Troublesome Glacier - March 2026

Years ago, Nyssa, Heather, Lars and I did an absolutely killer traverse through the East Fork of Eklutna and Hunter Creek. At the apex of that trip we coasted down the Troublesome Glacier as we connected from the East Fork to Hunter Creek drainages. I was struck by the amount of quality ski terrain stacked on consecutive small peaks back there. Since then, its been seared into my brain as a place that I've wanted to return to. In March 2026, we were lucky enough to spend a couple days there.

2026 was a pretty brutal season for the Southcentral ski clan. With sun and the possibly stability finally in the forecast, I raced out of work on Tuesday afternoon for an evening rip over to the Troublesome with Josh, Trish, and Dan. Circling our landing on the glacier, Josh pointed down at a heli perched on an mountainside with skiers pouring out of it. It was a jaw dropping sight, straight out of a skier's version of Jurassic Park. Their tracks looked great too. Despite the March sun, the glacier was in the deep freeze when we hopped out into the boot-deep snow and started skinning for the sunny slopes of Worrisome Peak.

Photo: Josh Gray




Photo: Josh Gray

Eagle River to Eklutna Backpack - September 2018

Updated below to include a great day on Thunderbird Ridge in 2026.

We spent a marathon Monday in the kitchen processing three caribou and chatting about ideas for the following weekend. Tony suggested Ram Valley to Eklutna; what a perfect backyard idea connecting so many favorite places! Saturday morning found us hiking up the familiar trail to Falling Water valley.


In the unusually hot September sun we treadmilled up the scree pass between Peking and Peak 5320. Behind Alyse is one of Raina's long coolies that link up well with so many other lines in the area.


At the pass, it was ginger chicken wraps for lunch with a view of Foraker for dessert. From there we descended briefly to head for the low ridge that we'd take to Peters Creek. In the background are Thunderbird and Bees Heaven peaks with the evening's campsite just hidden below.

Lake George Glacier Skiing - March 2026

A couple days of skiing long runs of thousands of feet of powder above the Lake George Glacier started as what looked to be a day of getting shut down in the Western Chugach:

Our mountains (and souls) had been through several rough weeks of cruddy weather and wind when late March finally brought a period of sun. With a rare forecast for sun and calm in the Prince William Sound, we pointed for the long aesthetic runs dropping from the Meares Glacier plateau to the toe of the Yale that we skied years ago.

Photo: John Hermus

The zone was as dramatically beautiful as always, but the snow was dust on crust. John:


After a lap we jumped back into the expensive old piles of metal and avgas and pointed towards the Eagle Glacier. From the air above the Eagle it was clear the snow was likely wind affected here too, so we turned east again to check out a cool skintrack zigzagging up from the Lake George Glacier. 

It was afternoon by the time we were parked next to Chris and Jon and were climbing their beautiful skinner - thanks a lot guys. The sense of scale was warped around this huge coastal glacier, and what looked like a quick lap turned out to be 3,000 feet of vert - it reminded me a lot of the east face of Twin Peaks in terms of pitch, length, and consistency minus the messed up terrain trap at the bottom. Trish and Shira:

Meares Peninsula Skiing

Updated in 2026 to include more sunny March days on this incredible peninsula of ice ringed by emerald waters.
On a Wednesday night in late March of 2022 I was lounging at home reading the weather, playing with the cats, and wishing I were skiing the next day when I got a text from Dana wondering if I could ski. My initial response was something like: "no thanks, I should be a good little corporate drone and go to work". Then I thought: Wait. WAIT. WWWWWAIT. Why would I put bloodthirsty corporate interests busy lining their own pockets ahead of a beautiful day in our unparalleled mountains with old friends?

The next morning, I called in sick with a bad case of powder fever, and headed for the icy tarmac of Merrill Field curious what we'd find in a rarely visited and unique zone. I found Dana preflighting his PA-12 in the numbing cold air of first light, then squirmed into the backseat of the taildragger. Feeling basically like Top Gun, I felt Dana push the throttle forward and the plane easily lift away from Anchorage.

