As I break out of the trees onto the frozen surface of Rainy Lake my spirit soars with the opening view. It feels good to be out. The muted light that display's eye catching shadows, shapes and lines is captivating, and super surreal. I'm encouraged to shift my up hill mode into touring casual.

After a couple of storm cycles it's certain that epic powder stashes await throughout the high mountain reaches, but the perfect March temps and longer days have highlighted the buena vistas, and the call to slow the pace is in order.

 Regardless of the inspiring, idyllic blue bird day, in a season that has been avalanche prone from day one; I'm still a little suspect. There's been a couple of skier triggered slides knocked down on backcountry parties with partial burials, a skier flushed over a cliff after up-track slicing an open slope which resulted in a broken leg, a natural slide leading to a duo burial - one chest deep and the other up-to-the-neck, a to-the-chest entrapment within an avalanche controlled skier area, a complete burial of a heli-guide who couldn't reach his avalung port when going under, and a patroller death in a innocuous glade within ski area boundaries. Compared to what could have been, it's been a lucky backcountry season, and I'm intent on not punctuating it with a winter ending fatal statistic. As I queue up to cross Rainy Lake I'm reminded that skiers retreated often to the trees throughout the winter, rationalizing a more anchored snowpack. The truth be known avalanches happen everywhere, and the delicate task is knowing where and when not to go. This is my first trip into open terrain during this hair trigger year. As our band of six ascend the ramp through the lower Lyle Glacier headwall we separate to minimize group risk and keep watch one by one for signs of danger. As Phil minimizes exposure by nesting the up-track to the upper cliff, I continue to poke my pole into the surface noting a fairly uniform snowpack with density layers at 8'' and 1.5' feet down. The avalanche forecast called for considerable hazard above 5,000 ft., and with the potential for skier triggered releases prognosticated I ponder the on-sight sensitivity of the layers that seem reasonable with my cursory check. Watching as Owen and Ed successfully follow Phil, all appears as it should and I choose to move up. However, something subtle is gnawing at me which takes another hour to recognize. Even though we've mitigated concerns with skier separation, deliberate route selection and cursory tests, I've made the classic mistake and let herd mentality overlook good backcountry practice. I know that digging a pit to test suspect layers is critical for understanding the true hazard, yet I'm being compelled forward by the enthusiastic success of others.

As I traverse though the upper cliffs, pressing my nose up against the snow stability margins, I talk to myself about the pit on this slope that I didn't dig. I know better, and recommit to continuing to test for weaknesses. Once among the ramparts of the Lyle Glacier the up-track options layback the angle (37 degrees being the statistical hair trigger) allowing us to do an end run of the inviting rolling breakovers and steeper pitches of terrain.

The Lyle is an interesting test piece of climate changes. A vibrant glacier in 1955, it had all but for a few ice chunks disappeared by 1995, but still today is referred to as a glacier. Left behind are wide open steeps of unique variety absent the concern of dropping into a bottomless abyss. As we gain height Phil is engrossed in the task of pressing the route, Ed and Owen are magically elevated by iPod feeding inspiration, while Jason and Merle are seemingly immersed in mountain contemplation. As for me, drafting the up-track is an effortless delight. As the pitch shuts down I relax my safety concerns and focus on images and the mountain details that I might normally miss.

Reaching the top of the pyramidal sub-summit that I've come to call Not-Frisco, I do a 360 to take it all in. Nice, very nice! At 25 degrees with no wind, the sun caressed north facing slopes don't wait long for skins to be stripped, and the first swoops to be accented with a hoot and a holler. As Ed launches he calls over his shoulder, "watch the breakovers". This is open country, classic big avalanche terrain. Even though I tested the corners of our switch backs (solid) and continued to pole poke the snow, I still haven't dug a pit in earnest. As each puts together a string of turns, I observe with envy, yet watchful. With square miles of terrain to explore virgin tracks are plentiful for all. On the steeper lower reaches I make a few ski cuts across rollovers and steep pitches, resulting in only a slight slough of the top 8" on a 40 degree break. Sucked into a narrowing gully,  I begin to have second thoughts about the steep terrain trap and pull out only to have a ski kicked off. In the slot the gnawing had come back to meet me.

As the dream like conditions call for more, turns are slashed with more abandon now that a run is in the bag with surprisingly good stability. With my momentary concerns relaxed, there is no need to hurry - lacking competition for untracked turns in the vast expanse. After a couple of laps and thousands of vertical I'm content, and turn my attention along with Merle to the descent for first tracks back to Rainy Lake, as the others opt for another lap. The snow is excellent, but with late-day shadowed light it is a little hard to read in the lower reaches. Once back to the sleds Merle and I linger, glad that we had exited when we did – the weather had started to sweep in behind us.

With the first stellar day of big mountain backcountry skiing behind me, a mental note etches itself for the powder packed days to come. Don't let desire sway reason! When knowledge is everything exercise all the gathering and testing tools, and leave no snowflake unturned. The responsibility is mine to maintain good backcountry practice and satisfy those gnawing questions.

Getting caught in an avalanche is not an option. Dig a pit!