Whiteface: Earning Opening Day

Thanksgiving is time to be appreciate, and gather with family to celebrate the approaching new year. For me, it’s also the start to one of the best times of the year: ski season. Shoppers are searching for the deals on Black Friday, skiers head to mountains with snow. Whiteface, Jay Peak, and Smuggler’s Notch to name a few.

Conditions are generally less than ideal in November, with most ski areas opening a handful of groomed trails for skiers of all abilities. This combination can feel chaotic to a reclusive skier, who’d rather seek solitude somewhere in the backcountry.

Whiteface Veterans’ Memorial Highway, aka the Toll Road, is a go-to for those who want a taste of high altitude winter early in the season. Five miles long with an elevation gain of 2200 feet, it’s a perfect way to dust off the ski legs and enjoy some new snow away from a resort.

After a rude awakening, I packed my ski bag and headed to the base of the Toll Road. Our tour started as we began to ascend around 430am. My brother Bailey, Kyle and Jack, and I were eager to finally make some turns after a long hiatus. My phone said it was 30 degrees with a windchill of 22, a warm start for touring.

The forecast called for a couple inches of fresh snow overnight with bluebird skies and a summit windchill of 20 below the following day. As we started our ascent, it was clear we wouldn’t be seeing a sunrise or blue skies. Large flakes were falling at a steady pace with the wind blowing it all around. A fresh blanket of snow lay on the road in front of us with only the first mile showing any bare spots of pavement.

A mile in we switched from boot packing to skinning now that the road was fully covered with a couple inches of snow. The light came from our headlamps, which always makes early tours feel eerie. Our surroundings included frost-covered trees swaying from the wind with the occasional road sign.

Beyond a few comments on our objectives for the season are or what we anticipated for the ski down, the only sounds were the gusts blowing through the forest and the skins from our skis gliding along the powder beneath us. After a while, we noticed fresh footprints alongside the edge of the road that disappeared in the darkness ahead of us.

Kyle presumed they must be the tracks of a fox or bobcat. They meandered along the road and occasionally crossed to the other side, even appearing on boulders to then continue onward. Since it was actively snowing and the prints looked quite fresh, the mysterious animal must not have been too far ahead of us, maybe even attempting to outpace us as we took momentary breaks.

Soon the sky changed from pitch black to a dark blue. A half and hour before sunrise, there was no rush to see it from the summit as the entire mountain was in a cloud. The wind increased and the snowfall was heavier. I noticed that if we stopped for a break longer than a couple minutes, my fingers began to ache from the biting gusts of wind. I donned my mittens and puffy jacket before it got any worse.

Three hours into our tour, we finally made it to where we would take a short break to refuel, rehydrate, and put on our crampons for the summit. It wouldn’t be a far trek — roughly .3 of a mile — but most of it leaves you exposed to the elements since you’re above tree line at the top. I opened a pack of hand warmers and shoved them in my mittens just in case the windchill was as forecasted.

All but Kyle were equipped with crampons or microspikes, but he still wanted to try to reach the summit. Skis were not an option as the snow would likely be blown off the trail, leaving only exposed rocks and ice. As we began to ascend the hiking trail, it became clear that this was not going to be an easy task for Kyle. While the metal spikes of my crampons bit into the ice-covered rocks, his ski boots didn’t provide much traction.

It was slow going as Kyle slipped and heaved himself over the icy ledges. I knew that we couldn’t wait for him without getting too cold. We agreed it was best for him to turn around and wait at the skis; he reluctantly obliged. Before he departed, I handed him a walky-talky to stay in contact.

The three of us continued on the path to the summit. I’m no stranger to sketchy rock hopping from summer endeavors, the short hike was fairly easy for me. Conditions worsened as we approached the summit but as long as we stayed moving, we stayed warm. Pockets of blown snow on the trail reached up to a foot in some spots. I began to notice rime and ice accumulated on the surrounding krummholz. The elevator hut and weather station were completely covered in it from top to bottom.

As we rounded the corner, we reached the summit at nearly eight o’clock. I didn’t want to stay long since Kyle was waiting for us back at the road. After updating Kyle of our location, the first thing I noticed was that it definitely didn’t feel like 20 below. The wind was blowing but not terribly and the temperature couldn’t have been below 10 degrees.

I took my time exploring the summit and taking some photos. The summit sign was entirely covered in thick rime. The view in every direction was shrouded in white. Our initial intention was to summit for the sunrise, but at this point it was just for the fun of it. Although conditions like this can turn a situation bad very quickly, there’s a feeling of tranquility being the only ones on a summit that’s normally crowded with tourists during the summer months.

After a brief break on the summit, it was time to head back down. I alerted Kyle that we were ready for a quick descent. In the summer, I let gravity take me down the mountain as I leap from rock to rock, which I tried to replicate with my crampons. It took no longer than ten minutes to reach Kyle back at the road.

He had readied himself for the ski down and was patiently waiting. After removing the skins from the skis, changing our boots out of walk mode, and adjusting the ski bindings for the descent, it was now time for the most anticipated part of the day.

I claimed first tracks, which were soft and slow. In fact, half of the skiing involved skating and pole pushing to maintain forward motion. To more make things more difficult, when we faced west for the straightaway between Wilmington turn and Lake Placid turn, the headwind nearly pushed us to a halt. This didn’t last long, and as we rounded the Placid curve the wind pushed us down the road. Some stretches gave us enough speed to make turns.

Thirty minutes after we had started down, we were back at the cars. It was no longer snowing at this elevation, and there were multiple cars full of people getting ready to start their own skin up. The whole adventure lasted over four hours, and by the time we packed up our equipment and headed to the ski area, both the Face Lift and the Summit Quad were spinning.

We headed to the lodge to boot up and then quickly hopped in line. The wait didn’t last more than a couple minutes, which surprised me since there were only 8 trails open at the time. It’s tough to complain when your home mountain claims the most vertical in the east on day one of the season.

At the top of the summit chair, the sky was clearer with views of Little Whiteface and the Cloudsplitter Gondola, projected to run the next day. The only option off Riva Ridge was to take Paron’s Run, which by this time was an icy mess with bumps and crud strewn about the trail.

After descending, we realized that our legs weren’t in the best of shape after the morning’s endeavor. Some cramping and eventually we called it a day after only a couple laps. In the end, I’d like to think skiing is always better than not skiing, which rang true on the first day of the season.