Looking to be made of little model houses, our city disappeared behind as we climbed east towards endless wilderness. Following Ship Creek into the morning sun, we looked for the wandering tracks of the big brown bears hungry after their long winter night and ready to fill their bellies with a moose breakfast. To our right, the curved couloirs of Temptation grew from the hoar frost of the valley bottom to snake up the north face. As we approached Crow Pass and the maritime zone, the mountains continued to grow around us. To the left was the jagged south face of Organ. Some lucky and determined skiers have skied east from its summit. I'd like to join those ranks. 


There's so much country back here; it was like a giant slideshow as one mountain would slip away to reveal another behind it. As the slide of memories that is Bird Peak's steep and angular north face passed us, it revealed the shaded aquamarine jewel of Magpie.


Next up was the rimed summit of Raggedtop. There is so much to explore in our promised land that obvious options can fall out of mind for years - that's been the case for this Girdwood classic for me. Just visible on the right is the pass that we've used to avoid the avalanche and alder hazards of lower California Creek and access Fishs Breath famous southeast face and less known but equally dramatic north couloir. It would be cool to link up these two iconic peaks in one ski tour.

Prince William Sound Picture Project

I spent the summer of 2013 working on a fishery research vessel in Alaska's Prince William Sound. This was a truly formulative experience that changed me forever and bound the PWS to my soul. Over the years there have been so many beautiful moments that stood out from a larger story or adventure. After a decade hiatus, I've continued updating this post with images from these beautiful moments.

Hunting 2025

All year every year I look forward to deer hunting in the Sound. I'm not really sure why. Maybe because it has some of those same factors I love about backcountry skiing: anticipation, adaption in the moment, understanding the landscape (and the animals), shared experiences, and of course, some excitement. Its also special to me because some of my first memories in AK that I hold so dear were formed here.

So, it's particularly special to have a chance to go out for the opener. Abe hopped in and we flew over the glittering water set with emerald island gemstones to meet Adam on the outside.


We surfed the little rollers coming off the Gulf then hiked up top to hunt.


Early in the season the deer aren't used to hunters and are out doing their thing. Its magical to see them in a world seemingly untouched by people.

Eklutna to Pioneer - 8.17.2024

Its been about a decade since the last time Tarah and I followed the gorgeous rolling ridges from Eklutna Lake to Pioneer. During that time it has stayed fresh in my mind as a special treat to return to. Finally, in August 2024, Nyssa and I left the shuttle car on the shoulder next to the packed Pioneer Ridge Trailhead and retraced our tire tracks up the steep winding road to the lake.

There was just a hint of the sharp fall smell of cranberries as we left the parking lot behind and hiked up the switchbacks towards Pepper Peak. Above the birch forest, the otherworldly aquamarine waters of Eklutna Lake stretched away from us. Across the lake, Thunderbird Ridge mirrored our plans for the day. I think it’s one of the best ridges around here; and ties into Peters Creek—a place that feels about as wild and untamed as any corner of Southcentral AK.


Its a hoof up Pepper, and I was ready for a quick lunch at the top. We looked west past Palmer towards the Talkeetna Mountains where we have so many hiking, paddling, and skiing memories.


My eyes were drawn to the Sheep Glacier, where I had a relatively unsuccessful ski trip years ago.

Pioneer Peak Ski - 3.30.2018

Note: updated below the original post to include an evening lap on the north face in March 2022 with Tony, and again on a magical late summer day with Nyssa in August 2024.

Over the last two days Brian and Sam had both skied Pioneer, and it was about to get a refresh - it was time to go get it. Only two small problems: I didn't have ice tools, and Alex had a project due at work. Easily remedied. I went to REI and Alex called in sick with a bad case of powder fever.

Pioneer's giant north face towering over Palmer.

