I had never considered skiing Main Chute until one day in April 2007 while skiing at Alta with my friend Steve and his friends Kevin and Drew. Main Chute is a steep, rock-lined couloir that cuts through the rugged northeast face of Mount Baldy, the 11,068-foot peak that serves as the boundary between the Alta and Snowbird ski areas in Utah. The chute is accessible via a hike from either ski area. It’s a popular destination—when it’s open. Avalanches coming down from Mount Baldy put the terrain in Collins Gulch at risk; therefore, Alta’s ski patrol only opens Baldy’s chutes when the avalanche danger is low. The last significant snowfall had been ten days earlier; the snow was stable. Main Chute was open. We decided to go.
From the top of the Sugarloaf lift at Alta, we skied to an open gate, removed our skis, and started hiking up Mount Baldy’s east ridge. Before we got too far, a ski patroller directed us to a spot 500 feet across the slope. I could see people waiting there to climb up to the ridge. We put our skis back on and traversed to a small, matted-down platform of snow dug into the side of a forty-degree slope, 200 feet above the East Baldy Traverse cat track.
I looked up at the next leg of the journey. Others had already kicked steps in the snow, but it was steep. Alpine ski boots work well in these situations if you don’t encounter terrain that requires more traction and flexibility than they provide. Their heft makes kicking steps into deep snow easy, and their rigidity provides a solid platform to support your weight. I kicked one step after another, careful not to transfer my weight to the next leg before I was sure my boot would hold. My ski boots had little traction, and I didn’t have my hands available to help with balance because one held my poles while the other steadied my skis resting on my shoulder. It was like climbing a straight ladder without using your hands. If I slipped and fell, I probably would wipe out everyone behind me. If I dropped something, I would be forced to step aside and climb down. Those worst-case scenarios never crossed my mind, though. And I never looked down lest the exposure would cause my stomach to flutter. I made it to the ridge without trouble.
The hike on the ridge to Mount Baldy’s broad summit was like a walk in the park compared to the climb to the ridge. The summit provided sweeping, unobstructed views of Mount Timpanogos to the south and, to the west, Hidden Peak, Peruvian Gulch, and Little Cottonwood Canyon’s glacier-carved, U-shaped valley.
After a quick rest, we skied north about 200 yards to the top of Main Chute. I peered over the edge to see what I had signed up for. The chute narrowed partway down, but it was wide enough for normal turns. There were no terrain obstacles besides a few rocks poking up through the snow. But it looked impossibly steep—like a 750-foot-tall staircase tipped forward ten degrees. I felt exposed. My legs became weak with fear. It was already my turn to go.
I skidded down the steep headwall into the chute. Once there, I felt more comfortable. Main Chute’s intimidating setting and grand aesthetics had deceived me. It wasn’t much steeper than other terrain I had skied at Alta and Snowbird. The soft but choppy and inconsistent snow posed the greater challenge. I skied cautiously to make sure I didn’t lose control.
In his guidebook, The Chuting Gallery, Andrew McLean called Main Chute “one of the most prominent and classic chutes in the Wasatch.” He rated its difficulty “S4−,” making it neither the easiest (S2+) nor the most difficult (S7) line in the book. Climbing to Mount Baldy’s summit and skiing Main Chute tested my skills and challenged me in new and interesting ways. It was one of the most rewarding experiences of my life. I went home and placed a thick check mark next to Main Chute in my copy of The Chuting Gallery.
Note: This article is an edited excerpt from my book A Skier’s Journal.