Report from December 15, 2025

Yesterday, we ventured into Suicide Chute on 11,000′ Mt. Superior in Utah.

Our buddy Mike had ridden it a few days prior and warned us it was pretty heinous.

We went anyway…

This was my first backcountry ski day of the northern hemisphere ski season.

I simply needed to get out for a walk.

Martin, SnowBrains’ editor-in-chief, joined me for the excursion.

Skinning up the apron was overly warm in the hot sun and uneventful.

We switched to boot crampons at the base of the chute and grumbled on.

The base of the chute is too icy and steep to ski, so we made careful note of that on our way up.

4 skiers ripped down the chute’s lowers as we clambered its icy mouth.

The bootpack was bomber, then challenging, then a bit ass-kicking.

The 8 skiers who’d recently dropped had destroyed the bootpack and scattered any trace of its remains.

I made Martin go first at this point, he he.

He battled and wallowed and grimaced but didn’t complain.

We hit the top 1 hour and 42 minutes after leaving the car.

Not a terrible time considering.

Martin dropped first and I smacked him with some weird drone angles as he valiantly fought his way downward.

I’d forgotten my 360 helmet cam and stole Martin’s GoPro 360 Black with a wide-angle lens attachment.

I carefully visualized my line, turn by turn, arc by arc, breath by breath, then dropped in.

My plan instantly dissolved as the unforgiving, weeks-old, severely skied snow clearly stated, “Look at me. I’m the captain now!”

I skittered, bounced, and ricocheted off every contour in the rock-hard snow, losing all semblance of good form and skiing like a complete hack…

Even in real-time, I knew it was funny.

I smashed air into my mouth every turn, wondering how long I could hold out and still ski reasonably well.

It wasn’t long…

Halfway down the chute, I had to stop, double over, stuff my poles into my shoulders, and pant like a dog in midday desert heat.

I was wrecked.

After 30-60 seconds of this, my blood oxygen rose and I blindly popped the clutch of this broken-down wreck of a body back into gear.

Thankfully, the lower chute was less steep and smoother to the touch.

I shaved my way down to Martin in hideous style and collapsed onto the snow.

“Conditions report?” Martin hollered.

“That was brutal!” I spurted back.

I was glad to be done…

We switched to booting, scrambled down the base of the chute, and realized we’d missed the apron’s prime window as the sun was already slinking behind the mountain, leaving the apron’s snow shaded, rutted, and firm.

I zigzagged my way to the road, slapped on skins (I couldn’t mentally digest the idea of walking in ski boots back to the car after all the dirt walking we did in Patagonia this summer), and gently glided back to the car.

Humbled yet again by Mt. Superior?

Yessir!

Thanks, Utah.

Forecast

OnX Backcountry Stats

Photos