The next morning found us driving back and forth on the Old Glenn looking for the north face trailhead. After a few laps of the road we'd located the appropriate thicket and were skinning into the alders. Within 500 vertical feet we'd reached the avy debris and were soon climbing mellow ice.


I was pleased how much better my ice tools performed than my finger nails and running shoes. Kind of like being a cyborg.

Arctic to Indian Skiing - 2.5.2017

Updated below on 1.21.2023 to include an extended version of Arctic to Indian (A2I+), and then again on 3.9.2024 to include Indian to Glen Alps.

Almost everyone around town has done Arctic to Indian. Shoot, most people have done it multiple times, even multiple times each year. However, I unreasonably prioritize backcountry skiing above everything, so I miss out on a lot of other fun things. But, after starting out the weekend by skiing Byron and Wolverine, I was willing to try something else.

The descent down to Ship Creek was one of the most exhilarating things I've done in awhile. It also made me wonder why cross country skiers don't wear helmets. And hockey pads. And how anyone could consider cross country skiing safer than downhill skiing.

We reached Ship Creek and began to follow it upstream just as the sun was starting to touch Temptation Peak. It might be covered in beautiful couloirs and spires, but I still haven't been tempted to brave the bushwhacking and slogging to get there.


First light along the creek was absolutely magical: clouds of mist with each breath, huge crystals of hoar frost formed from the creek's unlimited supply of moisture, and the sun sparkling in the trees. Temps around -5 F were also very similar to those of the previous morning on the way up Byron.

Tikishla, Knoya, Kanchee, Nunaka Dome Skiing - 4.14.2022

Note: updated below the original post to include another great afternoon above Muldoon on 4.7.2024. 

There is a short window each spring in the Anchorage Front Range as the willow-choked valleys leading to the windswept faces of our peaks transition from bottomless facets and scary windslab, to fast and stable melt-freeze crust, before access is slowed by bare ground and emerging brush.

When the strong April sun began to metamorphose our ever changing snowpack into an efficient and stable crust, Bob and I were focused on taking advantage of it. We both had morning chores to attend to, and corn takes soften in Southcentral AK, so it was early afternoon by the time we were walking out of the Dome parking lot, sliding down the terrifying ice in the shady gorge, then crossing the footbridge into the North Fork of Campbell Creek. From here we hoped to link up Tikishla to Knoya to Kanchee, and if we were lucky, ski all the way back to the neighborhood.


The North Fork doesn't receive much precip to start with. Then you add in the strong downslope winds that pour over the Chugach and scour the valley floors. It doesn't take much sun to vaporize what snow is left. Fortunately dead grass and blueberry bushes are still sort of slippery. 


Reaching relatively continuous snow, or as much as that's a thing in the Front Range, we stopped for lunch. Bob ate delicious looking hummus wraps, while I probably ate something gross like old frozen pizzas - I need to hire Bob as a backcountry baking sensei. 

Ewe Peak & Concerto Peak Ski - 5.6.2023

For years I've heard whispers of the giant couloir on the north side of Concerto. Tucked into no-man's land in the east fork of Ship Creek, I'd generally thought it too far away to merit attention.

But, the skiing around Ship Creek was great this year, and after a sneaking a peek of Ewe from Koktoya last weekend I was finally hungry. Leaving the Harp parking lot early on a spring day, we cruised up a mostly supportable crust towards the giants of the South Fork of Eagle River.


The ptarmigan were loudly celebrating the arrival of spring as we slid past the dwarf willows of the U-shaped valley, across Eagle Lake, and into the deep gorge between Eagle and Cantata peaks. After a few hours and a few more blisters, we were gaining elevation and onto the Flute Glacier.

On the Flute we found cold snow which immediately adhered to our skins like a heavy layer cake.


With scraping, cursing, and time, our skins adjusted from spring back to winter and we transitioned from hip-flexor wrecking glopping back to smooth sliding. A storm was hanging over the head of the Flute, enshrining the glacier in snow and wind, and making the mountains seem bigger and otherworldly.

