“It had been a long day on Thompson Pass, AK in 1999. Dean had just finished boosting a 70-foot cliff, and when we got back to the road, Dean headed over to this emergency telephone. ‘Hey Mom,’ I heard him say, ‘just got done skiing for the day and thought I’d say hi!’” Photo: John Fullbright Words Colin Wiseman HOW do you know when a ski guide walks into a bar? Don’t worry, they’ll tell you. It’s a mountain-town joke built on cliché. But there’s some truth to it. Ski guides need to be self-confident. Poor decision-making can be disastrous. When Dean Cummings walks into a bar in Valdez, AK, he doesn’t need to tell you what he does for a living. Dean’s opened up countless lines around the Chugach while skiing and guid-ing there for the past 25 years. Square-jawed with a permanent goggle tan, he’s 50 years old, but could pass for 35. His taut, compact frame radiates energy. His eyes tell you he doesn’t fuck around. He’s the kind of guy that orders a chicken-fried steak for breakfast. He’ll give you home-smoked Copper River salmon for lunch and feed you moose burgers for dinner. Dean owns and operates the New York Yankees of Alaskan heliskiing, H2O Guides. They’re the biggest operation in Valdez, with history that dates back to the wildest times in what is still a very wild place. H2O has exclusive access to extensive terrain well beyond Thompson Pass and an excellent safety record. They might not offer the bohemian charisma of some of the other ops in AK, but that’s not part of the program. H2O’s business is delivering skiers into big lines while keeping them safe. It’s serious business. With Dean at the helm, they’ve pioneered many of the AK-specific techniques required to go deep into the 49 th state’s alpine via helicopter. From snow safety to communications to staging to guide training and beyond, H2O has their own, self-developed protocol. And conditions permitting, they will get you where you need to go. I’ve spent a week with H2O each April for the past four years. I’ve learned that Dean’s no-bullshit approach inspires confidence in big terrain. He’ll put you on a tight leash in critical moments and he’ll let you rip it top-to-bottom when the situation allows. He’ll do it with total confidence. During downtime, I’ve also come to know a man with big ideas. Dean is an educator with reach beyond his Alaskan clients. He’s passionate about the potential for Valdez to become more than a subdued port town with a seasonal influx of heliskiers. He has the self-conviction to follow through. And he truly loves the land, the state of Alaska, the freedom that comes with easy access to wild spaces. In 2013, my first year in Valdez, Dean loaded up our crew in his dually-equipped Ford with a tank full of jet fuel mounted to the bed, and gave us a tour of town. He pointed to a mountain rising to the northwest and suggested it would make a prime location for a tram, with lifts in the back bowls for winter skiing, and summer hiking and sightseeing. A rise behind the deep-water, cruise-ship-ready harbor could fit a housing development and village stroll. As the terminus of the Trans-Alaska oil pipeline, the municipality has the money to make it happen, but things move slow in this town of 4,000 or so folks, he said. Four years later, Dean has yet to break ground on his ex-panded vision for Valdez. Yet he remains optimistic about the future of outdoor recreation in the deepest reaches of Prince William Sound. After a sunny, stable day in the Chugach this past April, we sat in that same truck on the lightly used dock and watched the sun set on the imposing peaks across the harbor. There, the monarch of Valdez heliskiing told me his story. Dean Cummings 059
The Ski Journal Volume Eleven, Issue Three: Page 59
