Mount Washington Winter Trip Report

I. Planning and Background

I always wanted to go up to Mount Washington's eastern ravines for a few days of both climbing and skiing. I'd done one or the other, but not really both. If we climbed, it was to climb; if we skied, any climbing was in the service of that.

So this December I hatched a plan to head up and do both, and my 18‑year‑old son Tobias was my partner. He'd been there before, skiing the lower sections of Hillman's Highway and climbing it one year when the neve was great for climbing to the top but not yet skiable.

We had both seen the spring circus, which is rightly notorious for human frailty and foolishness. We enjoyed the cold‑weather camping at Hermit Lake, which does not attract too many others despite the area’s heavy traffic. And we wanted more.

Caveat emptor.

II. Approach to Hermit Lake

The day after Christmas we drove up from Brooklyn early, arriving at Pinkham Notch just after noon. Knowing the weather was supposed to be variable—even by the standards of the area—we left our wiper blades up.

We shouldered 60‑pound packs with camping, ice climbing, and skiing kit, plus 4–5 days of food and fuel. We managed the hike of a couple of miles and less than a couple thousand feet of gain and made camp without much fuss, except for the chill. That night the thermometer registered a low of 4°F, but we wanted for nothing, stayed warm, and slept a dozen hours.

III. Into Huntington Ravine

We woke about an hour before dawn at 6. The cold slowed us down, and by 8 we set out for Huntington Ravine.

About five minutes after leaving the lean‑to, we realized we were going nowhere fast in thigh‑deep snow, so we returned for our skis. Things moved faster then, and we covered the mile or so between the ravines (Hermit Lake sits below Tuckerman’s).

We wanted to climb ice, since screws were the only protection we had. Odell’s and Pinnacle Gully—grade 2–3 classics offering 2–4 pitches of alpine ice—were the obvious targets.

IV. Skinning and Climbing Odell’s

We skinned high into Huntington with Toby leading. A snowshoer and another climber trailed us; the snowshoer headed to Central Gully, which we had considered for descent.

Where hermit pines gave way to scrub bushes, we stowed our skis. I thought I made a waypoint on my GPS. Toby was using his watch and I my phone as navigation aids, having unwisely left the map at camp.

We booted to the bottom of Odell’s. Conditions looked decent: no open water, solid snow and ice, roughly 700 feet of climbing followed by about 500 more to the Alpine Garden.

We started climbing around 10. Over the next 4–5 pitches, progress was slow but steady. A few screws protected modest Grade‑3 bulges; only one belay relied on screws. Others were shrubs, snow seats, or a mix.

We topped out around 2:20. The sun hit us for the first time, lifting our spirits. It was Toby’s first true technical alpine route—he even led a pitch or two. Tired and cold, we prepared to descend.

V. Assessing Descent Options

We followed cairns to locate the Huntington Ravine Trail, roughly aligned with Central Gully.

I had descended Central two decades earlier, mid‑winter, with Will Mayo, after climbing Black Dike and Fafnir in a morning. Will suggested Central—“it sets up nicely”—and he was right.

This time, though, there was considerable snow but not enough to fill Central. We followed markers a few hundred feet down. The trail is considered the most challenging eastern approach to the summit, and the iced‑over steps made that obvious.

Left of us lay Diagonal Gully—simpler at the top, yet guarded by a long ice bulge at the bottom. We couldn’t see the bulge, only the snow fan below, and optimistically wondered if we could sneak around it.

We weighed hiking back up to Lion Head, then returning for skis in deep snow. Instead, we headed down Diagonal. The couloir felt well‑consolidated: loose but not too loose, with firm footing and axe placements.

VI. Rappels and a Difficult Descent

After 400–500 feet we reached the rollover above the ice cliffs and evaluated options. To the right, indistinct lines trended toward Yale Gully. Left, a steep scruffy gully.

Toby spotted a small but sturdy tree—about four inches thick. We slung it and built our first 100‑foot rappel with our single rope.

