My Seventh American Birkebeiner

Myself struggling towards to finish line

Every year the season comes and the excitement begins as the American Birkebeiner ski race nears its start. The Birkie (as is often lovingly titled) is one of the United States biggest celebrations of nordic skiing. The 52 km race is a point to point journey that brings one over the hills of Northern Wisconsin from Cable to the main street of Hayward.

Rewinding to a week before the race, it rained as temperatures dismally rose above freezing for 5 days straight. Likewise ski trails turned into slush and when the temperature again dropped, became solid ice. So for the week leading up to the Birkie I had not skied much.

The days before the race were filled with time well spent friends from the tightly knit nordic ski community and also was able to spent time with my significant other. The night before the race was filled with nervous waxing, weather reports, and gear checks (and repairs in my case). By the dawn light of the morning of Birkebeiner I awoke well rested. I ate a minimalists meal before heading out the door of our lodgings. Myself and a friend arrived neared the start, parked the car and excitedly walked towards the start. The sky loomed grey and temperature hovered around 14 degrees. I did a quick warm-up of sorts before entering the gates of my start wave.

The Birkie has 6,000-7,000 skier each year and in order to prevent mass chaos they release us in waves according to our past Birkie performance (if you've never done the Birkie... you start in the back). This being my seventh Birkie, I was set to start out of the first wave. Guys and gals in the first wave tend to be a bit nutty. Many are citizen racers gunning to make into the elite wave with the sponsored racers, others have something to prove, and then their are many like me... politely out to ski their own race and their own pace.

This year I made the mistake of attempting to be in the front of the first wave. They released the "Elite" wave in ahead of us and the first wave skiers sprinted ahead to set their skis on the start line and get ready to go. In the sprint I managed to stabbed in the left calf by the ski pole of a less than sane skier. I shook it off and put my skis on and tried to keep myself warm despite the inherent lack of clothing that goes into wearing a race suit.

Only minutes passed before the gun rang out andthe dam broke as myself and the flood of skiers erupted forth onto the snow ahead. I conservatively skied my way along being conscious of keeping my poles from getting stepped or broken. The river of skiers coursed along and up the first set of steep hills and out into the woodlands. It took almost 10k for the racers to begin spread out. During that time, I was not not feeling good. I felt as if I was not getting enough oxygen when huffing up each hill and was hacking like mad to clear my throat. At 18 km I hacked so hard that I gagged hard... and my stomach sloshed violently. I pulled over feeling nastily nauseous, got on my hands and knees and vomited. It this moment this moment, I was ready to quit the race as I picked myself up and continued climbing up the trail ahead. I had never had a stomach this sort in a race, and whatever sustenance I might have had was left in a patch out on the snow. I continued on and tried to take feeds at the feed stations to make up for what I had lost.

Finishing off the race on mainstreet in Hayward

I managed to keep myself going as the kilometers passed by excruciatingly slowly. However, by 30 km my caloric deficit began to catch up with me. I could feel my legs begin to cramp and my pace slow. I fought to adapt my technique to rest my wear legs, but the hills would not allow for much. I fought on, shedding any pride, knowing that I'd be lucky to finish this year's Birkebeiner. As 48 km rolled around, my mind started to get a little foggy, my vision a little blurry, and my balance a little worse. I was hungry and had already eaten all the energy drink and gel that I had brought with me.

I skied down the last hill out onto Hayward Lake with a 1 km to the finish. The lake being flat require constant effort with little rest to fight the wind. As I went along, I was concious to keep my legs from locking in cramps. Each double pole my left triceps and should would tighten and cramp. As I turned the corner onto the main street of Hayward I gritted my teeth and pushed for an attempt of an strong finish. My legs to locked up and by the time I crossed the finish line I could not get my knees to bend.

Myself the last 100 meters of the race, legs locked, and in pain.

I tried to remain standing after crossing the finished line but fell over as my leg muscles would not unclench. Grunting, I grabbed my legs and forcibly bent them until finally they loosened up and I could walk to the food area.

After finding some food and riding the bus back to the start and eventually arriving at our lodgings, I was concerned about my recovery. However, the beautiful part of skiing is that it is forgiving on ones body. Despite my debilitating cramps, within hours and days after the race I had no muscle soreness... only generalized fatigue. My tiredness was relieved by a good meal, a beer, an hour in the hot tub, a nap, and good times with friend and my significant other.

