A short but questionable adventure with Damien, who wanted to go mountain running, because apparently skiing and suffering weren’t enough on their own. With the snowline still low and the snowpack still deep, I suggested a reasonable compromise: run until there's snow, then ski until we cry.
My legs were still very much on strike from last weekend’s 100km run (which, in hindsight, was already a bad idea). So naturally, I was moving at the pace of a scenic glacier. Damien, meanwhile, was in his element: running up, skiing back down to check on me, grinning like a man who's fueled by Type II fun and espresso gels. I'm not saying he's part mountain goat, but I’ve seen goats look back with less pity.
We hit snow around 1200m, just before the first bridge. From there, it was skins on and uphill we went. We crossed the creek higher up, which turned out to be a genius move, avoiding a nasty steep switchback and letting us feel briefly competent.
The final 300m (distance, not vert, sadly) to the summit was snow-free. Just in time for clouds to roll in and rob us of the classic summit selfie opportunity. Nature has no chill.
The ski down? Surprisingly good! Snow was smooth and fast… until we hit the lake zone, where it turned into sticky mashed potatoes and our skis started acting like velcro. Still, better than running in slush. Marginally.
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