Mount Whitney, CA looms large over base camp on a cold, cloudless night, emanating a near-magical aura. Photo: Adam Clark MILE 498; APRIL 12; BOUNDARY PEAK, NV; 13,140 FEET There are no signs of human travel on the ridgeline, even when we catch stretches of the summer trail, winding through the sagebrush in between snow patches—just paw prints, probably coyote, and us. On our drive here, the access road had no indications of use, just old mining structures from a time gone by. If it weren’t for Boundary Peak’s claim to fame as the high-est point in Nevada, few, if any, people would come to climb it. My ski partner, Adam Clark, and I fall into that faction. Neither of us have ever skied in Nevada, despite it being the most mountainous state in the contiguous United States. We top out after a few hours of boot packing along the summit ridge. Adam and I share a high five and a beer, enjoying the view of couloirs and untouched peaks in the rest of the White Mountains, a range that sits on the western border of Nevada. We clear off the USGS summit marker, caked by windblown snow on the summit rocks. Before edging out to the top of our line on the north face of the mountain, I take a moment to look back to the west. The border of California is only 300 yards away, and in the distance are the famous Sierra Nevada mountains, the next stop on this long, long mission. The view is spectacular, but such grandeur doesn’t bring them any closer, so we point our eyes and tips downward, schussing our way toward the truck parked a few thousand feet below. 070 The Ski Journal
The Ski Journal Volume Eleven, Issue Two: Page 70
