Ever since laying my hands on Chris Davenport’s Fifty Classic Ski Descents in North America, I have been dying to ski-mountaineer in the La Sals. With the Wasatch snowpack being a sugary heap of facets, my dad and I decided it was the perfect time to chase down some 12k peaks in the La Sals and get in some climbing at the same time.

Winter in Moab is the greatest kept state secret. Rather than dodging RVs full of big-bellied heartland-ers and heavily-accented Euros in 100+ degree weather, we found ourselves utterly alone at Wall Street, Moab’s most popular climbing crag. Classic trad-cracks and inventive sport climbs that usually have teams queued up at the bottom, were empty and eager to take my gear. While it was far from balmy, sandstone retains heat well and with the sun on the rock, my hands felt good in-between red blocks of stone. Looking out, the La Sals beckoned and my heart traipsed about, happy at the prospect of skin-assisted exploration.

On our first morning, I woke up to an extremely ill-timed and nasty bout of Strep but was determined to head into the La Sals even if it was just for a short tour. While the weather was clear in Moab proper, as we began our ascent to Geyser Pass, the sky overhead became blanketed with shifting cumulous clouds. We watched in astonishment as the car thermostat dropped to 0 degrees. At the well-used parking lot, we layered-up aggressively against the sharp cold and vicious wind. Despite the less-than-bluebird conditions and my rapidly diminishing health, we toured up to some promising looking open trees on the North-west banks of Mt. Mellenthin. At the end of our ascent, we looked down upon the red bluffs below. The juxtaposition of the harsh mountain environment and the dessert landscape below was shocking. On the descent we were gratified with some surprisingly good snow and playful tree turns.

While I had only been in the range for a few hours, already I was impressed by the wildness and dramatic setting of the la Sals. While Backcountry Skiing in Utah and a few other sources (including moutainman extraordinaire, Alex Quitiquit) had provided decent beta, we hadn’t expected to meet such challenging conditions in this odd-ball grouping of outcast peaks. I couldn’t believe the potential of the place. I spent the rest of the day urging my immune system to pick up the fight while hiking about an eerily empty Arches National Park.

The next morning, I felt quite a bit stronger and my dad and I decided to head in the direction of Mellenthin and Laurel Peaks on the off-chance that the weather and snowpack would support a summit attempt. While the skies were clear and the wind seemed to have died down significantly, it was much colder than the previous day.

The local avalanche report gave the current temperature on the top of Pre-Laurel Peak (which was on our route) at a balmy -9 degrees. We were not deterred. Heck, I go ice climbing which is always MISERABLY cold. So, we packed like yetis and began the steady ascent up the “Laurel Highway” climbing trail. While the climb was forgiving and gradual, the temperature in shaded tree areas dropped to around -20. Frozen in the extremities, we continued to climb until we broke tree line.

On the unprotected ridgeline, gusts of powerfully pissed-off cold air tried their best to push us off the mountain. Determined to at least get on top of something before the clouds blew in again, we pushed on to the summit of Laurel (12,271 ft). We debated continuing but upon looking down the connecting ridgeline to Mellenthin, we determined that the peaks had been blown bare to the point where boot-packing would be our only mode of travel…for the next several miles.

Yeah, we left that experience for the spring and more stable avalanche conditions.

After reaching our lack-luster peak, we quickly pulled skin and enjoyed excellent snow down through the “North Woods.” With white noses and foggy heads, we bundled into the car feeling sobered. The La Sals were no joke! The skiing was straightforward but the conditions were truly alpine. Naturally, I was psyched! Who knew?! Southern Utah!

In the spring, this place will be paradise.

The next day, we had a good breakfast and headed back to Arches, keen on wandering around an momentarily empty park. After an excellent hike to Tower Arch combined with some stellar bouldering en route (Note: if dancing up inflated pebbles is your thing-check this place out! Huge potential), we headed to Baker slabs for some techy friction climbing at the back end of the park.

Tired and still coughing, I spent the drive back to Park City going over maps trying to piece together a route that would allow for a traverse of all of the major La Sal summits. Come spring-It’s happening. For now, keep praying for more snow.

