Deep snow in Turnagain Pass provides laughs for skiers

It was just another twist in a day that had no set plans, no prearranged destination. Our goal had been simple: backcountry skiing at Turnagain Pass, taking the route that looked the most interesting and going at a pace we felt most comfortable. We had the entire day to kill and with no pressing "to-dos" on our list, it felt liberating to just wing it.

The first sign that it would be a good day was that the temperature was a mercifully balmy 34 degrees, and despite the winds -- which combined with the warmer temperatures for a high risk of avalanches -- the conditions were perfect.

We skied south away from the Turnagain Pass parking lot, avoiding the avalanche-safety class that was practicing on the lower hillside to the north. Andy had waxed the skis perfectly, making the climbing easier than I had anticipated, and we fell into an easy rhythm, following an established path over a bridge piled so high with snow we skied level to the upper railing.

Before long we decided to explore off-trail, making our own route to see where it would lead. Fresh powder lay atop an old crust that our skis broke through with little effort. Even at a brisk pace, I stayed comfortable, not overheating until we started to climb up, away from a ravine and through the protection of a meandering spruce forest that led to a wide, gradual valley above.

We saw no one up there other than two adventurers high on a ridge. That was the second sign that it was going to be a good day. There is something about having a little slice of Alaska all to yourself that just feels right. After all, people think of this place as the Last Frontier, when to be honest, we in Southcentral Alaska are far from it. With Starbucks, Fred Meyer and any choice of convenience just a cell phone call away, it is becoming ever more difficult to feel the serenity of solitude in this place we call home.

I fumbled in the snow, trying to get upright on my skis, but because the snow was so deep, every time I moved, my arms and ski poles just sank farther into the soft powder. After controlling my laughter and using a small tree to anchor me, I pulled myself up and kept going, thankful for this day in the mountains.

Not three minutes later, I heard an "Umph!" behind me, and there was Andy, his ski tips up and flat on his back. It was his turn to laugh now and mine to watch the entertaining scene as he struggled to get upright in the deep snow. Usually pretty good skiers, we found this predicament funny, and I wished my camera batteries had not died so I could document the scene.

Andy wriggled and rolled around, finally getting in a position to pull himself up.

"This better not end up in a column," he said.

I smiled and said, "It won't." But I didn't say, "I promise."

• Contact Melissa DeVaughn and read her blog "Deadlines and Stopwatches" at www.melissadevaughn.com.