James and I sat down at a table at the Lot in Bend on a fateful winter evening a week before Christmas.
“So you want to go to Rogers Pass?”
“How does the first week of January sound?”
“That works for me”
Trip planned.Typical conversation for two dudes in their mid-twenties with nothing better to do than burn calories running around in the mountains on a pair of wooden planks.
I had driven over Roger’s Pass once before but a low-lying fog left me wondering how the mondo-sized ridges, bowls and couloirs resolved at their tops as they disappeared into the mist. I was sufficiently teased. Fast forward 2 years… By the time James and I rolled by Revelstoke, the night had already swallowed the peaks in darkness and we were forced to wait another ten hours for the sun to rise.
We woke up in the Asulkan parking lot, welcomed by a “Formal Warning” under our windshield wiper (something about no overnight camping) and the massive face of Avalanche Crest looming above with no fucks to give.. At some point during the drive, I found myself wondering why I was traveling a couple thousand miles across the continent when I hadn’t even fully explored my home. As the sliding door rattled open and my breath froze on the cool morning air, an
escaped my lips.
Here's the picture story of our 4-day Roger's Boot Camp.