The winds turned cold and the leaves fell from branches as the masks of the season changed to fall. As the first snows came to the nearby peaks of the Beartooth mountains, our nearby ski community was blessed with ample snow. Early storms blanketed Red Lodge in beautiful veil of white. Meanwhile, in Billings snow was more or less a fleeting beauty. As winter's cold grasp came to the land, it came to pass that my ski's lived perpetually in my truck. On every opportunity I could muster I found myself on the slopes and often meddling in the side country of Red Lodge.
Watch my winter of Red Lodge side-country!!!!
The winter depths of snow came to be a welcomed friend and the mountains loomed with adventures. I became addicted to tight powder filled trees; dodging their trunks at high speeds. I came to understand the addiction that is powder. Amongst my most memorable days of skiing came from my day of back country skiing and skinning in Cooke City. There we climbed and nearly 5000 vertical feet of untouched powder. The winter was a transition, as nordic skiing was largely unobtainable in any reasonable quality. If I were to exert myself on skis then it may has well have been in the interest of powder turns. And so skinning up the mountain and working for my turns slowly took the place of nordic racing this year. But the winter only seemed moderately cold to a harden Minnesotan and back in Billings I found myself commuting by way of bicycle nearly year round.
With each season comes a renewed thankfulness for its gifts and yet a longing for the next. The warmth slowly crept back to the land. As the winter's grasp loosened, I came to be grateful for the meditative silence of winter and the lightness of powder under foot .
After what seemed an eternity of unreasonably frigid temperatures, the North wind eased it's blowings and winter eased its ferocity. With the weekends filling up with plans, I decided this would be my last chance to try my hand at Winter camping. In desperate need of sleep, I slept late and spent what was left of the morning plotting my adventure. Due to the constricts of time, I chose Cummings Lake as I had heard word of it's beauty and it had easy overland access via the North Arm trails.
Exiting my car at the trail head, I starred into the snow covered forest and the wonderland that lay ahead of me. I was not the first to set tracks in the new found powder that had been laid upon the ground by a blizzard the week earlier, and it made the travel easier. I had made strides to have the lightest of gear and as little as necessary, however I found that it was difficult to keep my pack under 45 lbs. The amount of insulation and clothing layers needed to safely be warm is not to be under estimated and had burdened my pack. Fortunately skiing does have the impact factor that backpacking does.
Skiing towards Cummings Lake
The landscape was covered in heavenly white as the snow clung to every outcropping branch and I sped onward in awestruck silence. I looked to the sky noting the position of the sun and then to my watch. It was 3:30 pm and I knew I would have to "huff" it to get to Cummings Lake before darkness would fall. The trail ahead gradually became narrower and the number of down falls more frequent. The trail emerged into a bog whose beauty is was accentuated by the winter and the horizon opened to reveal Cummings Lake.
Bog Beauty near Cummings Lake
The rippling sounds of a stream lay apparent nearby and warned me of the possibility of thin ice. I trudge cautiously prodding the ice looking for signs of slush or thinness. After a 100 yards or so, I became slightly complacent and upon looking ahead of me. In seeing that the snow had slumped oddly ahead of me, I stabbed my poles below me confirming a foot of slush underneath. I frantically about faced and sped to safer ice. I threw my poles to the snow and ran my skis over them, effectively removing the slush that threatened to freeze and render my skis glide-less. After prodding the ice for quite some time, I realized the effort was futile. The load of snow over the last weeks had forced slush over much of the lake and a clear path across was unlikely.
I found a comfy parcel of shoreline and set up camp. However, I found that my bindings had frozen solid to my boots. Throwing my down jacket on I set about making a fire to thaw them. After getting a small blazing fire going, after an hour my boots where still firmly affixed to me skis. I could think of no other option than to take them off. I grabbed my sleeping bag stuff sack and placed them over my socked feet and trudged closer to the fire, laughing at my own ridiculousness.
My feet adored in stuff sack while my skis/boots thaw
I used my breath to finally melt the remaining ice and get my boots to release from my skis. Having accomplished this and getting a quick meal I settled in for the night in my bivy. I was surprised at the comfort I had, and was only minimally chilled through out the night inside my 15 deg down bag, lining my -30 deg synthetic bag.