Descending, I faced two choices: get onto the ice and rappel off screws for an unknown distance, or traverse left, which I did. A first screw hit snice and didn’t bite, but two better placements higher up allowed me to equalize an anchor and bring Toby down.

Dusk was coming fast. We donned headlamps and set a second rappel. Toby pointed out a patch of snow high and left that could spit us onto the snowfields. I stomped a platform and brought him down. One of my gloves—leashed—still managed to vanish into the darkness.

We downclimbed another hundred feet to the alpine brush. Toby trended unerringly toward our ski cache—critical, because the waypoint I thought I’d set wasn’t there. Exhausted, we paused, then pushed on.

A tough descent led through creek crossings and onto the cat tracks by the Albert Dow memorial rescue cache. A GPS error led us briefly astray; Toby recognized it and we reversed painfully. Eventually we reached Hermit Lake, refilled water, and collapsed at camp feeling lucky.

VII. Rest Day and Weather Trouble

The next day was a rest—or “spa”—day. We slept in. Toby might not have risen at 8 had I not gotten up to enjoy the warming morning. We ate and drank aggressively to fend off cramps.

At the caretaker’s porch, Sunday crowds watched skiers drop the Tucks headwall. We had mild FOMO, but no actual desire to ski on our battered legs.

Weather forecasts shifted rapidly—from promised heavy snow to freezing sleet and rain. Tuesday called for 100‑mph winds.

VIII. Meeting with Blake and Heading to the Gulf of Slides

We planned to meet Blake Keogh, a respected local guide, at 8 a.m. Rain started at 2 a.m., with winds building. Dawn brought classic New England misery.

We broke camp—those century‑mark winds didn’t feel like the way to end a wet day—and met Blake, who arrived soaked but positive.

We headed a short distance down the Sherburne Trail, found the entrance to the Graham Trail (marked by rusty tin can bottoms on birches), and contoured south toward the Gulf of Slides. We cached big packs, skinned into fragrant pines, and enjoyed the sheltered skinning after so much alpine exposure.

A recent D3 avalanche had ripped through Gully #1. As we approached through forest to the debris, Blake reminded us we were in avalanche terrain—though once we emerged the snapped trees made that clear.

IX. Booting Up and Skiing Down

We reached the main gully, donned crampons, stowed skis, and started boot‑packing. About 1,000 feet up, we discussed descent lines. Blake recommended a line that skirted below the crown and avoided the ice cliff.

We transitioned near the crown. I was slow—still wearing crampons, skins still on—and wind made everything harder. Eventually, we were ready.

Blake dropped first, radioed back, Toby followed, then me. The snow skied well despite torrential conditions. But it was clear that with rising winds and dropping temperatures, ice was coming.

We reached the debris fan. Blake suggested another lap; I throat‑slashed my veto. My legs were thinking about the ski out with 60‑pound packs. Blake reiterated a theme: avalanche hazards mattered, and those proved manageable that day, but this day the weather governed everything.

X. The Exit and Debrief

We whipped down the trail, wrapped around to the traverse low point, skinned back for our packs, and descended the Sherbie. Heavy packs made it deliberate, but still enjoyable. Warm temps softened the ice patches.

The parking lot—sand‑covered glaze—was the technical crux of the day. We tiptoed around a backhoe and stowed soaked gear before heading into Pinkham Notch for a debrief. It’s a ritual I plan to repeat.

Blake answered questions and unpacked decisions. We discussed future options—the Great Gulf, Owens, and beyond. Despite the freezing rain and soaked layers, we felt grounded and content. Toby and I knew we’d found our East Coast ski mentor.

XI. Reflections on Decision Making

I’m not happy with my decision‑making on the Odell’s descent. The climb was fine, if late, but the descent down an unclear, risky route was not the right call.

Toby apologized for the gear we abandoned; I told him it was the least of my concerns. He was rock‑solid all day—up and down—helping at key moments and demonstrating the makings of a strong alpinist.

In retrospect, we should have dropped skis at Lion Head and taken the known descent. It might have cost us the climb, but I’ve descended Lion Head in the dark before; we likely could have handled a bit more delay. Starting earlier would also have helped.

