I don’t wear ski goggles. They annoy me. Instead, whenever I go into the mountains I wear my beat up, $15 pair of glacier glasses. Even in raging snowstorms in the backcountry, I wear this trusty pair.
Yet, each time I take a picture, I normally take off my glasses to see the world in its true colors. Then, when I get home, I process those images to reflect the bright whites and blues that I see in wilderness.
Even though this may be what the camera sees, this isn’t the world that I see.
Last week, the dry winter in the Sierra finally relented. For a week, storm after storm dropped feet of snow, building up a nice base and bringing one of 2012’s few powder days. Naturally, I dropped everything and headed straight for the hills as soon as the skies cleared, camera in hand. I spent a few days near Tahoe–one at Alpine Meadows, the other in the Mt. Rose backcountry. While I was in line at Alpine I thought, “hmm, wouldn’t it be cool to capture the experience of milking the powder in a dry year though my eyes, those covered by a beat up pair of yellow mountaineering glasses?”
The following images are just that: my friends and companions riding as much fresh snow in and out-of-bounds around Tahoe in one of the driest years in memory, but through yellow-tinged eyes that I wear everyday in the mountains.
The mountain didn’t remain virgin for long…
An unknown boarder leaves his mark on the mountain on his first run.
Richard Mack drops in off a ridge eager to find his own fresh turns. From here out, we charged:
As we worked through the day, the fresh powder became ever harder to find and the heat of the sun thickened it into powdery crust.
We refused to quit…
The following day we headed out into the backcountry in hopes of finding great snow high and in the trees near Mt. Rose. My buddy, Paul, came along for his first day out in the BC in a few years. Having sold his ski setup, he joined Richard for the snowshoe slog.
Late afternoon light looked as pretty as ever streaming through the trees on our ascent.
And after a few hours of skinning and postholing in snowshoes, the crew finally reached a high ridge on Incline Lake Peak.
That’s right, boys. You made it. Soak it up.
And now the reward: a descent into the trees with the high desert behind you.
Paul grabs his first turns of the season.
And Richard cleans up.
As we drive back home, the late evening light paints the sky above Lake Tahoe and the surrounding basin.