Squeezing into the bivy for the night
I awoke to the morning dawn and prepared for my rude awakening. I opened my bivy flap to -23 degree air and scurried forth applying every piece of clothing possible to my shivering frame. I threw together a quick fire, scarfed a quick breakfast, and set myself to packing. I went between the fire and my tent often as it took 5-10 minutes before my feet and hands would again be painfully cold. Finally after all was packed I stood by the fire for the last time and nervously covered it over with snow. Worried my feet wouldn't stay warm I took off skiing at a furious pace in effort to create some heat. An hour later then feeling started to comeback to my feet. The time and landscape passed quickly, as the trail ended and I found myself driving myself back to comforts of my cabin.
Winter camping on it's own is not a joyful experience, nor does experience it alone add to the experience. But it is an exercise in vulnerability and survival that reminds me of the fragility of life and the comforts of modern life. For days I found myself sweatily overheating as my body slowly adjusted it's thermostat as it realized I was longer struggling for warmth.
When was the last time the world opened up and poured into all your senses until they were overflowing? Do you recall the feeling and can you replay the remembrance in your mind? Some find it on mountain top, in the resonance of music, amidst a river, fast in prayer, amongst dear friends, clinging to a rock, or in the love between souls. The list has no end.
On this day one of those such moments graced my life.
The sun rose upon a transformed landscape giving light to a foot of snow that clung heavily to the scene. Whole trees weary from the weight of the gripping snow leaned to touch the ground. As I drove away from my cabin I was greeted by the first of many inspiring sights. I passed through perfect tunnel of bent trees with the clinging snow blanketing their limbs. I smiled broadly at the exhilaration of bursting through snowy columns hanging limbs finally emerging to open skies.
I left work early, I couldn't any longer stand the thought what I might miss outside the monotonous hospital walls. There was never a doubt as to where I would go. Since the age 4 every summer I had walked the trails along the North Arm of Burnside Lake in wonder. And now I felt strongly pulled to them again. I drove faster hoping to have the woods to myself.
I pulled into the trail head and found that I was alone with the surroundings. I threw my small pack on my back, mounted my skis, and left the civilized world behind. A mere 50 yards in I was already enamored with what I was beholding. Every step floated upon clouds of untouched powder of shin to knee deep in depth. The trees bent so as to greet me.
I stopped in stood in reverence to the sheer silence around me. Not even a breath of wind nor a rustling branch dared interrupted it. Kingly boulders rested capped in a crowns of snow upon the buried and barren bedrock.
Going unnoticed, a grouse leapt from the trail beside me and landed on a limb eye level with me sounding it's alarm a yard from my gaze. We stood without motion eying one another for a long while, before she took flight to a distant limb. Any other time my hunter instinct would have elicited more drastic action towards a grouse, but it was clear that the bird had become clumsy amongst the snow. It would have hard enough time with the season ahead without my attempting to skewer it with a ski pole.
The daylight was waining and the tree's limbs shown golden in the rays of the falling sun. Despite the dying daylight, I couldn't stop; around every corner was painted a unique beauty and I was entranced.
I looked to the pink sky and noticed the white moon still ascending. I welcomed the darkness. In the dim light I set my pack down pulling out some warmer gloves, a down vest, and a headlamp, and headed into the darkness. The trail ahead was lit as if a lantern was hung in the sky. In the moonlight I sailed down powdery slopes heading back.
I drove home in a awestruck and content, brimming with bliss. My heart felt bloated as if over fed with beauty. The greatest tragedy couldn't wipe the smile from my face. Back in the warmth of my cabin, I sat wishing I could have shared the experience with someone else, wondering how would I ever find the eloquence to describe the sheer awe. Even now the preceding words feel inadequate.
Through it all, this day will be preserved amongst the fondest of memories, a day I will hold on to....
As I found myself on a plane out west, I found myself thinking of all the adventures of past spring breaks. At this time last year, I was 800 ft off the ground aiding up moonlight buttress, and the year previous found me 9 pitches up trad-leading Crimson Chrysalis in Red Rocks, NV. This year was going to more tame, more relaxed, and less about adrenaline.
I arrived out west with the primary purpose of visiting my significant other and had a glorious time relaxing as spring was hitting the front ranges of the Rockies. Apart from relaxation, I did get to spend a great day at Red Lodge ski area in Montana....