Once engaged in the descent, though, I stand by each tactical decision. Toby handled 400+ feet of no‑fall downclimbing with composure. When we became cliffed, he kept searching for solutions; one worked. Later, he caught a route‑finding error when it mattered most. Most importantly, he never quit—critical when it’s freezing and you’re out of food and water.

We did what we could with the situation we created. I’m content with the learning and with the calm we maintained under stress. And it made skiing with a guide—even in freezing rain in an avy path—deeply enjoyable.

Ski and Binding Quivers for the Backcountry

Disclaimer: I'm lucky if I ski 10-20 days a year. While I ski every year, and the proportion varies, maybe half of that is backcountry on average. I have much less disposable time than skis. That stated, I love a well-made pair of skis (or boots, or skins, or poles), and they do have a positive impact on those days sliding on snow.

Low on the Vallé Blanche in 2011

Photo © Sylvain Ravenel

 When I first skied in Chamonix, I had graduated from the old rust-colored Garmont boots to their better blue cousins. But what really moved the needle was my graduation from some old skis and bindings to my first pin binding setup. The old ones were now 20+ year old Black Diamond (likely made by Atomic) 'randonee' skis, which were actually very stiff, narrow, kinda heavy skis with Silvretta EZ-Gos on them (I still use them for approaches in climbing boots.) The 'innovation' was a Dynafit TLT Superlights on a truly lovely pair of Trab Stelvio skis. Not picking up an extra pound with every step was pretty transformative, and when a few years later I moved on to the Dynafit TLT5 boot with it's butter-like walk mode, I was sold on the transformative power of lighter weight gear. And because I was and am an avid reader of Dane's blog, https://coldthistle.blogspot.com/, I started learning more about them, and my go-to resource since then, Jason and the team at skimo.co in SLC.

I could still ski on the Stelvios and the TLT superlights with those TLT5s, and sometimes do. I had a decent pair of Ascension skins from BD fitted to them which are still going strong about 15 years later. One thing I did not buy with them was a leash. My first time off the Midi I almost lost a ski right at the top in high wind. Never again. I understand the convenience of brakes, and the logic of shedding skis in an avy, but had I missed the 20 klicks of the descent I would have been very unhappy. I improvised some leashes with thin cord at Snell Sports right after taking the train down from Montenvers and then went and got some proper freaking leashes (ATK, Dynafit, whatever the credible folks make.) I will ski with brakes happily at times and with nothing when appropriate, but would not be skiing those Stelvios today had I not recovered a split second gust which could have easily taken one away. And another thing. I was up in Tucks for the spring (aka the silly season) with my then pre-teen. We were being joined by a very solid partner Mr. Max White https://www.thisismaxwhite.com/ approaching us from lower down Lunch Rocks. He started hollering as a group of 2 adults and 4 kids younger than my guy were crossing below Lobster Claw. Max was yelling because a runaway ski was looking to make a kid kebab. Fortunately the group hustled along, and the hoards saw it too, so nobody was hurt. But I still like leashes.

However, I have not been able to resist the profusion of amazing skis the market and some very special craftsmen and women have brought us over the past decades. After the Stelvios I was looking for a ski with more rocker and sidecut. I might claim that was because I knew what I was talking about, but that would be a lie. I had read extensively about the Denali by Dynafit, and liked what I read. For me the 99 mm waist would be a powder ski, comparatively, and some duder convinced me to go with 184s, almost as tall as me. Fortunately I do generally ski them in powder, and so the length has not been an issue, but Andrew McLean once told me that 180 is about as long as you want to maneuver on a steep powdery kick turn, and generally he's correct, unsurprisingly. That ski does turn like a dream in a bit of soft snow, and is surprisingly able to navigate hardpack, on piste, Tatra-style grabber slush and lots of other stuff. And they are remarkably light, especially with the TLT Low Tech. I do not always feel as secure on those bindings as I would on one with more mass, but situations where I lock the toe are the same across all bindings (it's steep, it's hard/chattery, you better not fall,) so I think the weight tradeoff is worth it, even if I have generally rocked heavier bindings on my skis since then.

