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The Voile Strap Whippet

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How an Ice Axe + Ski Pole + Voile Strap Contraption Substitutes for Confidence atop a Colorado Couloir

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By Robert Paulsen of the Crampon Cowboys

Making a Voile Straps whippet out of a ski pole, ice axe and Voile Straps to give confidence to ski a steep couloir.
Rob navigating some rocks halfway up twin peaks couloir. Photo by @ethanbeef.

“This is steep,” I thought to myself, staring down the gut of a 3,500-foot-tall couloir on the edge of the Sawatch range in Colorado. It would be an easy rip for a pro skier—no cliffs, a single fall line, relatively wide—but I was no pro. Actually, I was somewhere toward the end of my fourth season on skis.

My partner, a far more veteran skier raised on East Coast ice, went first, hop-turning through a tight choke like it was nothing, before laying into some beautiful turns. He got to a safe stopping point and radioed me.

“You’re good to go.”

Making a Voile Straps whippet out of a ski pole, ice axe and Voile Straps to give confidence to ski a steep couloir.
Robert’s ski partner, Beef, ripping a chalky turn on the descent. Photo by Robert Paulsen.

I wasn’t so sure. My mouth was dry, perhaps from the lack of moisture in the Colorado air, but more likely from fear. I radioed back, “Give me a minute.”

The warm April sun was doing little to soften the snow at 13,000 feet. “It’s just like Pali face,” I thought to myself, referencing the famous inbounds run at Arapahoe Basin that I had spent many days navigating down among bulletproof moguls. But, skiing something at the edge of your ability level in the resort where patrol is only a few minutes away is quite different compared to the consequence of a long fall in the backcountry. This wasn’t even my first couloir. I had completed multiple descents of 40+ degree, 2,000 foot lines in Colorado’s rugged Gore Range before. But this was certainly the steepest.

Making a Voile Straps whippet out of a ski pole, ice axe and Voile Straps to give confidence to ski a steep couloir.
Robert Paulsen crossing a snowfield near the top of Twin Peaks couloir. Photo by @ethanbeef

From this angle, at the top, I couldn’t quite tell if my experience matched the seriousness of the line.

With all this weighing on my mind, I set my pack down on the platform we had stomped out and pulled out my ice axe. I’d seen snowboarders in Jeremy Jones movies skiing huge lines with an axe in their hand—that extra reassurance seemed worthwhile at a moment like this—but I also wanted both of my poles for balance. Coming from a carpentry and climbing background, I have been blessed with the ability to come up with creative solutions to unique problems. I was very comfortable with self-arrest techniques, having practiced over the past several years in preparation for climbing the volcanoes of the Pacific Northwest. That skill seemed like it would be worth having handy, here. Grabbing a handful of Voile Straps, something my AIARE 1 instructor had said is a necessity in any backcountry pack, I lined up my axe with a pole and wrapped the straps around both until the pick of my axe protruded from above my clenched fist at the handle.

I wasn’t totally sure if my jury-rigged Voile Strap Whippet would actually arrest a fall but, like having a rope below you while leading a super-runout R-rated climb, it lent me just a little bit more of the psychological comfort I needed to commit to the first turn.

With that, I edged my skis over and dropped in.

Making a Voile Straps whippet out of a ski pole, ice axe and Voile Straps to give confidence to ski a steep couloir.
Rob testing the edges on his skis during the descent. Photo by @ethanbeef.

From the second hop, I knew I had it. The fresh edges on my skis gripped the chalky windbore as they had done many times before, and my balance didn’t waver through each subsequent hop and rotation as I slowly (and far less gracefully than my partner) picked my way down the couloir.

Once things widened and the angle eased, I even started connecting a handful of turns. The snow wasn’t getting any better, but being out of the upper 10-foot-wide hallway definitely made me feel better about opening up a little.

Making a Voile Straps whippet out of a ski pole, ice axe and Voile Straps to give confidence to ski a steep couloir.
Rob spraying clouds of chalk. Photo by @ethanbeef.

We completed our descent, taking a bit longer than anticipated thanks to some horrendously chunky spring avalanche debris from an old slide, and a handful of rock missiles kicked down by a rowdy mountain goat. Had I been in over my head? Perhaps. But more likely I was in my own head. I’ve climbed up and down snow slopes steeper than what I skied today. Like having a trusted friend whisper, “You got this” in my ear, that little Voile Strap Whippet contraption gave me the confidence boost I needed to step it up. Looking back, I realize it wasn’t lack of skill holding me back, it was fear: of falling, of getting hurt, of not being good enough.

Making a Voile Straps whippet out of a ski pole, ice axe and Voile Straps to give confidence to ski a steep couloir.
Beef pointing the way among old spring avalanche debris. Photo by Robert Paulsen.

There’s a technique in mountaineering known as a Fairbanks belay. If two climbers are moving along an exposed ridgeline without protection, and one climber slips off to one side, it’s up to the other climber to jump off the opposite side, in theory counterbalancing their partner and saving them both. In reality, it’s more a metaphor for teamwork than a practical safety net. Depending on the length of the rope, each climber is likely to still take a long fall, the rope could get cut on the ridgeline or simply be overloaded by two simultaneous falls—If the partner even notices in time to jump himself. But like my strapped-together axe-pole, it feels good to know that a backup plan exists, regardless of how likely it is to save you. Because just that extra confidence might be all you need to recognize the skill you actually have.


About the Author

Voile_Strap_Whippet_Author_Wichelns

Robert Paulsen of the Crampon Cowboys
Location: Leadville, CO
Instagram: @robertpaulsen


After wandering the country in his Silverado in
search of the best rock climbing and kayaking for
most of four years, Rob has finally settled (for now)
in the mountains and thin 10,000-foot air of
Leadville, Colorado. Recently, he has begun to
explore the niche world of expeditionary
whitewater kayaking: paddling rivers deep in the
mountain ranges of the West that very few have
ever seen, let alone descended. A practiced skier,
and biker, he has found time among it all for
mountaineering on numerous Cascade volcanoes,
Pico de Orizaba, and more technical climbs in the
High Sierra, Bugaboos, Winds, Cascades and
beyond in his near-decade of experience.


The Crampon Cowboys
Instagram: @cramponcowboys


Our team is no stranger to less-than-popular routes, nor to each other. United by hometowns, old and new, the members of our 4-man team have shared ropes on a myriad of Cascade volcanoes, ice and alpine climbs in the Rockies and White Mountains, rock climbs all across the Lower 48, the continent’s third-highest peak, Mexico’s Pico de Orizaba, and even first ascents in the Alaska Range. In 2015, the first trip to Alaska for half of us involved a three-week trip to a beta-poor collection of smaller peaks down the Muldrow Glacier from Denali, and the minor-yet-unclimbed ridge that connected them. Centered on a drive to explore, that trip was designed as a stepping stone to bigger missions, but it wasn’t until the clouds cleared on our hike in that we knew what our capable team was stepping toward: Denali.

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