In the morning, I awoke to snow covering the foot hills. As the car struggled to climb the icy roads up to Red Lodge, the snow continued to fall thicker. As we arrived, the quaint ski area lay ahead with it's slopes climbing into the obscurity of clouds and falling snow. After spending a quite moment taking in the scene before, I strapped on my telemark skis and headed up the mountain before the parking lot could fill.
It was a beautiful powder filled day with 5-6 inches of fluff under foot. I skied nearly non-stop all day long, skiing the full spectrum of runs. From fun gently sloping easy runs to charging tree filled mogul fill goodness, it was reminder of what skiing out west tasted like. By the end of the day, I was nodding off on the lift up the hill out of beautiful exhaustion and felt a healthy burn of fatigue in my thighs.
After ending my day of skiing and finish round of experimentation with my taste buds at the local sushi bar, I went to bed content and fulfilled. It was a day well spent and one to be remembered.
As the sun has risen earlier in the morning each day and winter has begun it's gradual thaw from the bitter cold of January, it has come to the season for cross country ski Marathons. I wasn't sure whether I would be skiing this weekend but as plans unfolded I found myself registered for the 58km Mora Vasaloppet ski race.
I arrive in Mora Saturday morning and as soon as a wax bench could be set up, was set to work waxing skis for the ski shop that employs me. I worked all day working skis to the fastest perfection until my hands were sore from wielding a wax scraper. The day ended with a posh meal of a new york strip with jumbo shrimp, in attempt to fuel me for the race the next day. I fell asleep with relative ease despite the anticipation of the morning.
I awoke and ate lite breakfast and headed to the start line. Once there, the nerves set in. I went out and did a quick warm-up and found myself late and rushing for the start line. Five minutes later the gates went up and like horses on snow the skiers poured forth. The trail was fairly ice and fast and the first few km's were merely to gain positioning. I found myself in a place that seemed reasonable with my skiing abilities and teamed up with a pack of 7 guys. During this tumultuous time, my poles were inevitably stepped on and in wrenching them back to me I broke a part of my strap. There was no stopping to be had and the only whining allowed was the expletives that were in my thoughts.
The trail wound on mostly flat through gently rolling farm fields, deciduous groves of maple, and over lakes and rivers. The trail was groomed well but had patches of dirty snow strewn about here and there depending on the section. The race coursed onward and the first 36 km went by with little notice of time. Yet at this time I slowly began to find that I was unable to keep with the pack that I was with. I knew that it would be the start of my decline and that the race had ended and the fight for survival had begun.
From this point on my body became focus on my energy. Every hill and every moment of effort I contemplated whether I was expending too much for the journey ahead. The km's started to pass with increasing duration as I began to look forward to and count there passing. I began to hear the sound of skiers creeping up behind me and was conscious to keep any pride from diminishing my race as I began to get passed by other skiers on the journey.
By 18 km left to go my stomach raised it's demands, and I became aware of a deepening hunger. Feed stops became more important and my trusty water bottle and energy-shot flask (in which I carried with me) became welcome acquaintances to my mouth. The thought of a greasy box of pizza sounded like the stuff of heaven, if only it were waiting for me at the finish line. Soon it was becoming clear that there wasn't food enough to replace what I was expending.
Me toughing out near the finish (a moment of anguish)
By 5 km to go I was moving slowly and I fought in my head with the anguish of my body and it's demands. As I crested the last hill and turned onto main street of Mora for the finish, I made a feeble attempt to push hard for the finish feeling the crowds eye's feed me with energy to make a last push. I finished the race and in time that I could respect in terms of my personal goals. I urgently made my way to the food station and must have looked much like the cookie monster as I stealthily enveloped 10 cookies, two cups of hot coco, and a banana.
Now as I write, my mind sits wide awake trapped in a body filled with fatigue. I will end this day content with its accomplishments and grateful with its memories.
Having passed through the fire of a tested and feeling freedom in my liberation from school for a three day weekend, I was eager for rejuvenation. So myself and friend drove up the north shore with our cross country skis on hand. As we drove fresh snow hanging from the trees grew in thickness while we noticed 4 inches lay on the ground.