Andrew McLean on Kessler during a dreadful snow year (2012) 

Photo probably © by Mike McGurl

Once I had a chance to take advantage of skis that were 80 mm or 99 mm in the waist, it was pretty easy to choose: the former generally suited the east, the latter the west. I was hooked, and not due to skis that felt hooky. In spite of detuning skis and tuning skis aggressively, which I enjoyed until my son surpassed me and took over most of those duties (he won't let me touch them much anymore...such a perfectionist,) I did discover the perils of too well-waxed skis at times. Once camping with Andrew we ended the day on a flat shelf heading to the tent, and my freshly waxed boards made for a hilariously slow progress on about 150 feet of terrain I could barely move across with a 6 inch shuffle. And more recently said son waxed our approach skis so well we almost ended up in low orbit descending Pitchoff North Face in climbing boots...

After that, I have more of a Q&P approach when the goal is to tune approach skis (see the legendary Doug Coombs Quick and Painless ski tune.) And it's largely to preserve the ski that I tune, except for edges, because I don't yearn to go crazy fast. And my son still won't let me near the tools I accumulated over many years because I do such a half-assed job compared to him. I even had the chance to compare his tune side-by-side with a very well-respected shop, and his blew them away (in fairness theirs was largely machine made.)

In the years that followed I wandered a bit, getting some very short mountaineering skis I've rarely used (Atomic Ultimate 78s with Low Tech binders) and a nice pair of Moment Vertex (basically a lighter Stelvio with some rocker) which introduced me to Plum bindings. The Plum Guide has been a mainstay for me and the family for a while, and while I have zero issues with the Dynafits I own, I do like the burliness of the Guide, even though I managed to ski off the toe latch once (pilot error) barely avoiding a new skier at Jay who turned into me, but not before clipping off said latch. I have those same Guides on a pair of Black Crow Navis Freebirds, which are a classic big ski mountaineering ski I love to use in Jackson or anywhere you get real powder to play around on. If I need a bit more ski, I use their Atris, which I have in a crazy 189 cm length due to a bro deal from Max and mounted with Shifts, which are inelegant but perfect as I use them primarily on piste and sidecountry. 

More recently I have gone back to Trab, getting a pair of their Magico skis with a Hagen/ATK Core 10 binding. It is a beautiful setup, especially for light/fast missions and mountaineering where you want <90 in the waist and <180 in length. It also boasts the only skin system which rivals that of Dynafit's own version of remove from the tip, and appears to me to be a bit more secure. While limiting your skins to that ski, the proprietary tip or tail attachment of the Dynafit or Trab Attivo is well worth a look, especially as the hips have never been so flexible in my case. I have also used race tip bungees and like that system for lighter setups and quick transitions. Speaking of skins, when I'm not using the proprietary type I like Pomocoas, and have some Mohair for the Navis which are perfect, maybe a bit heavy compared to their pink cousins ('Free'?) which Toby sports on his Corvus Freebirds, but fine for me over the years.

Now I have been contemplating the gap between my 85 mm Magicos and the 99 Denalis....something wicked this way comes.

 The Eyes Have It

I recently responded to a Redit post on this, so I thought I'd share it here too. The original post is at: Alpine Eyewear.

I use a combination of lenses and prescription glasses and have significant myopia and astigmatism, and need progressives/readers. 

I disagree with the 'you don't need Cat 4' comment: why would you take the chance? Yes, Cat 3 are in fact fine most of the time, but play it safe and you never, ever want snow blindness. 

Here's what I run: alpine climbing is generally lenses with the exception of overnights. For lenses I have Acuvue Oasys with Hydraclear Plus, and can clean them daily. I like Julbos over that, either a darkening sunglasses (Reactiv, Cat 0-3) or if on glaciers Cat 4s. If it's overnight I'll consider a prescription version of the Julbos, or sometimes bring both. 

