Several skiers were already on top, loosely cluttered, some already clicked into their bindings, alert but casual as they viewed the surroundings and shared a reverential quiet.

The sun began to break out of the dreamy foliage of dawn, its canopy exploding into an enormous sunlit corona of mist, which trailed across the azure water like a cape.

Now, almost on cue, skiers snapped to attention. Several peeled off the crest and arced with a low-pitched, ripping noise, as if the air itself had split open. Down they went into Tallac's huge bowl.

We negotiated our first drop of descent, threading play-it-safe turns around lumpy mounds of snow before floating into steeps whose angle could wake up the dead. Adventure isn't easy; if it were, it wouldn't be adventure. For the winter-time adventurer seeking an uncontrolled environment, Tallac is a place to encounter and savor the unmediated, unforeseen consequences of risk seasoned with reason.

The Washoe word "Tallac" translates to "Earth that climbs to the sky," and one doesn't have to debate long why the natives named it so. Almost 10,000 feet above sea level, Tallac stands alone at the southwest corner of Lake Tahoe, separated from the other mountain ridges by Fallen Leaf Lake to the south and the canyon of Cascade Lake/Emerald Bay to the north.


Getting out of bed early in the morning and hiking 3,200 feet up three miles in the chill of March is not a folksy thing to do. Even an enthusiast mud-wrestles with eternity or lack of it and "why am I doing this?" Ultimately, I think, climbing Tallac, in winter particularly, signals a pure yearning for visceral, physical contact with the natural world. Step by step the challenge is not just in the climb, or the rocks, cliffs, and obstacles, but also in the delicious insecurity of mortal experience. It transcends the ski-in, ski-out world of slope-side condos and predictable groomed slopes.

Tallac skiing requires equal parts of judgment and technique. It is a serious land, where a wrong turn away from the lake takes one into the embracing, yet menacing, silence and isolation of true winter backcountry...the Desolation Wilderness.

On the east side, adjacent to the north-facing bowl, is the steep outline of a great cross formed by winter snows. It is a familiar sight to many and a ski-zone for the very stout of heart. This pontificated and bullied terrain, which the skier funnels into with
thank-God pole plants and edge sets, falls away from a ledge above. It is almost preposterously perpendicular and falls down to a meadow that lies between Tallac and the lake.

Tallac in winter is work elevated to sport: satori ...awakening.

Photos by Steve Brandt