Yesterday, I got to experience something I’ve waited forty-nine years to do. My son and his friend were on a mission to tackle Tuckerman Ravine, as part of an Independent Senior Project one of them was working on. After researching routes, reading up on avalanche warnings, and acquiring the proper gear, they made a plan to go on Sunday, but Sunday was sketchy. So, on Sunday they went to Mount Cardigan instead, using it as a chance to get some training in before taking on the big dog. After getting some more intel and consulting local experts, they decided Tuesday was the day for Tuckerman Ravine, and thank the gods—the old ones and the new—they invited yours truly for the journey.
I couldn’t believe it—today was finally going to be the day!
Grand Anticipation
I was so excited.
But also stressed. The boys were pretty new to the experience of backcountry skiing on the whole, and I had been up to Tuckerman’s a few times before: once on Hillman’s Highway that was less than ideal, and two other times where we didn’t make it past the Hermit Lake Shelter because storms blew in. With that kind of track record, who knew what kind of day they were going to get up there. As any seasoned explorer knows, expectations don’t always meet reality, and I don’t think they knew just how steep Tuckerman Ravine actually is. Not in-their-bones know at least.
The boys and I had different plans. They wanted to sleep near the shelter in one of the Hermit Lake Cabins and head up Monday afternoon after school. Arriving at the lot after dark, they grabbed some dinner before heading up circa 9:45pm. I heard from them around midnight, after they arrived at their camp for the night, which allowed me to finally get some sleep. But a recent avalanche update indicated that their planned routes of either “The Lip” or “Sluice” didn’t look as promising as they hoped, so I decided to wake up early and hit the trail to consult with them in the morning.
Gearing up in the dark before hitting the initial stages of the Tuckerman Ravine Trail
Good Morning, Mount Washington!
After a 4am wake-up, I headed to the Pinkham Notch Visitor Center, where I arrived around 6am. Gearing up in the dark, I couldn’t believe that now, with my son and his buddy, today might actually be the day I get to do this. It didn’t even get me down when my old touring boots had a buckle break before I could even cross the parking lot.
It was a critical buckle too—that second one from the top that ensures your foot doesn’t slide all over the place. But I didn’t care. I didn’t have any other gear—my son was using all of my current stuff—and this would have to do. I could always tape it, I figured, and I did just that when I arrived at Hojo’s (the familiar nickname for the Hermit Lake Shelter.) The tape came in handy for the heel blisters that were forming as well.
The boys and I had a couple of radios, which is always a good idea when taking on something that involves high risk. Mount Washington is no joke, whether you are hiking it or skiing it, and if they wanted to do something different than me, we needed to stay in touch. But on the way up, I didn’t hear anything from them. I checked in twice, but there was no word. I was a little concerned that the radios weren’t working, so I motored up to the shelter to see if I could find them hiking up anything. Setting down the radio on the bench, I made conversation with a friendly young couple and as I explained that I was looking for a couple of young adventurers, a voice came over the radio: “Good Morning, Mount Washington!”
Good morning, Mount Washington!
Into the Bowl
My new friends mistook this for a welcome report coming from the Pinkham Notch folks or some other local Samaritan group, but I knew it was the boys. Turns out they didn’t get to sleep until 3am, so they were just waking up. It was around 8:30 and it would be another half hour before they would make their way over to the shelter—some of the cabins are located a twenty-minute trek away, over by Hermit Lake (which is really a pond).
Arriving at the same time as the boys was an old friend of ours who I hadn’t seen in years. He had heard about the boys’ plan and decided to skin up the Tuckerman Ravine Trail to see what we were doing. Now we were a posse of four, and if there’s one thing that’s for sure when taking on risky adventures like this, it’s always better to have more minds to consult. Things were coming together nicely.