For rock climbing I prefer prescription progressives, and most often a standard optician sunglass is fine at low elevations, or clear on a gray day, but sometimes the Julbo Reactivs. I can see granular details needed especially when placing trad gear or figuring out footwork. 

Toby on The Empress, Chapel Pond Slab, Adirondacks, 2024

For backcountry touring, I like lenses, and take tiny folding readers (2 pair, they can get lost...) I like my old Zeal sunglasses or for the down goggles. Same setup for on piste/inbounds skiing. I have used both outfits like SportRx and Julbo to grind high quality lenses and find that Julbo is my first choice, but both are good. In the US SportRx is faster, although Cat 4s take longer. Julbo's US service team is excellent too.

Topping out on Mineville Pillar, Adirondacks, 2025 (c) Tom Lannmann

Great Day at The North Face of Pitchoff, Adirondacks, 2025

Another Jacket? New Pants too??

Yes, and a new pant system, and and and. Those who know me well, know that I have very poor impulse control for getting new kit. Fortunately this does not extend to other areas of life (much, anymore), thanks to years of hard earned experience and sobriety. So when I got a new Patagonia M10 jacket and pants this past year and this year, it was not such a shocker. What was shocking is how good these simple pieces are for what I use them for, alpine and ice climbing.

Topping out on Mineville Pillar in the Adirondacks, photo (c) Tom Lannamann

First, the pants. I got these first because I read about everything Colin Hayley writes on the subject of tools for alpine climbing (Colin Hayley on Layering). He's annoyingly and consistently right, which is not surprising given the number of miles he has on his odometer and his intellect.  The latter seems healthy and high functioning in spite of some youthful indiscretions of his own admission (who has times for psychedelics anymore anyway...) When some years ago he started writing about pants patterned on martial arts pants, or the old Gramicci gusseted crotch ones, I was interested. These were the best for high stepping and the kind of mobility climbing of any kind requires. And the M10 pants live up to that.

Some observers have asked if these relatively baggy pants don't get caught up in crampons. Not at all, and normally my pants are a patchwork of Tyvec tape (see above link.) They do exactly what they are supposed to do, and roll up into the size of a small (1-200 ml) water bottle. Jacket is similarly compact, maybe a 500 ml water bottle and much less weight. They are both masterpieces of brevity. Two chest pockets on the jacket and a two-way zipper for all your venting needs. A great hood which works well over a helmet and/or balaclava, and wrist cuffs which can go over or under gloves and mittens. Pants with a zipper to pee through, a thigh pocket, loops for attaching boot bungies, and a nicely rubberized waistband with no drawstring. It's as close to a perfect setup as I've ever had. 

I run warm and thought it was going to be too hot without zips to dump heat from the pants, and had the same concern for the M10 Jacket. Not so. Under the pants thus far (a cold winter in the northeast) I wear just a pair of Nano-Air pants (more on these to follow) and have never overheated in below freezing temperatures. As Mark Twight wrote, if it's above freezing and you're going alpine climbing, go home (most of the time.) I have skied with full kit and not overheated. I do shed the jacket on approaches, and for hard leads I just use it over a long john top and remove my mid layer (also Nano-Air). I'd probably shift to long johns under the pants for temperatures straddling freezing. It's a dynamite system and I have been tweaking mine for years. This beats other solutions by Patagonia, dead bird, TNF, Norrona and many other very fine manufacturers. I still use my tried and true Beringia setup for skiing, both touring and resort, but otherwise I'm all-in with this setup.

Shake your Booties

Benjamin Dulchin on lead on Poco Moonshine's Upper Tiers (ADKs)

After climbing packs, no item of gear has obsessed me more than boots, and in fact they are more critical by far. The first pieces of critical mountaineering kit I owned were a pair of double alpine boots, the Asolo 101s, a pair of Galibier Superguides for summer mountaineering and a beautiful Marmot winter sleeping bag, the much-loved Gopher. I still have the latter (as well as some Julbo glacier glasses) but I sold the former Asolos, which were yellowed with age by then. The Superguides were still to be seen on my long-time climbing partners feet until very recently when he started a long-term loan of another friend's LaSportival Nepal Tops, but I think they get broken out when he takes unwitting victims for a day of ice cragging. These items were laid in before I graduated high school, so early 1980s.

