Russet Lake – A Backcountry Whistler Experience

The fall season has been an interesting one, an edge of the seat thrill ride watched closely by skiers and boarders alike. Massive early season snowfalls fueled the stoke, electrifying the community, with many resorts opening earlier than ever before. The coverage kept coming, the forecast looked promising, and everywhere could be heard the whispers of “La Nina” and the “record-breaking season” yet to come. It all seemed unbelievable, too good to be true, and just when we started to believe the magic was real, another reality began to unfold. It has been a solid 3 weeks now since the last substantial snowfall, and the whispers still abound, though the tone has changed. A sense of urgency; almost panic has gripped the faithful, crushing their hopes for the season yet to come, if you listen closely you can hear the mantra, “The sky is falling!”.

Now this all seems premature, and honestly a bit absurd; the season hasn’t started yet, and its way too early to call it over. Though, maybe the reason we feel this way is the distance we place between skiing, and resort skiing.

Any why not? We must certainly look odd, James and I, standing under the Whistler Gondola at 8:30pm as we step in and start touring up the mountain. Our destination is Russet Lake, a beautiful alpine basin surrounded by ridges and summits perfect for skiing, 15 hard-fought kilometers along Fitzsimmons creek deep in the Whistler Backcountry.  The trail to singing pass is in rough shape, suffering from a lack of fresh snow and an abundance of use, leaving little more than an icy bobsled track to follow, I’m not excited to ski back down.

The weather was still favorable, despite the condition of the trail. Clear skies and unlimited visibility gifted us stellar views of the spearhead range, enhanced naturally by the bright full moon and the occasional shooting star. The evening was bright enough to tour without headlamps yet again, once we broke out of the forest at singing pass, allowing breathtaking views of the bright, star-filled sky. Time slipped away faster than we had anticipated, and we were surprised to find ourselves standing abreast Cowboy Ridge at a hair past 3am, already a full 2 hours after we had expected to arrive.  From here we could reach the hut without our skins, and we swapped to ski mode for the short run past the lake to our weekend retreat. The snow was fantastic on the this short, northwest facing slope, soft and untouched by wind or man,longing for the first turns of the weekend. I watch as James starts the run, arcing some nice, slow turns, but I’m having nothing to do with it, I’m too tired, the pack too heavy, the hike too long. I point the Zealots at the hut and push into the slope, there’s no energy for skiing, just sleeping. We enter the hut at 3:30am, throwing my sleeping pad and bag down I’m snoring in a matter of minutes, leaving James awake by himself to munch away on snacks to his heart’s content.

Saturday morning isn’t what you would call an “early one”. The late arrival has us asleep until 9:30am, a short nights’ sleep despite the late start. The hut is cold and damp in the morning, and we shiver over pop tarts and slightly cooked bacon, delicious! The Himmelsbach hut is a small, classic alpine A-frame, what it lacks in amenities and insulation it makes up for with location, often being empty, and great views. Bare ground is visible through the cracks in the floor, the ice cold surface draws heat through the thickest socks. Truly this is a hut you pack a little extra for; warm insulated booties, thick fleece pants, and extra uppers are all worth their weight here. Its pushing 11am when we finally leave the hut, stepping out into beautiful, clear weather without a cloud in the sky, the air temperature feeling warmer than the hut.

Heading across Cowboy ridge for the first run.

We tour back to the saddle of Cowboy ridge for a taste of the fine snow from the night before, just before dropping in we catch sight of some distant skiers out from whistler for the day, moving quickly across the horizon towards Whirlwind Peak. The day is well under way by the time we drop in for the first short line, the sun nearing its zenith, baking the southerly aspects with warmth and radiation. The run is over as quick as it begins, reaching the buried lake shore in mere moments, from here James and I look to bigger lines, setting our site on Whirlwind as well, surely they’ve dug us up a skin track by now?

Touring to whirlwind, sweaty!!

We make our decision and head out with force, our own cruel whips cracking an unfair pace, aware of the waning daylight. We stop briefly for lunch around 1pm and watch the two figures slowly climb the final distance to the summit. A quick snack and we’re off again, reaching the base of the uptrack and continue our hard pace towards the summit. I begin to feel like Icarus flying too close to the sun, the big glowing ball cooks me, leaving me dripping with sweat despite the sub-zero breeze lashing at my face. The higher we make our way the worse the snow feels, hard, frozen and wind-swept, it is obvious the first few hundred feet of skiing will be interesting. We climb the last 30 feet of the summit cone and spend the next half hour relaxing and taking photos before the ski down.

James on the summit of whirlwind, pointing towards Fissile Peak.

With the hard work out-of-the-way we turn our attention to the descent, eager to beat the sunset back to the hut. The changeover is quick, and James pushes off with myself in tow. The skiing up high is challenging, cold and icy the snow is fast, easy to accelerate and hard to slow, and the windswept terrain hard to control. I bounce around a fair bit as we rip down the face, trying foolishly to keep up with James. As we near the Fissile-Whirlwind saddle the snow changes, hard ice gives way to soft, enjoyable snow as we quicken our pace down.

Myself, enjoying the views atop Whirlwind. Fissile peak in the background.

We weave an elegant helix into the mountain side as we leap-frog down the slope. Our confidence bolstered by the favorable change in snow we accelerate, letting gravity take true hold, trying to pull us down the mountain with all its’ might. James catches a decent air off a wind-rift and disappears from sight briefly as he lands, finding another shortly there-after. I charge after him hitting the features just as hard, enjoying the natural kickers and stellar views. Great turns continue to the base of Fissile and further as we wrap around the mountain’s flanks, skate-skiing and pole-pushing like mad as the angle decreases nearer the hut. We manage to make the distance without any more skinning and breathe a sigh of relief as we stow our skis and enter the hut, no more work until I get a hot meal!

Stellar views of Cowboy ridge, Fissile peak and Whirlwind Peak.

Entering the hut we find our friends, Mike and Kyle, waiting for us. We had originally thought the duo heading for whirlwind might have been them and followed, both for the ski and to say hi, but it was not, and I was starting to feel anxious over their absence. After fevered greetings we told them about our day, and we all agreed it was time for a well-earned dinner followed by a few laps of night skiing! Dinner was a rather pointed affair, with everyone a little more concerned over getting back out quickly for some turns, and how we were rewarded. The evening runs off of cowboy ridge were every bit as enjoyable as were the morning’s, with an added bonus of a beautiful sunset and a temperature much more suitable for skinning. I returned to the hut still hungry and ready for more skiing, though determined to save what strength and drive I have for Tomorrow.