Looking for groomed trails we found fresh corduroy along the Cascade River. I was outfitted by my friend with classic gear. I hadn't classic skied since I was 17 and even then it was sporadic at best. I awkwardly applied kick wax and skied away. My technique was clumsy and uncoordinated. My ability to get kick was poor. We threw on some warmer wax and I was on my way. My reintroduction was 8 km of climbing without rest from the incline. I was breathing heavy and feeling my legs were working different muscle than skate. Soon enough the groomed trails ended and we continued on. The trees rained snow as the wind blew it from their branches.
"Chastity" frozen
The way back was refreshing as we flew down hill; the landscape flying by. We abruptly took a hard turn into an ungroomed powder trail. Following the leadership of my friend we trudged down the steep banks to the river. With caution we skied along the river. As the banks became stone and river constricted, I stopped and listened. You could hear the ominous roar of the water in the depths and under the ice. We stopped on the precipice of the water fall entitled "Chastity". We climb back up the bank and skied back to the car.
We stopped to check out Onion River road on the drive home but it was lathered in 4 inches of ungroomed powder. We instead pulled into the Coho Cafe and ate a hardy meal before heading home to Duluth. It was all that I needed to be ready for the rigors of the week ahead.
The Autumn season brought the inevitable.... school. Yet despite being beseeched by the daily rigors of holding completely still in a class room for extended hours of fact studded lecture, I managed to get out a bit. I began to run a little more, out of the mere fact that it was accessible. I made it out to several of the NMTCWednesday night runs and was humbled by my aerobic condition and at the same time was happy I wasn't more out of shape than expected. I also managed to get out climbing before the whether turned too cold. I found myself enjoying a little sport climbing at Sandstone quarry and was happy to be out and leading again.
The last hurrah at Wausau
I also managed to get a little paddling in before the water froze up too much. I hit up the last release at Wausau in September and got a good fix of playboating.Myself and a friend made one last run on the boney lower St. Louis a day before the dams would completely constrict it's flow to unrunnable levels. It was great to jump in the creek boat again and scrape my way down to the swinging bridge. Although I will say, after a summer of play boating I felt awkward in my creek boat. I even managed to get a last minute paddle in early November and played at first wave on Upper St. Louis. It was good just to be on the water. On a whim I also managed to throw myself into a roller ski time trial with St. ScholasticaNordic team. There I managed to further humble myself and my lack of conditioning but enjoyed the strenuousness of it.
Finally the season turned and the cold set in. I found myself stuck between seasons... to cold to paddle or climb, yet no snow to ski. I instead went hunting and managed to provide a freezer full of food for the winter for myself and family members. But winter came soon enough and colored the barren brown landscape with a gorgeous coat of white.
After being liberated from school and embarking about winter break I had my plate stacked full for time well spent. I managed to afford myself a telemark ski setup and hit the slopes of Mt. Bohemia in Houghton, Michigan and ride 96 inches of untouched powder. I made some valiant attempt to find powder at Duluth's Spirit Mtn.
Hitting the powder at Mt. Bohemia
I made two trips up the North shore for what I have labeled "soul" skiing. On each sitting myself and a friend would ski for three and half hours cover over 45 km of the beautiful trails near Tofte. As tradition called for, we sat and ate at the Coho cafe. Food never tasted so good than after a long strenuous ski.
Perfection: XC Skiing Onion River Rd.
The winter has thus been eventful and has kept my diet full of meaningful and adventurous days that have put me to bed at night tired and content!
So after a weekend of surfing and I took a look at Amity creek and thought it might be fit for a run. The next day myself, Anthony, Scott, and Lara found ourselves at the top of Amity Creek. It was a virgin run for the year and my creek boat. The first drops went well, and were mostly slides. I then dropped over smiley slide which could be consider class IV depending on levels. It was a fun ride that went smoothly. However as we continued down the river it was getting increasing scrapey and shallow. By the time we reached Gazebo falls Lara had cracked her new and defective creek boat. I wasn't going to lose anymore plastic off mine and decided I'd walk the rest back to the car. It was a learning experience building...patience. I now have a decent rock to gauge the levels.