Boots have changed dramatically and for the better. Where the Superguides were over 7 pounds for the pair in my size 46 (US 12), now much better boots are closing in on half that, with the Nepal Top topping 4 pounds for the pair.

I have found that my feet change over time, and that generally dictates which boots I prefer. I was in the above-mentioned Asolos and Super Gs for years, but sometime (90s?) I got a pair of Scarpa Assaults, which were like Super G's on steroids. I love them for their ability to climb ice, and mixed, but they were heavy and a bit of a bear on the hike in. I also had some trouble with frost nipped toes, generally not an issue for me, and I think it was in part because they were quite stiff (good for vertical ice) and high, and mostly because they were single boots.

After that I found that every decade or so my rock climbing shoes would switch from fitting in LaSportiva's last to Scarpa. I have no idea why that is, but I have a low volume, low arch foot, with a bit of a wide forefoot, and each last (shape the boot is made on) is different. When the Assaults became too assaulting, I moved to some early generation LaSportiva Baturas (before the Boa was added I think) and they were very good. I think that I sold them, don't recall, but more lately have had 2 generations of the Scarpa Phantom Tech:

Outdoor Gear Lab Phantom Tech review

The first generation was not perfect, with slippery dyneema-like laces which were barely long enough and had to be double knotted to keep tied (most of the time,) and a bit heavier than ideal. The more recent version is amazing, lighter, warmer, and without the lace issue. I would even wear them for summer alpine outings if we had those and I did not own another pair of Scarpa singles (the Rebel?). These were sold to me by the wily Rich Gottlieb at Rock and Snow. He in his defense had sold me a barely used pair of Technica hiking boots I loved for years (and got for <$100.) When they finally blew, I was looking for hiking boots, but he got me into the Scarpas, and they have served well, including my teen who has used them even in pretty chilly temps until this year. But the Phantom series (there is a 6000 and an 8000) are the way to go, for me, if you want an integrated gaiter (pretty standard and key these days) on a light, technical and generally killer boot.

My son recently won on Instragram a beautiful pair of LaSportiva boots, the G5 Evo, and I expect those to be extremely effective, and his foot likes the LaSportiva last, but no trial runs as yet.

Ski touring in the Tatra (Slovenian side)

Some great links to further research the topic:

Outdoor Gear Lab 2024 Mountaineering Boots

Trailspace 2024 Mountain Boot Reviews

Cold Thistle (search for boot)

Cold Thistle (on boots)

Alpine Starts

My 15-year old partner (and son) Tobias and I went up to New Hampshire's legendary Mt. Washington for some early season alpine action. Although an increasingly-common low tide year (until just after our mid-December trip), we had good conditions for what we were looking to do. We have been to Tuckerman's Ravine several times in the spring for ski mountaineering, and I have climbed in Huntington Ravine over many years and routes. But Tobias had never done an alpine route, and that was the objective for this trip. We were supposed to have a third, which I favor when venturing into technical terrain, but poor health intervened and it turned out being just the two of us.

The approach went a bit faster than usual, due to the lack of ski gear and perhaps better fitness, or that's what Tobias said of my performance. Given the rare compliment I'll take it. We did not leave Pinkham Notch until about 1pm on a Saturday and made it to the Hermit Lake area in about 2 hours and 20 minutes with packs weighing in at just under 40 pounds. We dropped camping gear in a lean-to and hiked up to the base of the bowl in Tuckerman's ravine. Compared to our spring trips it was bone dry, but the standard wealth of early-season ice was there, and we discussed what route options would be best for our outing the next day. While Tucks had Open Book and some pitch-long ice left of Left Gully, Tobias was hankering to get back over to Hillman's. We had heard from a descending soloist that it was in good condition, and we'd topped out just below the lip last April due to my failure to bring crampons (never again.)