In May, the Aletsch glacier in Switzerland turns into a highway of ski-touring fanatics on pilgrimage to the world-renowned Berner Oberland range to sample its delights. While I usually prefer the solitude of that lone far-flung line, this region of the Swiss Alps holds a piece of choice real estate in my heart: it was where my dad first taught me to walk on crampons and stage a crevasse rescue. It is also home to my favorite mountain, the imperious and magnetic Eiger. The aesthetics of the region are distractingly beautiful and local appreciation for the mountain lifestyle runs deep. After chatting to my dad about his guiding in the Alps, we decided to put together a trip to the region. In May of last year, my parents and I landed on the continent with wide eyes and great anticipation. (Before you roll your eyes at the inclusion of my parents-let me just say, my dad has climbed more 8,000 meter peaks than you and my mom has the first female ski descent of Mt. Timpanogos. They are consummate badasses and remain my first choices for partners.) We started our adventure at Interlaken and shared the first train to Jungfraujoch with an odd combination of desperately excited Japanese tourists and stern-faced Swiss mountaineers. After reaching Jungfraujoch, we quickly distanced ourselves from the umbrella-waving tour guides and their respective flocks of Nikon-wielding ducklings and bombed down the Jungfrau glacier to the start of the first climb of the trip up the Louwitor Pass to Kranzbergfirn. While the climb wasn’t particularly long (only around 2,000ft), we had arrived in Europe only the day before and I felt sucker punched by jet lag. Fortunately it was just so damn beautiful, my psyche outweighed my fatigue and we attained the summit in good time before descending down to the Grosser Aletschfirn glacier and continuing to Hollandiahütte where we would spend the night.

Hollandiahütte looking particularly welcoming under Alpenglow, Photo by Mark Houston

Dad and Mom mounting the many, many stairs to Konkordiahütte – due to the alarming acceleration of climate change and resulting glacial melt, more stairs are added each year

The hut system defines ski-mountaineering and touring in the Alps, and we quickly settled into the routine of awaking at 4am in the morning to chase down a summit and returning back by 2pm to avoid springtime avalanches and enjoy spätzle, good beer, and conversation. Switzerland’s national identity is strongly rooted in its mountain culture and climbers and mountain guides receive far greater respect than in North America and its well-maintained hut system stands as a testament to the importance attached to climbing and skiing. Throughout our trip, I was struck by the many mountains along our path which played central roles in the evolution of climbing. Of course there’s the Eiger, whose North Face was the last unclimbed problem in the Alps until, after tremendous loss of life, two climbing teams partnered half way up the wall and summited in 1938. There’s the Finsteraarhorn with its jagged summit, which almost cost famed explorer Gertrude Bell her life, and the technically challenging “Fiesches” and “horns”. Even the most energetic ski-mountaineer could be satisfied for months here, and while the huts are venues for rowdy social gatherings, the number of tempting offerings in the immediate area ensures a degree of privacy when climbing and skiing. Our afternoon and evening spent at Konkordiahutte turned into a bit of a community night when different teams from different countries (but all with similar degrees of sweat-stench) began taking swigs from steins and swapping stories of battles waged and won in the mountains. Considering the extent of this playground, it is no surprise that the majority of skiers and climbers frequenting these huts tend to be like…really good. It was inspiring to hear about first ascents and descents in burly ranges in Iran, Bolivia, Norway, and Kyrgyzstan. After a particularly friendly evening (in this case friendly is quantified by the number of beers purchased that evening—which was a lot), breakfast was subdued but we managed an early start and headed towards the Grossgrünhorn via the Grünhornlücke. After obtaining our primary goal for the day, we still felt strong and decided to summit the Wyssnollen as well, a neat peak with excellent views of the entire Oberland massif, before descending to Fisteraarhornhütte. Finsteraarhorn has to be one of the coolest looking mountains anywhere and I was psyched to make an attempt. In fact, I had selected the itinerary based on this long-held, most-beloved of mountain-based dreams. In addition to being a beautiful summit, the steepest portion of the southwest ridge features two incredibly steep and consequential couloirs—in short, my favorite type of line. Alas, our two-day summit window coincided with a bout of terrible weather and I was denied my dream but given a reason to return.

The Finsteraarhorn at Dawn – Photo by Mark Houston

After two days of snow and wind, we navigated our way down the Finsteraar glacier under the stars, skiing in silence to better enjoy the splendor of the experience. At the juncture of the Fieschergletscher, we put on our skins and began the long ascent up the Gross Wannenhorn.

On our way to the summit Grosses Wannenhorn

To the far left, the Grosses Wannenhorn looks down upon roads of ski tracks-photo taken from the sunny porch of the Finsteraarhornhütte

Scoping our line of descent from the summit of Vorderes Galmnihorn