Report from April 8
Despite having skied Utah’s Little Cottonwood countless times, I had never made my way across the road and onto the famed Mount Superior — until today. For our first excursion up this iconic peak, the original intention was to ski Superior proper, but knowing the state of the Utah snowpack, we always had Suicide Chute in mind as an alternative. After our first glimpses of the mountain, there was no doubt: Superior summit was out, and Suicide Chute was in.
Alongside our decision to abandon the summit due to low snow, we (maybe ignorantly) opted to leave the skins in the car and bootpack to the top.
From the get-go, vibes were high. Minimal winds, temperatures hovering in the mid to high 40s, and overcast skies shielding us from the oppressive sun made for a truly blissful start.
Suicide Chute from below, a steep strenuous bootpack. | Photo: Zach SuffishWe were not soaking up comfort for long, as the climb promptly showed its teeth. The first half of the hike is an open snowfield at a moderate gradient. Continuous warm temperatures had made the snowpack isothermal and extremely punchy under our boots. Without skins to keep us afloat, hiking the exposed rocky and dirt sections proved easier—despite the massacre of my GripWalk soles.
After ascending about 780 feet, we arrived at the base of the chute and finally got a look at the beauty of the line we were about to ski: a steep, sustained chute with surprisingly no mandatory ski removal sections.
Our expectations for ski quality have truly plummeted this winter, if you couldn’t tell.
For this next segment, there was no debate on the route — it was a straightforward but strenuous bootpack. After post-holing through most of the climb up to this point, I expected more of the same. Luckily, when expectations are low, they’re easily exceeded.
The bootpack up the chute varied between a set track from previous hikers, sections of unconsolidated snow collapsing underfoot, and firm, steep pitches that required hands as much as feet. 900 vertical feet — and a snowpants volume of sweat — later, we made it.
There is truly no better feeling than that first glimpse over the ridgeline. Peering down Little Cottonwood Canyon from this new vantage point was breathtaking. The rugged, exposed peaks stretching in every direction have a way of humbling anyone who stands there.
We scrambled another 50 feet to a higher perch and dined on the finest Kirkland protein bars and WinCo dried fruit, paired with the freshest sink water — truly a high-class experience.
After soaking in the sun and the views, we returned to our skis, forced our fatigued legs into submission, and began the descent down.
Avalanche danger wasn’t on the forefront of our mind for the descent, but rather the combination of inconsistent snow quality paired with dead legs.
After soaking in the views, we clicked back into our skis, forced our fatigued legs into submission, and began the descent.
Avalanche danger wasn’t at the forefront of our minds on the way down — rather, it was the combination of inconsistent snow and dead legs.
Boots locked, camera rolling—the long-anticipated descent began. The upper section skied better than expected, with the steep rock walls shielding the snow from direct sun and offering something close to corn conditions.
The further we descended, however, the more the snow deteriorated. By mid-chute, where the walls opened up and the sun had been baking the slope for hours, the snow turned heavy and mashed-potato-like.
Near the bottom, during a quick regroup before the final stretch, my partner realized his phone had somehow escaped his three-inch, completely unsealable athletic shorts pocket during the descent. Honestly, the day had been too smooth up to that point. After reviewing some footage, we pinpointed where it likely landed. 10 minutes and 150 vertical feet later, both people and electronics were reunited.
There was no hope for good snow on the final stretch — a low-elevation, south-facing, dirty, sun-baked slope. It was survival skiing, but that’s become second nature this season. Our legs held up just enough to get us back to dirt, where the day had begun.
Back at the car, peeling off boots, snowpants, and soaked socks felt like pure ecstasy — best not to think too hard about the sweat-to-water ratio.
An excellent morning spent in the mountains, enjoying the climb, the turns, and the full experience — capped off by the promise of a hot bowl of leftover chicken noodle soup waiting at home.
TRIP SUMMARY
- Max Elevation: 9,976 feet
- Elevation gain: 1,683 feet
- Distance up: 2.24 miles
- Max Gradient: 45 degrees
- Hike Time: 90 minutes
- Car to Car time: 2 hours 19 minutes
- Post Holes: Too many