Indian Pass Skiing - January 2023

Between a wasteland of sastrugi at Hatcher and a layer cake of persistent weak layers at Turnagain, midwinter 2023 required creativity to make the most of our backcountry skiing mecca. Our attention turned to the mountains of Indian Pass, and we slowly worked our way into the zone.

First, we spent days digging pits, testing the snowpack, and bingeing on Falls Creek. The heavy early season snow had bent the alders into a tube to crawl through as the long winter night eroded into first light.


Leaving the caves of shrubs behind, we climbed into the Falls Creek basin. The storm cycle had brought down new avalanches everywhere along the approach. Some had filled the creek with 20 feet of debris and others left pulverized piles of shattered alder Lincoln Logs.

We'd hoped that the big chute dropping west from the summit of Falls Peak would be in play, but it was one of the few things that hadn't flushed. Without big rock walls steadily spindrifting to clean out any lurking instabilities, there was no way we'd be climbing into the mouth of that monster.

Instead we headed towards where most days here start: the north chute of Falls Peak. Wading upwards through the deep snow, we watched the rising sun bathe South Yuyanq’ Ch’ex in pink then gold morning light.


Dmitry was feeling motivated and raced ahead to break trail until we popped into the refreshing sunlight of the ridgeline. Towards Turnagain Arm, the south chute dropped away below us. It looked delicious, fat, and tempting, but didn't seem to fit with plans for the rest of the day.

Winner Creek Tree Skiing - 2.15.2022

It was a stormy Tuesday in February and Dane, Charlie, and I had the day off work. Well, Dane might have been playing hooky, and I probably was too. At least Charlie had the day off.

We were all hungry for a big day (like always), and looking for options with contrast, we tossed around Alaskan "tree skiing" options - aka chutes and couloirs. The Eagle Lake Chutes had been on our radars for awhile and were tempting. At the same time, we thought of the windloaded catcher's mitt sitting on facets at the top of east chute. 

The chutes would have to wait for another day. Instead we headed for a tour in one of the few actual tree skiing options around - Winner Creek.


Big lazy flakes of snow fell from the sky as we followed the familiar track out of the parking lot. Storm skiing here is often confined to the cat skiing terrain, but we wanted the diversity and escapades that wouldn't come with yo-yoing laps up and down the small bowl. Passing the turn to Notch, we continued up Sunnyside. When we reached the alpine where sharp windblown snow bit our cheeks, we dropped north towards the A1 drainage.


Bouncing between well-spaced glades maddeningly followed by impenetrable thickets, we skied until we ran out of vertical at the gurgling A1 creek. 

Tanaina Peak Ski - 2.15.2020

Note: updated below the original post to include a great linkup with the impressive north face of Koktoya on 4.23.2023.

Filled with so many glorious powder days this year has been incredible, but its been a little low on the satisfaction of slogging. By the middle of February we were starting to feel the itch for the long days, tired legs, and adventure of objective skiing.

Per usual, little beta existed about conditions in the Front Range, but I suspected that the inset couloirs of the zone were filling with stable snow. The weekend started with the old faithful of Front Range coolies, and with a good day there, we knew it was time to head deeper.

Rolling into the Dome parking lot at 9:00 on Saturday morning, Nyssa's car was already covered in a dusting of new snow. It wasn't until Tikishla Pass that we caught them.


Peering over the edge of the pass, I immediately thought: "this is stupid, I'm going home". Everyone else felt about the same. Below us was the classic shallow continental setup of windslab over depth hoar. However, with some creative discussion we agreed to avoid the slab by ice skating down the wind-scoured scree next to the face. Perfect.

We slid down the loose rock into the fog below. As the slope angle slacked off we ventured onto the snow and were immediately greeted by a giant whompf. Yep, glad we avoided the steeper snow!


In the dense fog of the Snowhawk Valley it was tricky telling which way was up, let alone where to go. Needless to say I've gone in much straighter lines.

Goats Head Soup Ski - 3.11.2020

Note: updated below the original post to include a great day of bad snow and good fun on 5.7.2023.

