This is the glacial fountain, the core of the ice fields, from whence rivers of ice flowed off in all directions, having reaped the harvest of the most optimum orographics, this rearing granite wall rising directly from the great Central Valley, aligned with the golden gate to the sea.
And always over our shoulder, a big blue grin. We orbit her jagged rim, drawn in by her gravity, yet in falling, we miss the ground, and just sail on around.
Angel of incidence equates to maximum insolation. Precise exposure makes all the difference for mid winter corn skiing. Due South matters, I feel it in my bones, and under my skis. It’s a marginal game of degrees, wagered with our bodies.
These chutes call out, but the exposure is off, and the snow is not ripe, its punchy and crusty, and better saved for another day. If we leave ruts in it now, it wont be smooth when the snow ripens. It’s the classic marshmallow queery, one now or two later? such simple math should be necessary for graduating kindergarten (consumerism’s scarcity fallacy notwithstanding). Dont shake the tree when the fruit’s not ripe.
You can see how the prevailing SWerlys cross load this rib, depositing snow in it’s lee.