by Dana J. Turvey
March 19, 2008

Once upon a Saturday – that weekend day most often like Times Square at Tahoe’s resorts – I decided it was time for an adventure. I’d skied local areas the past couple days, and had noticed larger-than-usual crowds. Was there a new holiday created I wasn’t aware of? Perhaps several awkward buffoon teams training here for the week? Suffice it to say my tolerance for a resort-Saturday wasn’t high, but still, it was a day off. The unwritten winter rule for good Tahoe chicks is to make turns whenever possible…

I decided it was time to head into the hills, or take a walk in the woods, as my brush-hog pals say. This was fairly unheard-of for me, since it would involve upward motility on my own power. Don’t get me wrong – I’ve certainly hiked small stretches in the past. But usually these winter ‘treks’ were in the range of a 5-10 minute trudge up in order to get six more fresh turns added to my run. Please note: I am a big fan of chairlifts…

But this fine day I was going to – as the saying goes – earn my turns. With the entire lake basin and the outlying areas to choose from, where would I go? Over many years of driving north on Hwy 89 to Tahoe City, I’d often seen a looming expanse just past Emerald Bay that I found intriguing. Popular enough to sport a name, Jake’s Peak towers high over Lake Tahoe, and is accessible to skiers by hiking straight up the face.

And no, Mom, there was no danger of being peeled away by a stray avalanche.

There are all sorts of gear choices for such a journey. I’ve spent years in the ski retail industry, and am familiar with the market: alpine, telemark, alpine touring, cross country.

Add hiking gear like snow shoes, climbing skins and Alpine Trekker systems, and there are many ways to make an ascent easier. I ignored the equipment revolution and opted for my downhill gear. I wanted to experience things the old-fashioned way – skis on one shoulder, poles in hand opposite, and leaving small ‘Lange’ emblems imbedded in the snow.

As I left my car and stepped onto the white, I glanced upward, picking a far-away tree as a probable goal, then started placing one boot in front of the other. After my asthma had kicked in and caught up with our task, my pace improved. More than the ongoing oxygen problem, I found it difficult to march straight up, when just over my shoulders all this enormous scenery was lurking.

I’d seen all these places before – Lake Tahoe, twinkling Emerald Bay, the runs etched on Heavenly Resort’s face – but never from this viewpoint. Mt. Tallac was off to my side, looming like the king of Tahoe, ruling over his countryside. Since the hours were my own and this wasn’t a timed event, I drank in the sights for a few moments and peeled off some more layers.

About halfway to my goal-tree, the Supreme Being in charge of scenery and lung maintenance had plunked a large flat boulder slope side. Never one to argue with gift rocks, I clambered aboard for a quick water break. After sitting and gulping in air, water and view, it was becoming harder to return to my task. But once back at it, I was rewarded by my far away car looking more and more like a Matchbox toy, down by the road.

So far, my day had been blessed with bright, gorgeous sunshine; something Tahoe hadn’t experienced much that winter. The locals were so sun-starved, we were in danger of acquiring Alaskan Gloom Syndrome. The forecast called for a mild system arriving by late afternoon, with high winds over the ridge tops. Okay, here I was on a ridge, and for once, my blatant scorn for weather advisors was becoming slightly regrettable. Did I mention winds?

Never once feeling like there was real danger, there were a couple gusts that made me stop in my toe-hold tracks and practice some Zen balancing techniques. The one way I didn’t want to descend Jake’s was as a human toboggan, sliding in a race with my bundled skis…

Will power and superior toe grip won out, and I finally reached my once small, now towering, tree target. The peak is steep enough that finding a comfy flat spot to click into bindings isn’t so simple, so upward I trudged to a little bit flatter terrain. And at last, time for the focused reward for this entire project – down zee hill!

My very first turn brought quickly to mind that linking turns for the run down might be a real challenge. It had never occurred to me, in the whole hike upslope, that the snow conditions would be absolute crap when I reversed direction. What was this slime? Not quite wet enough to be slurpies, but not yet firmed by the mounting winds to be corned up, I had stumbled across an entire new snow texture! Now I worried that I’d be facing the rest and the best of my adventure performing flying-geek stem turns, but I was cheered when my third turn put me into a proper skiing rhythm.

There is an indescribable joy in skiing down a hill, while knowing for absolute fact that no one is going to swoop down beside you, punch out of the nearby trees, or in any other way invade your little bit of real estate. This is what ski resorts will never be able to offer.

Moving down Jake’s Peak, in steady, sweeping turns, I was tickled blue (or was that my asthma?) over my achievement. The only problem was that this particular adventure was going to be over all too soon. Coming into a narrow gully, three hop turns were in order, then some meandering through thin trees and scrub – but the whole descent was over in less than five minutes.

The climb up, including rest stops, had taken fifty-five. Hmm.

If I were a stronger climber, this ratio would have been better. If I had the experience to pick the right time, the snow would have had a bit more bite to it. And over the years, I’d skied days when my turns were markedly prettier – but in all, I’d never had such a sense of conquer and accomplishment. This was a laughingly minor feat when you compare it to week-long treks in the Sierra or bagging peaks in Nepal, but in my world, it really rocked.

Am I going back – back to the backcountry? Sure, but I’ll add some company for my misery along with a camera. Why did I remember everything else, and forget the Nikon?

And for my next hike up Jake’s, I’ll most likely climb with the same thought in mind: ‘what a great place to put a chairlift!’