Backcountry skiing is the game of patience. We spend years staring at lines and waiting for them to come in. There are so many factors: stability, weather, work schedules, partners, motivation, and thin snowpacks to name a few.

For the couloir above Goats Head Soup, its takes something we haven't had in awhile along Turnagain Arm - consistent snow to sea level. But, every time we round the bend at Windy Corner, we crane our necks, try not to swerve into oncoming traffic, and hope for a fleeting glimpse of snow snaking down the 4,000 foot line to the ocean.

In early March, when Andy and Connor figured out that it was in, Tony and I weren't going to miss our chance.

We left work early with bad cases of powder fever, parked at the Windy Corner lot, skinned the Turnagain Arm Trail to the gully, then popped out of the alder tube into the lower chute.

Andy and Lance were ahead of us, and we followed their tracks as they took the subtle left-hand turn into the upper couloir.


Booting upwards, the brown and orange rock walls grew around us. 

Avalanche Mountain Ski - 4.15.2023

Avalanche Mountain as viewed from The Ramp in April 2019.

I always have a hard time motivating to ski the Thin White Line. Its a lot of squeeze for the juice, and I don't like the avalanche hazard of the mid-slope bowl. But, after skiing impossibly deep (and pretty darn dark) snow on Ptarmigan at 9 PM on Tuesday night, we knew we should take advantage of unusually soft conditions around Powerline Pass.

Given the relatively long approach, we'd want to plan on linking in at least a couple other lines while back there - start with the TWL, then a lap on the Wedge, then go from there.

Several of us had grown the requisite blisters by the time the five mile approach was over and we'd climbed the access pass between Avalanche and the Wedge. Dropping into the contrastless bowl, we all did our best not to tip over in the flat light, let alone look like we had any idea how to ski.


We skied past a group of Dall Sheep rams who took a break from their grazing lunch to watch us flail down the inside of the ping pong ball.

Somehow having survived the approach, and in the basin under the TWL, we squinted up through the gray light to see that the last storm cycle had pulled out a large natural slide on the northwest face of Avalanche. Snapping our boots and skis to walk mode, we started to ascend the debris.


The recent slide made the snow firmer and the ascent easier, and we were able efficiently skin until reaching the mouth of the upper chute. Here we were above the crown of the big slide, and the climb became a lot harder as we booted up the deep snow.

The Wedge Ski - 5.8.2019

Note: updated below the original post to include a Thin White Line - Wedge linkup on 4.15.2023.

Yogging out of the Glen Alps parking lot on Wednesday evening my pants seemed to be getting unreasonably wet. Then it started to smell like beer too. I stopped, dug the half spilled beer out of the bottom of my pack, drank it, and continued.


15 minutes later I ran into Maggie who was eating crackers and cheese and watching the ptarmigan/maybe on a Tinder date. The crackers and cheese went nicely with the beer, and after a short chat I was on my way again.


I waded through a few isothermal snowdrifts, found the melted out trail, and continued my yog towards Ship Lake Pass.

Goat Couloir Ski - 12.30.2022

Goat Couloir is one of so many Southcentral AK ski classics that has been on my radar forever, but seems to just keep getting pushed down the list by other objectives. It’s tricky given its solar aspect and the high winds that rip through the Crow Pass gap. Plus, there's the teetering schoolbus cornices that are always threatening to peel off and bounce down the line.

Goat as seen from TT43 in January 2019.

On a calm gray day in late December, Nyssa and I thought we had a window for good snow and acceptable stability to go goat hunting. Plus, the striking rock walls of the couloir would hopefully provide some much needed visual reference under the contrastless faint light of a dark midwinter day.


Skinning away from the Crow Creek winter parking, the alders stood tall and unencumbered by snow. We followed a tube through the thickets, then started the tedious skin up the creek. We tried not to slip off of the rickety ice bridges and plunge our skins into the open water as we high stepped up the boulders of the ravine.