The rest of the week I was busy with school. However to my great fortune, winter decided to give one final fight. By Thursday the waves were 5-7 ft and class was canceled for the next day with predicted 16 inches of snowfall. I went out after class to try and give surfing a shot, even though I could not round up any other paddlers to accompany me. It looked descent at Lester River, but somewhat nerve racking due to fact there was no set break point. So as I went out I was a bit concerned as the waves seemed to crest at anytime or point. I caught a couple descent rides and then decided that it wasn't smart to be out there alone as the winds were picking up.
All of Friday I sat at home reclusive avoiding the weather and studying. However the wind was howling outside, as I learned its speed had picked up to 40-50 mph and waves were rumored to reach 18 ft tall. I woke up slowly and went out to surf around 2 in afternoon, figuring I'd let things die down a bit before going out surfing. When I arrived Stoney Point proper the waves were huge... definitely too big for a paddler without a partner. So I found a small no-name break that entertained me for an hour. When I came back to Stoney Point it had died down enough to be attempted. However as I sat in my boat on shore it was clear this wasn't an adventure to take on alone. As I cowered back to the car my friend Andre and car full of companions drove up to watch the action. To my fortune, at the same time paddle friends Nate and Brian showed up to team up against the waves.
It was quite intense getting out past the break, which included waiting till there was a calm between sets and then paddled furiously praying you didn't get hit by an oncoming curler to slam you up on shore. Luckily I made it out and sat contemplating the break before me...it was far larger than I expected averaging 8 ft waves. I waited until a giant wave came up, breaking from the right. It was exhilarating and hair raising at the same time. As dark wall of water comes from behind as I look down it's slope ten feet to the water below. I came ripping down it's face as it curled and crashed behind me sending skipping along at ripping fast speed on the edge of a 4 ft pile of green water. I went on to catch 3 more of these climaxing in a ride down a 12 footer. Now this all sound very fantastical and wholly unbelievable. Luckily it was caught on video:
It was the most epic surfing I have yet done. I couldn't help but call everyone I knew just to attempt to expel the exciting and adrenaline that was overflowing. That night I traveled to a friends cabin up the north shore and woke up earlier and tele-skied Lutsen all day. It was a gorgeous blue bird day with the sun shining brightly and the snow wet and slushy. It was an absolutely perfect weekend complete with great adventure, great friends, and beautiful surroundings!
Myself and car load and friends traveled to Houghton in the heart of Michigan's upper peninsula. Our objects were two-fold: to cross country ski the "Great Bear Chase" ski marathon and to telemark ski powder at Mt. Bohemia. After spending the night at some friends' lodgings in Houghton we woke up early making sure to arrive at the hills opening. I threw on my borrowed telemark gear and was riding up the chair lift before long.
It must be said that Mt. Bohemia (or as I like to shorten it to..."Boheme") is not your typical midwest downhill run. It's gets an average of 250 inches of powder a year, is completely ungroomed, and drops 900 vertical feet. This being recognized, our first run was not surprisingly down a steeply moguled cut run. From there on out we took to the woods to find the untouched virgin, shin deep powder. It was really my first real taste of addiction that is powder skiing. The highlight was skiing down a untouched steep stream-bed that had giant snow bridges crossing it and floating over mounds of snow covering giant logs and quietly cruizing and carving tele-turns as if floating a fluffy cloud in the sky. When the stream would open ahead you would leap and sail over it. You would dodge through the tight trees picking your hole through the maze branches stumps, and logs. I found it very comparable to surfing waves, it's almost a feeling you're going after... that undescribable floating and carving that sends you so silently and gently down a slope and yet with so much controlled speed. Anyhow we skied powder 7 hours until sheer exhaustion compelled us to stop for the day.
We then woke up earlier to arrive at the Bear Chase ski marathon. In the interest of my upcoming climbing trip and my aggravated shoulder and sciatic nerve I opted out of racing for the weekend. I had a good time casually skiing around and cheering on my friends Andre Watt and Nikolai Anikin as they placed 1st and 2nd respectively in the race. It was awesome weekend with some great adventure and new experiences for myself...
It was cold when I stepped out of the car. I felt unprepared for it as I skied over to the start area and quickly ran into warming tent to thaw my numb hands. The time before the start of any race is agonizing and Birkie is even more so than others: trying to stay warm, yet not over dressing for the race. Finally the time came near and I stripped my warm-ups and lined up at the start with 800 other skiers.
