Dancing in the Snow Globe
The Childlike Exuberance of Skiing Powder and Exploring New Terrain, Yet Savvy and Vigilant to the Hazards
By Erme Catino
Snowflakes mist through the mid-morning light, creating a glow of sparkles that dance in the air as we stroll along a ridgeline in the Tetons. My ski partner, Chance Burleson, and I are navigating a barricade of cornices into a large north-facing avalanche path. We have been skinning for a couple hours that morning, approaching a less traveled peak, and had recently passed our typical runs.
Peering over the edge into a north-facing, untracked line, we both wonder: “How are we going to get in there?”
Eventually, we find the most welcoming entrance so we can assess the situation before fully diving in. Knowing that even on the periphery of the main line, once we’re in it our exposure is high.
We snack and chat at the top, enjoying the serenity while speculating where we think the slope catches the most wind. We also scout nearby potential ski runs, acting like kids who love playing outside—full of stoke and curious energy. Backcountry skiing is an interesting paradox—a childlike exuberance of skiing powder and exploring new terrain, yet savvy and vigilant to the hazards.
While our season featured above average snowfall, it wasn’t quite a ski it if it’s white scenario as we had several crust-faceted snow combinations on certain aspects. If provoked, things could get hairy. Having experienced enough collapses while tracking this problem on various slopes through pit analysis and recent avalanches, it was one reason why we were on this slope and not others that day. So it wasn’t just curiosity and stoke that led us here, it was also patience and careful study.
Burleson’s green toque is a stark reminder of what can go wrong in the mountains, even when you think you’ve got it figured out. The hat belonged to the late Steve Romeo, who passed in 2012 in an avalanche in Grand Teton National Park. Burleson, a ski partner of Romeo’s, found it last fall when sorting through his gear for the year. He’d been wearing it all season.
The two of us often venture deep into the Tetons in search of steep powder, but today we find ourselves not particularly off the grid but on a line that neither he nor I have ever skied. It seems unusual given his connection with Romeo, a skier so prolific that even more than 10 years after his death, his blog TetonAT continues to be one of the best resources for ski mountaineering in the Tetons. And I was psyched to provide something new, given I had been eyeing this line from afar watching it fill in so perfectly.
As skiers, every so often we find ourselves on a magical day. It’s something that can never be forced, it just evolves naturally. It’s like skiing in your dreams; except it’s real and mind-bending. Ski runs like the one we are about to experience often etch in our memory bank, and stay there to reflect on during the blazingly hot summer months and likely until we’re old and we think about the good ol’ days.
After cautiously entering the slope looking for wind slab, and then ski cutting the top of the run, trying to see if I can get any loose snow to move, it's time to become immersed. The duffy light snow capping the recent storm erupts high over my shoulders as I arc down the fall line, the crackling of snow and wisps of wind hit my jacket and I feel small, like a child in a shaken snow globe. Halfway down the slope I tuck myself into a tiny outcropping to provide the slightest bit of safety before watching my partner cascade downslope. Powder contrails soar in Chance’s wake as his eyes gleam when he skis up next to me. We turn our focus to the next section, acknowledging that today is special.
It's easy to get caught up in the positive feedback loop of crushing lines in the backcountry, but we know that is not always the case. The green toque serves as a reminder. All of us have had our fair share of lessons learned over the years—some of them hard and sad. If you play in the mountains long enough, you realize that this environment doesn’t reward hastiness and immediate gratification, even when your social media feed might tell you otherwise.
Skiing big lines in powder is an art, demanding respect, requiring one to only return when the canvas is ready to be painted. Because I forever want to be the child in the snow globe, dancing around the mountains with my friends.
— Erme Catino is a freelance journalist, avalanche educator for the American Avalanche Institute, and backcountry ski guide. He has a M.S. in Environmental Studies and has worked in various roles within the ski industry, including running PR and media projects. Last spring he joined the Bridger-Teton Avalanche Center as a forecaster.
The above article runs as the Intro page in the current '23/'24 print issue of POWDER. Purchase your copy HERE!
