Throuple Hut is the New Pear Hut

Pear Hut Dec 2024 Trip Report

Backcountry skiing solo is like assembling IKEA furniture solo—sure, you might get it done faster but when you accidentally put the shelves on backward, there’s no one to help or laugh about it with. So, when I found myself partnerless for an upcoming trip, I channeled my new zen energy. And told myself it would all work out. Probably.

Part 1: Premature Reservations

The moment reservations opened in November, I snagged two beds for the weekend before Christmas. Is the snow often bad or doesn’t exist that early? Yes. Had I consulted anyone about joining me? Nope. I preferred the panic outreach to everyone I knew (see next part).

Part 2: The Great Outreach

Armed with my phone, I texted at least 30 potential ski buddies. After a barrage of polite “no thank yous”, I finally secured companions. Unfortunately, a week before the trip, my friends couldn’t make it and it was back to square one with planning.

Part 3: Desperation Sets In

With the holidays looming and most people out of town, I messaged everyone from the Bay Area since they were the most likely to be home for the holidays and who at some point had mentioned to me interest in skiing. No luck. In a moment of digital serendipity, I accidently logged into my trail running group's Slack and noticed a new response to by one-month-old post looking for backcountry ski partners. I sleuthed for her number to get in direct contact but when she did reach out, she turned out to now be busy.

Part 4: Director to the Rescue

In a move of sheer ingenuity (read: mild desperation) during a call with the park director to get details on the conditions and the cabin, I decided to ask if they had suggestions for finding folks to skin in with. To my surprise, he generously offered to send my email to the other groups so they could reach out if they were open to having me join their group. Lo and behold, Patrick reached out and we agreed to meet at the trailhead at 9 a.m!

Part 5: The Waiting Game

Eager not to miss them, I arrived 40 minutes early since I’m always nervous about being late. As the minutes ticked by—8:50, 8:55, 9:05, 9:15, 9:30, 9:40—I approached the only car that had arrived, asking if they were Patrick (which they weren’t) and I wondered if I should just leave with this group from Sacramento. But, then around 9:45, a car pulled in and I walked over and they called out “Serena!”

Me and all my friends in the parking lot

Part 6: 900 More Pages

Despite my early arrival and ample time to observe, I failed to notice the glaring lack of snow on the trail. Luckily I’m so very smart and always have my goats stashed in my car so I voile strapped my skis to my backpack, dangled my ski boots, swapped into trail runners, and decided to substitute my 100 page book for my 1,000-page book. My pack was already too heavy to lift; what’s 900 more pages?

Skins on skis and boots ready for my feet :(

Part 7: Throuple

The throuple I was hiking in with couldn’t have been more fun and cheerful. This was their first backcountry snow trip and perhaps one of their only times on snowshoes and they were thoroughly enjoying the nature of it all. We all shared bits of our lives and loved learning about their passion for food, poetry, music, multi-generational coops, climate change, and the ocean—I learned so much!

While I might have been more ski-savvy, I think in almost every other regard they were more savvy and, like it is with people who know themselves well and are deeply comfortable with who they are, they made me feel incredibly at easy and gave great advice.

Aptly named trail

Part 8: Skins On

Eventually we stopped for lunch and ran into a hut keeper skiing down after their training and when I asked if they thought I could skin, they haltingly mentioned the rocks and staircases but said I could always try. It felt like as good of a green flag to start skinning as I would get so I said bye to my snowshoeing throuple and continued up to the hump solo.

Part 9: First Ski of the Season

At the top of the “hump”, I was feeling great. Weeks of ski workouts had paid off, and I wasn’t completely wiped after 2,000+ feet of climbing. I strapped on my skis, excited for the first turns of the season. That excitement faded quickly—my legs were toast, the trail was steep, and my pack was an anchor. Instead of making great turns, I tried to avoid injury going downhill. I made less than 15 wobbly turns and was absolutely exhausted. I guess I need to start the ski work out earlier and do it weighted?

Despite the awkward skiing, the trail from the hump to the hut is the most beautiful part of the trail. I started being able to see mountains and the trail goes up and down small hills to different lakes as it snakes its way to the hut.

Part 10: Hut Life

Arriving at the hut just before sunset, I was greeted by the Sacramento group and a little worried for my throuple friends but a couple hours later they also arrive.

The hut is very similar to Ostrander but a little smaller. Bunk beds line the walls and in the middle is a dinner table, tinkle (the pellet stove), and the kitchen. Candy canes and red ribbons adorned the hut alongside less Christmas specific decor like books, maps, a ukulele, register from previous guests and cat photos. It’s oozes cozy.

Tinkling with tinkle

Holiday Cabin Cheer

Bottom bunk with the excellent hydration strategy is mine 💁‍♀️

Part 11: Reading only at Night

Lacey, our hut keeper, gave us the rundown on the cabin and some beta on where to ski the next day. Graciously, the Sac group—three splitboarders/skiers—invited me to join their tour the next day. I wasn’t sure I’d find a group to ski with, which is why I had packed my 1,000-page book. But thanks to their generosity, my book got demoted to nighttime-only reading.

Part 12: Fun, Little Runs

The next day, we stuck to some low-angle terrain near the hut, which was ideal… except for the blazing sun. Regretting my decision to leave my sun hoodie at home, I sweated through my one and only pair of thermals.

My new ski buddies brought all the outdoor stoke. We spent half the time gawking at the views and saying, “This is so pretty,” like it was a mantra. One of them shared details about their latest climbing project—putting up a new route on a big wall, which sounded epic and also very time-consuming. They also showed off endless photos of their adventure-loving, impossibly cute wolfpacks—which I was immediately obsessed with. When I mentioned I was heading to Kirkwood, they couldn’t stop hyping it up with their fun adventure stories that got me really excited to ski there. They were safe, fun adventure pals and, for bonus points, also gave me what seemed like an excellent book recommendation.

Despite the heat—and probably because of the great company—the skiing was a blast. Short runs, easy transitions, and minimal sharks made for a great day, though another three feet of snow wouldn’t have hurt (see the thriving river below).

Descent tracks from the morning

Ascent in the afternoon

Pear Lake

Part 13: Chocolate Chip Cookies

That evening, I attempted to make chocolate chip cookies on the stove. My culinary skills yielded a spectrum from burnt to raw, but they were consumed with enthusiasm or perhaps out of politeness. As it was the last night for everyone, we logged our trip in the hut’s guestbook.

Roses are red, violets are blue, these cookies are a disaster, but I’ll still eat a few.

Jazzy Hedgehog

Jam time

Part 14: Homeward Bound

On the way out, the weather turned and it got cloudy and started rain-snowing. Very kindly the group with skiers let me join them on the way out and we broke off into pairs, I mostly skiing with the climber who luckily for me was no longer in their prime when they could run sub 5 minute miles but was still for sure much stronger than me. We skinned back up the hump and from there did a very very very short ski/snowboard and then transitioned back to trail runners.

On the way back, they invited me to lunch in Fresno where I think I ate the biggest burrito I’ve ever seen in my life.

Reflecting on the trip, I couldn’t help but feel grateful—for the kindness of strangers, the conversations, the skiing, and the cookies that somehow all got eaten. I left feeling like it was all supposed to work out the way it did and thinking that maybe I should intentionally plan these trips solo more often.

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