Most of the time, I let conditions dictate the lines I ski. Well, all the time if I’m being honest. There’s no way around the fact that the mountains are in charge. What I mean is that I usually take stock of conditions, then go through my catalogue of ideas to find the ones that fit. It’s easier to enjoy the mountains that way. I find I spend a lot less time trying to force days that just aren’t there. Sometimes though, I get a line stuck in my head. No matter what the weather and snowpack, I keep thinking about it until eventually I find myself waiting for the conditions to fit the line instead of finding the line to fit the conditions. 

You can probably see where I’m heading with this. Back in 2016, Trevor skied the NW couloir of Mt. Farnham, the highest peak in my home range of the Purcells, right from the summit. It’s been eating at me to have a go ever since. This winter, I was missing the central Purcells as it was anyway. It had been over a year since my last visit to the incredible Farnham Creek valley. It’s one of my favourite places on earth, and that’s just too long.

We had the conditions to go big pretty much all spring long, but what was proving more elusive was the weather. Unsettled would be putting it charitably and though the actual conditions were excellent, it was very tricky to get into the alpine with clear windows appearing rarely and lasting only hours. To compound things, no single forecast model was proving accurate – reducing timing those windows to old fashioned, degenerate gambling.

But Farnham was in my head and I knew we’d had the right series of sticky storm to give a good chance of the summit scree block filling in. On top of that, it looked like there might just be a morning window coming up. So I called Logan and Mali and we rolled the dice. The others had never been into Farnham Creek before so we enjoyed a scenic evening drive in, with lurking squalls clearing out just in time for us to get some great views into the Jumbo area. We turned in for an early night at the trailhead under clearing skies.

After a dark, chilly breakfast we set off up the trail which apparently services a scramble route on Mt. Atlung. Despite it being a bit narrow and brushy for ski and boot outriggers, this was far more pleasant than expected. I rarely run into other people enjoying this valley, and yet all the approach trails seem well maintained. I do what I can to keep up the standard when I’m there, but someone must be out really putting in some work. Their efforts don’t go unnoticed.

Anyway, as soon as the snow started we lost the trail, and a good freeze allowed us to just plod up snow slopes in our approach boots. Upon arriving in the basin below the line, we had a clear view up at the giant of a couloir splitting the NW face. Aside from a cliff band at the bottom and the summit block itself, the couloir just winds its way up the middle of the thing. It’s beautiful, huge and quite imposing.

Soon we were marching up the fan and into a short side couloir, then making the committing traverse over the lower cliff band to enter the guts of the main couloir itself. From here on out we would be above meaningful exposure for the rest of the ~800m line. It all passed pretty uneventfully though, with leads being swapped and the occasional small spindrift hissing down one part of the face or another. The snow felt good enough underfoot, with the usual mix of soft and crusty that characterizes this time of year. Clouds swirled in and out, signalling an early end to our window. We were alternately provided brief peeks across the valley and plunged into our own tiny world of mist.

Eventually the couloir petered out and we had some decisions to make about how to cross the hanging face which links it to the summit block. It’s steep, it’s not very well supported and the entrance is a completely different aspect; riddled with thin spots and facet holes. This had been my idea and my obsession, so I aimed at the deepest looking part and deployed some wolverine tactics, thinking light thoughts as I trenched and crawled my way onto the panel of snow. I tried my best to keep out from under the bulk of any potential windslabs, but still each step came with a quick calculus on how the snow might fracture and what I would try to grab if it did. Within a few steps and after perhaps 10 slow, careful minutes I found that the face was coated with the same confidence inspiring snow as the couloir had been and romped on up.

Mali and Logan followed shortly afterwards and together we walked up the thinly covered scree to a summit wreathed completely in cloud. Icy wind whipped across and tried its best to turn us into rime sculptures. We had hoped the clouds would keep temperatures cold, and they were certainly doing that. Who were we to complain?

There wasn’t much to look at on the summit. After a peek down what we thought was Conrad Kain’s first ascent route (a stiff challenge even today in our estimation), we quickly transitioned and got to work on the top of the line. It takes a lot of wet snow to make this thing go from the very summit, and we were pushing it a little. It’s just so high and exposed than any snow that falls on it inevitably blows away. Speed was certainly not an option – between the terrible visibility and lurking talus blocks the place was a bit of a minefield. The pitch there was relaxed though, and soft snow neutered any exposure risk. As long as we didn’t mind leaving a little p-tex behind it was all perfectly skiable.

The connector face went just perfectly – with the extra float of our skis the facet holes posed no issue and then it was just the classic game of couloir leapfrog. Visibility immediately became much less of an issue with the rock walls on either side, opening further and further up as we descended,. Snow quality was generally excellent and we really got to enjoy the great position we were The line just went on and on, snaking its way down Farnham’s enormous relief. Near the bottom things got refrozen and cruddy, so the traverse back to the side couloir was a bit cautious.

After that, just a long corn ski down to our waiting boots and then, carrying them, to treeline. We picked up the trail easily enough and crashed our way down the remaining vert into the spring green of the valley below. I’d rate this line as one of the best couloirs I’ve skied. Skiing right from the summit of the highest peak in a range always has a special cachet to it. This descent also comes with really long fall line, adventurous but not too adventurous approach and, theoretically, some incredible views. I think I’ll have to come back for those.