Now joined up, we made our way into the valley floor of Tuckerman Ravine. I was surprised what a big hike this was. When you do Hillman’s, you don’t go into the bowl, and since the other two times I was turned back because of the weather, I never had a chance to go this far. It took us an hour, I believe. At first, we tried to skin up, but it quickly becomes rocky and steep, and it was easier to follow the boot pack instead. There is already a lot of melting happening in the valley and the Cutler River was well exposed in a few areas. By the time we arrived at the foot of the ravine, it was 10:30ish and the sun was heating things up.
Standing in the bowl is mesmerizing
Picking a Route: Right Gully
I had read in a recent report that Lobster Claw and Left Gully would be the safest options of the day, and if you were to try Lobster Claw, do it in the morning. This is because it sits in the sun all day and get pretty mushy by afternoon, increasing avalanche risk. Looking up at it, the snow looked sparse, which probably explained why most people were hiking up Right Gully instead. A lot of people.
There were a ton of people at Tuckerman’s taking advantage of the weather, hoping to get good turns in before the snow dissipates too much. Seeing a steady stream of skiers heading up Right Gully, we felt like that made the most sense for our first attempt. The only concern, sometimes, is if too many people go up the same way, it can contribute to the factors that start an avalanche.
But the hike went great. It was steep, to be sure, and a big effort, but didn’t feel too sketchy. One climber fell at one point and almost slid into the famous pile of rocks known as Lunch Rocks, but he recovered before hitting the danger zone. On the way up, some of the twenty-year-old guys near us struck up a conversation with me and when I told one of them this was my first time up Right Gully, he said, “Hell, yeah, brother.” I was feeling younger by the second.
It was a busy day on Tuckerman’s. My guess is around one hundred skiers. Maybe more. Pictured above, 20 or so can be seen ascending Right Gully. Below are some shots of our crew’s perspective going up.
The ascent of Right Gully is steep, but more manageable than most of the other options.
Mushy Terrain
At the top of Right Gully, things got mushy. A young man—I’d guess around eighteen—who I passed on the way up in the early morning, was stuck in the snow. He had post-holed all the way down to the top of his quad, and was smiling at us. “Are you stuck?” I asked, and he confirmed that he was, but “it was no big deal.” He said he had asked some other guys to help earlier, but they were unsuccessful, so he would just sort of “figure it out.” He was smiling.
The boys were impressed with how chill this kid was, but I of course was concerned. The reason I passed him on the way up was because he was carrying everything the whole way—skis, ski boots, all of it—he didn’t have a touring set up. So, he was exerting a lot more effort than he should, for a much longer time. On our first crossing, he told me that he had never been to Tuckerman’s before, and I advised he ski Lobster Claw before knowing what it looked like. I was glad to see him on Right Gully because it was probably the easiest route to try, but the fact that he was alone, stuck at the top of Mount Washington, didn’t comfort me.
Skier’s meeting on top of The Sluice. Hatching plans. Reading lines.
After a Review, a Snack, and a Rest: The Lip
I tried to help the young man, but I ended up post-holing as well, and eventually he decided on a plan to shimmy himself out that seemed to work. I, like the boys, admired the kid’s spirit. And you couldn’t really be mad at him for being ill-prepared or making mistakes. He was approaching this adventure with the innocence that is expected in youth. But it still bothered me that he was alone. Was there nobody else in his life that he could do this with? Everyone has their things they need to do alone, but Tuckerman Ravine for the first time (or anytime I would argue) is not one of them.
I was glad when it was reported up to us that the kid got himself free. I had enough to worry about with the two teenagers that were with me. There have been 44 deaths in Tuckerman Ravine alone, according to this page, and most of these deaths have come from falls. Numbers like that make you stop and weigh your options.
We decided against skiing down Right Gully because of the fall the guy had, and we didn’t like Sluice because it was hard to discern the entry point through the field of tiny spruce up top. The Lip, coming down from the snowfields above, looked clear and safer to navigate, as long as we stayed away from the headwall. Anytime you have clear line of sight, it feels safer. So, we chose the Lip.
