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In Pursuit of Powder: Catskiing Colorado’s Remote Irwin Backcountry

The last time I went catskiing was the scariest day of my life. Since then, I've torn my ACL. What could go wrong on my next powder adventure?

“Skiing is the closest thing to flying.”

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I remember the words of my host, ski legend Mike Hattrup, as I peer down the side of a cliff, utterly terrified. I’m perched atop a vertiginous ledge in the West Elk Mountains, and though Colorado has had the driest season on record, everything beneath me—the aspen trees, the jagged rock spires—is coated under a thick blanket of snow. And with great powder comes great responsibility.

A private snowcat deposits me above the treeline, and it’s time for the first run of the day. The last time I embarked on a catskiing adventure was, definitively, one of the most stressful days of my life. It was six years ago, on the Powder Highway in British Columbia, and I was decidedly the weakest link in my group of skiers. I’d been overconfident in my abilities at the time, perhaps. There’s skiing groomers, and catching first tracks at a resort, and then there’s backcountry—the very movements of the sport change when confronted with waist-deep powder (and hidden tree wells).

And, like everything else in life, confidence is everything. I’d been too conservative with my skiing—not aggressive enough. I was slowing myself down to such an extent that I found myself routinely buried beneath the snow after not catching enough speed to execute a proper turn. I was constantly being rescued by one of our patient Canadian guides, and swore to myself I’d never find myself in that sunken place........

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