Day 48, 2005-2006
Boott Spur (el. 5,500’), Main Gully GOS, NH
March 11, 2006

Took a roll of the dice with this one. The weather window looked like it
would be cracked open for a NH trip. Not wide open but maybe…
Standing in the Pinkham parking lot looking up at the mountain range I had
that sinking feeling I’d be seeing snake eyes. Gray and boiling the clouds
were socked in hard, whipping over the summits with a howl that registered
all the way down here in the pass. But the dice were still rolling and I
looked keenly at the south end of the range. The wind was out of the NW and
therefore the wind was descending the SE aspect of the range. A pocket of
sunny periods were opening on the Gulf of Slides. Maybe…
Waiting until 10 pm it was clear this wasn’t going to be the day I had
planned. The clouds remained socked in, the wind howled out of the NW and
worse still, the temperature hung on in the 20’s at 4000’- bad news for
ambitions of steep skiing. But that pesky opening hung on over GOS so I made
the decision to try and summit Boott Spur via the Main Gully of GOS. Perhaps
in the lee of the wind it was sheltered enough to gather the intermittent
sun and soften up. That was the idea at least.
Went up GOS ski trail to the floor of the ravine without any drama. The ski
trail has surprisingly good conditions coverage wise. In the sun the snow
softened nicely while anything shadowed remained hard boiled crushed white
china. It was obvious that the previous days warm temperatures had released
a lot of free water into the snow pack and it had frozen solid overnight,
leaving that pesky ice-lace confection that defies carefree skiing. 
At the floor of the ravine the main gully climbed 1100’ vertical feet up to
the rounded ridge of Boott Spur. Looked pretty darn thin for March 11 I’m
afraid. More like flippin' May. Ah the vagaries of the New England winter. I
spied a group of three climbers though- visitors to what had until then felt
like my very own side of the mountain. They were very high in the gully at
the crux snow pitch before the scree field to the summit.
Switching to axe and crampons I climbed the gully straight away. Good
crampon conditions- hard ice which gave away a bit when kicked. Bad
snowboarding. Or more to the point, demanding snowboarding. I punched up the
middle of the gully disappointed and a bit mad. The sun was out and yet
barely scratched the surface of the icy slope. 8 degrees warmer and I’d a
been thinking all kinds of crazy thoughts about the more bizarre lines
dropping of this side of Boott Spur. As it was I was left contemplating just
how much I ran the file across those edges. Enough for this? 
The wind blasted over the ridge in the intermittent 40 to 50 mph range- hard
enough to knock you off your feet if you weren’t paying attention. I really
took my time on the climb, hope against hope that the sun would miraculously
transform the slope in front of me. A fool’s errand. It was 1:45 pm and time
to head down. 
I spied the three climbers across the chute hunkered down in a semi
sheltered spot out of the wind. They couldn’t have been gomers. Not here,
not in these conditions. So against my very nature I traversed the top of
the chute to say hi. Three tele skiers it turns out they said they were
waiting to see if the snow would soften. We hunker down in the wind and
chat. They could see the writing on the wall too however and soon we were
all getting our glisse apparatus together. 
The three guys were ready about when I was and I indicated that they could
go first if they wanted- why not? Not like there’s glory powder down there. 
Well, the first guy starts down the 35-40 degree slope in a bomber side-slip
stance. A nuclear detonation wasn’t going to wipe this guy out. Two turns
and 200’ feet later he stops near some trees, putting an end to the
screeching whine of his edges. The way he stopped reminded me of John
Cusack’s “Better Off Dead” character skiing through the slalom finish line,
stopping and turning to hear his time while his nemesis waits and waits to
stop the clock. Oh, too bad Lane, better luck next year. 
Guy number two starts down and with his buddy’s edges still ringing in our
ears proceeds to self destruct right in front of us. He executes one right
turn and immediately his left ski is off. Like his DIN is set to 2. He’s on
his side in an instant and all four of us are thinking the same thing- Slide
for Life my friend... 
He’s scratching frantically at the ice / snow combo trying to slow down;
meanwhile his left ski is cart wheeling down the couloir right at Guy number
one. I’m thinking I’m about to see a guy decapitated with a ski, sort of
forgetting about Guy number two and how he’s making out with the whole
stopping thing. Guy number one executes a sort of curtsey and deflects the
ski with his ski boot- ole’! Guy number two claws to a stop in a shower of
ice crystals and good fortune. His ski disappears down the throat of the
chute with a diminishing clatter like someone’s tossed a set of china down
the concrete side of a dam. 
I turn to look at guy number three standing on his skis next to me. He looks
back at me and says simply “I think I’ll walk”.
I laugh heartily and dive down the slope- skiing away from this madness and
the inescapable notion that nothing is a sure thing. The dice roll down the
table and you place your bets… Nothing more, nothing less.

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