Holy moly, “The Lip” is steep! It drops precipitously after this spot, and I didn’t risk another pic after this.
Steeper Than Corbet’s
Many moons ago I skied Corbet’s at Jackson Hole, and my immediate thought when looking down into the bowl of Tuckerman Ravine was: this is steeper than Corbet’s. Considering that the last time I checked, Corbet’s was considered the most dangerous commercial ski trail in the United States, this gave me pause. No wonder so many people get hurt skiing here! My heart actually fluttered a little as the reality of potential injury, or worse, set in. Talking it over with the boys, we agreed that the best idea was to take a long approach, skiing left as much as possible, away from the headwall and the ice flows, towards “The Sluice.” Once we got to the edge of Sluice, we turned back into The Lip, using long turns to lessen the impact of the steep grade.
Watch Out!
We also decided to space ourselves out. We let each man take the run individually and not start the next guy until the preceding guy had made it all the way down into the bowl. I was the last of our party to descend, and as I approached the bottom, a skier coming off the Sluice fell. I saw him earlier on my descent and thought we might collide if I continued my trajectory, so I stopped. He crashed right where I thought the two of us would have met.
Fortunately, he was okay. This was on the lower part of the ravine, where the risk of tomahawking is less. But up top, you really don’t want to fall. When I took my third turn up top, my left ski stuck on the slushy snow, and I sensed a split coming. Panicking a little, I kicked my leg up to avoid the fall while thinking: don’t fall here, don’t fall here, don’t fall here. I didn’t fall, thank goodness, and was able to coast down the rest of the ravine with relative ease.
Skiing Tucks was a bucket list item I’ll never forget. And definitely want to repeat!
Skiing Our Way Back
After celebrating in the bowl, we worked our way down the Cutler River, searching for a way to ski down to the shelter before linking up with the Sherburne Trail (“The Sherby”). It was rough going and we needed to backtrack a couple of times.
A man hiking into the bowl earlier that day told me that if we stayed high above on the right side of the river, we should be okay. He wore a green flannel and a cap, looked to be in his mid-sixties, and had a way about him that made him look like he’d been climbing in this valley for a hundred years or more. Turns out he was right about staying above the river, but we should have gotten specifics about when to make that cut. We went too early and got stuck in some thicket and got trapped.
Eventually we found our way. We had to fight through some branches, skip over some rocks, and sidestep up a few slopes to get away from the river, but we got there. When we returned to Hojo’s, the boys needed to get their gear back from their sleep shelter, so my friend and I enjoyed a good sit until they got back. I was tired, but a good tired, and I still had enough left in the tank to make the ski down the Sherburne Trail enjoyable.
Attempting to ski the terrain between the Tuckerman bowl and the Hermit Lake Shelter.
Final Step: Ski Down the Sherburne Trail
With the recent warmup, a fair amount of melting has exposed several areas of the Sherbadooba, and we found a couple of rocks on the way down. But it was way better than when I ran it last April. And for the most part, what we found was pretty flowy. There were some good moguls, spaced perfectly apart, and we enjoyed some great turns. Still, we were glad when we were finally done. Taking on Tuckerman’s is hard work!
In the parking lot, we enjoyed some hydration and a review of the day’s events, which is always the best way to wrap up an epic adventure in the mountains. A shared adventure is the kind of thing that bonds buddies and family for life, but taking the time to immediately reflect after the fact, with laughter, is just as important as the event that brought you all together. More important, really. I suppose you could think of it like this: the adventure is what creates the story—the camaraderie is what binds the book.
Closing it out here with a few of my favorite photos from the day. Enjoy it out there!
In the Mountains
I try to get into the mountains of New Hampshire each week as I draw a lot of inspiration from them—both personally and for my writing. If you are exploring New Hampshire, or some other mountains, you can find more stories, trip reports, and ponderings, at In the Mountains.