Heliskiing

Alaska - just "ÄyKäy" to those in the know - is probably the dream destination of almost all freeriders. The Powdernoerds alias Dieter Grafl, Andy Razic & Christian Skala were there and review their trip.

After a few days of earn-your-turn from the motorhome on the various famous passes of Southwest Alaska, the first heli day of our Dreamline trip had given us a taste for more!

Steep flanks, narrow gullies, wide slopes, pow up to your chin: these are the dream lines that Andy Razic, Chris Skala and Didi Grafl are chasing in Alaska. The first part of their trip took them from Anchorage via Turnagain, Hatcher and Thompson Pass to Valdez and into the helicopter.

In mid-May, a group of hungry freeriders made their way to Lapland in the far north to enjoy the last powder days of the 2010 season 200 km above the Arctic Circle. That was the plan, but instead they experienced the heaviest snowmelt for many years in Riksgränsen. But even this couldn't stop them from climbing Nordalsfjäll, heliskiing in the midnight sun and, of course, exploring the off-piste area of Riksgränsenfjället!

A huge steak with baked potato, salad, an appetizer and ice cream brownies for dessert, all for 12 dollars. This is exactly what dinner at a real Wild West ranch should look like. We found the ranch by chance on the side of the road in the small town of Montrose on the way from Crested Butte to Telluride. Well fortified, we finally tackled the last few miles to the old mining town in the middle of the mighty San Juan Mountains.

Endless expanses far away from civilization, good terrain. Light and deep powder snow that disappears behind a white wall at every turn and lets you sink in up to your stomach when you get out of your bindings. Trees so deeply snow-covered that you can barely make them out. Meter-high pillows? these are all thoughts that make you dream of a skiing adventure in Canada – something like the snow conditions in the Alps this season. But then, when envy soon made us burst, then came the turning point?

A jet of fire hisses from the exhaust above the hatch and the turbine of the old MI-8 transport helicopter slowly starts to move. Driven by the flight officer's hop-hop-hop calls, we climb aboard at a run, past the dented external tanks, and squeeze into a row on the two benches inside.

We make the last run of the day from a smaller but very steep mountain directly into the "Chimgan" ski area. However, the term "ski resort" has a very specific meaning here. There are lifts here – even a chairlift – but no groomed slopes and you just ski down wherever you can...

For six long days, we?ve been sitting in a motorhome watching the snow fall in enormous amounts. Almost two meters are stacked up here in the valley and there is no way of knowing how much has fallen in the mountains above. We watch DVDs, drink whiskey cooled with glacial ice, and are just waiting for the blue skies to return to the Chugash.