Having started medical school this year, it has been difficult to get out and ski as much as I had hoped. It has been a struggle to stay healthy and strong as in former years, because the lack of sleep, struggling to get enough/healthy food, and overcoming general brain fatigue that kills my motivation on daily basis. So I came to the start line this year with some doubts to my condition and kept the expectations for myself low.
The gun went off and river of skiers left the gates and flowed onto the course. It took at least 10 km for the race to spread out. I was feeling fairly comfortable with my pace, and was constantly monitoring my fatigue making sure not to "bonk" (a ski term for debilitating leg muscle cramps). The first half of the race went fast.
Things started slowing down around 30km the distance started to go by slower, I started to notice the first inkling of some muscle fatigue coming on. I quickly modified my technique as to rely more on my arms and polling, and increasing my tempo. By the time 40 km came around, I had officially began to bonk. On hills my legs stiffened up with knots in quads that I pushed through with a grimace. On level ground my legs would gradually loosen up. Around that time mentally things began to improve as the city of Hayward came into view.
Main street in Hayward: It's never disappoints that in skiing your picture is captured at the less than flattering moments, I'll give myself a break... I'm tired!
As I skied out onto Hayward Lake and 1 km left to go in the 51km race I was excited for the finish, a smile began to break on my face. I skated down the main street of Hayward with blue skies overhead and the sun shining bright and finished my 5th American Birkebeiner. Though it may not have been apparent from dazed expression on my face, I walked away from the finish happy. To my surprise I found out later that I had skied only not incredibly slower than years previous.
Day 2: Friday After falling asleep to the wind whistling past my windows, I woke Friday morning to survey the damage. To my surprise the snow plows had been out in full force and my street was already looking more clear. Ass I stepped out the door for my next adventure, people walked the streets and shoveled their cars and walks vigorously. It was good to see that the city was alive! So naturally I strapped on some skis and began down the side streets and alley ways. I met up with a friend and headed in the direction of the lake. We reached Lief Erickson park and promptly jumped down the embankment to Lake Superior. The lake was bumpy with frozen slush and wind tattered snow. We made our way along the lake, down to the store. When we arrived we noted the 8 ft drifts and the outside door ripped from its hinges. It was clear that winds had been strong.
From there we made our way over to Park Point to view the damage there. As I crossed the aerial lift bridge the appearance of large drifts became clear. I was elated to find the road conditions to compare to that of a groomed ski trail...and so I scooted down Minnesota Ave. at a controlled cruise. Drifts were piled 10 ft high, covering doorways, and whole house fronts. Dozers and loaders passed commonly on their way to assault the drifts.
After returning home, I went out again to ski Congdon creek. The creek was snowfilled with unpacked powder. In short, my buddy and I managed to ski down the creek while sking down 15-20ft drops covered in powder! After having our fill and my shoulder feeling somewhat sore I returned home to rest...
I delayed writing this post, because there is so much to write about. Frankly it's a bit overwhelming with all of the adventure of the last few days, but I will attempt to briefly summarize.
Day 1: Thursday We all knew it was coming, we'd been warned for days. The oncoming storm brought plenty of anticipation. Thursday morning seemed like an ordinary day, maybe a touch blustery, but normal. I woke up late, and kept inside...in an attempt to keep my impatience at bay. But by 1 pm I could hear the wind cause the house to subtly creak. I poked my head near the window, and viewed the blizzard. It was pure white-ness...huge winds whipping a great amount of snow. It became clear that the snow was piling up fast and that my car should find its final resting place before the storm progressed further. By 4 o'clock I preferred not to drive and the skis came out. My first adventure came as I skied down Chester creek...goggles shielding my eyes from the whipping snow. It was a wondrous, every waterfall became a powder filled slide. As my friend and I skied down, I saw a flash. I looked around to see who had taken a picture, but then heard the rumbling thunder. I had never experienced lightning in a snow storm before that day, and I'm guessing that it is something I will tell my grand children about. It happened a dozen more times as the wind whipped the snow at gusts of 50 mph. I skied all over town that night, the plows had shut down at 6 pm, and therefore, there was no other way to get around. I must have skied 10 miles of streets by night's end. All the while I knew this was a storm I would remember, and this was the day in which I skied the streets of Duluth in the Blizzard of 2007.
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