Camping was enjoyable if cold, with the windless night coming in about zero Fahrenheit. The highlight was when it was discovered that I'd not only failed to charge my headlamp but lost my backup. Tobias only crowed a little when his backup saved my bacon. The next morning we started later than we planned because even with 11 hours of sleep I neglected to remember that the alarm on my phone was not likely to work if said phone was off, another chestnut for the young man. But we started out at 7 and headed over to Hillman's. The bottom was dry with audible water beneath, and the first several hundred feet passed smoothly under us with increasing neve and less bushwhacking as we rose higher. Finally, about halfway up, Tobias wisely asked for the rope and we tied in and started pitching out the top half of the route.

There were a few ice bulges but most of the route was very firm neve, and until the last few hundred feet the belays were acceptable. A couple of screws for the first one, some slung bushes one might call trees, a semi-hanging belay from a rock anchor and one final rock thread created by beating a few rocks down on the lad.

As we neared the top there was some flagging, but we were steady if slow at our pace. We probably started climbing around 8 and topped out around noon, about an hour after my target time for safely continuing to the summit, another cause for Tobias to crow about due to the late start. But in fact the cloud cover was only a couple of hundred feet about the lip, and it was not the right day for the summit, which I have never visited. We started contouring around the lip of Tucks heading for the Tuckerman Ravine trail. 

The view down into Tucks was a bit sobering, and since neither of us had been up the trail we opted for Lion Head which I'd travelled many times. 

We got down it keeping crampons on the entire way, but there were only a few patches of ice and it would have been viable with microspikes as on the approach. We picked up our camping gear, grabbed a last look at the ravine and headed down for the long drive home in a light lovely snow.

Song of Helmets for My Son

Sometimes I shudder to think we only used to wear helmets when ice climbing. Until my main rock, ice and alpine partner was the first to have kids, we did not generally wear a brain bucket on rock, unless we were climbing something really chossy. I know that I had the venerable old Joe Brown, which seemed like it weighed pounds, and probably did. Even though I moved onto the HB carbon versions, they were still hot and left at home 9 months of the year. When my partner had his first son, we had been musing about beginning to wear them on rock, and some of the lighter more comfortable and well-ventilated ones came on the market. I like to think it was then that I laid it down and said we were just going to wear helmets all the time and not think about it anymore. And we did. I think with the exception of one moderate mixed climb where I forgot my helmet, see sheepish grin below, I have not climbed a pitch without a helmet in almost 20 years, and barely notice them anymore. I do have a regular partner who does not rock climb with a helmet, but he does wear one in the winter, and he's a bit of an independent actor.

These Petzl helmets (Meteor and more recently Sirocco) are my recent choices for climbing, with the Sirocco being in constant rotation for rock, ice and ski mountaineering. However, they are not MIPS, which I wear for downhill alpine skiing, and which both Black Diamond and Mammut have. I like the idea of a MIPS helmet for ski mountaineering. I also think they look cool😉

https://skimo.co/helmets has the best selection including some very light ones from CAMP and other Euro manufacturers. There are also dual-certified helmets for both climbing and skiing. Ones to look at include the Scott Couloir, Ski Trab Race, Kong Kosmos, and the Salomon MTN Lab – aka the ‘shroom which I own. This means they are certified as both mountaineering and skiing helmets, and well suited to both impacts from falling items and falling skiers. I think that’s a good idea myself.

Then there are the aesthetics of the helmet choice. I think the Ski Trab looks very cool. I mean, black and red may not be that cool in the heat, but it’s cool looking. If you can live with white, the Kong has some interesting ventilation design, which is important to me as I overheat otherwise.

https://www.petzl.com/US/en/Sport/Helmets

https://www.blackdiamondequipment.com/en_US/product/capitan-helmet-mips/?colorid=11319&utm_source=cordial&utm_source=cordial&utm_medium=email&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=20220505-helmets-non-pro&lrx=&mcID=1118%3A62714fec59320e5ccf679949%3Aot%3A5f46ca99735e313f17e3b97f%3A1

https://www.mammut.com/us/en/category/5875/helmets?filtersOpen=true