I found out later that night, to my surprise, that my time was only 10 minutes slower than the year before. Looking back it was a challenging Birkie for me, but I'm happy that I did not give up despite the circumstances. Though I hoped for a better finishing time, I am satisfied despite difficulties. It was a memorable weekend and the time with companions was time I couldn't miss. I look forward to next years Birkebeiner!

Mora Vasaloppet

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.

New Tele Boards

For the last month, I have been dissecting telemark ski gear and plotting my next purchase. Sorting through skis I managed to select the Black Diamond Kilowatt!!! After getting my BD O1 bindings I spent 5 hours contemplating the position of my bindings and finally making a decision and carefully mounting them. Today all day I couldn't wait to leave the class room behind and hit the slopes to try them out.


After class I waxed them thoroughly and headed out to the hill. The skis where just what I was looking for and performed beautifully. They give me confidence in my turns at all speeds. I am extremely excited to go Westward and put them into some deep powder!

Cascade River Skiing

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.

Fall and the Winter Thus Far

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 NMTC Wednesday 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. Scholastica Nordic 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!

The Return to Sturgeon Falls

With the specter of medical school looming over my head, leaving Yellowstone I was not quite ready to give up the freedom of my summer. I mounted a bus in Billings, MT that took me to St. Cloud, MN. After 15 hours of the Greyhound population and listening to the "dancer" in the seat behind me drop her whole life story on some kindly elderly woman, I stepped of the bus and into my friends car. We quickly drove up to Duluth, grabbing my boat and another paddling buddy we headed Northward to Canada.

I fell asleep to lull of the open road. Hardly being conscious of anything since our border crossing, I looked to my watch which read 2:34 am and saw the headlights of the car illuminating our campsite. We threw up a tent and went to bed.

A quick nap on the water

Waking up late, we headed down to the water to begin the morning trek to Sturgeon falls. Having arrived, I smiled at the site of the myriad of large play waves awaiting us while excitely ambling up the rocky shore. I was surprised to find that even after a month away from my kayak, I still felt very comfortable on the water. The features had changed significantly due to the relatively low water conditions compared to my last outing to Sturgeon Falls (still at 63,000 cfs though!). "Big Mouth" regularly reared up and spread it's watery jaws in the form of breaking river wave. There were the smaller features to refine one's technique and the larger features to test a paddler's skills.

Myself on "Surfer's" and Dave on "Chameleon"

So for 3 solid days we played on the waves of Sturgeon falls to our hearts desire. A daily noon nap would be had on the island as a necessity to endure an 8 hour day of paddling. Every evening after coming off the water happily exhausted, we would sit along the water's edge drinking a celebratory beer in twilight of the falling sun. I went to bed at night with a torso so sore it was difficult to forcibly laugh and noting that there was plenty of laughter to be had.

Dave on "surfers" and me on "Chameleon"

A day later, having driven home, I found myself in a lecture hall staring blankly into my computer screen as slides of cardiac physiology were flashed incessantly. Yet, I sat focused and felt ready for the onslaught as if floating into the rearing waves of Sturgeon Falls and from the chaos gracefully surfing ahead. It was a renewing and glorious summer and Sturgeon Falls was my my last hurrah before it's end.

Yellowstone- Part 3

My time in Yellowstone was becoming immanently short and in the last weeks there was much to be done. I woke with the morning dew glittering in the sunlight, poured a cup of coffee and watched the sunrise into the sky. I would take my freedom and run with it. My decision was to abandon the trail and bushwack through the backcountry to where ever my curiosity desired. I easily decided that I would go to the area south of Avalanche Peak and head towards Top-Notch Peak, then heading towards the mountains on it's backside.

Exiting my car I took a quick note of the general direction of Top-Notch and headed into the woods. Before hitting the tree line, the going was not easy. But as things opened up I picked my way up a ridge line that appear to make it's way reasonably to the summit.

The ridge line towards Top-Notch

Armed with my pack of essentials, I was feeling strong and energetic and the sun was not yet high in the sky. As I climbed the steep scree and as I crested what I thought would be summit, I found myself on the edge of less than favorable cliff edge. Knowing that what lay in front of me was impassable, I grudgingly headed down and around the backside of Top-Notch with the new intent of reach Mount Doane.

The top of Top Notch

Having crossed over the backside of the mountain into a beautiful pond filled bowl, I began my traverse toward Mt Doane. But the going was not easy, as I found myself down climbing into steep gullies and climbing out again. I was beginning to get tired and hot, as the sun was now baking the earth around me. I got within 6 miles of Doane and looking at my clock knew it would have to wait for another day. I headed back up and over the shoulder of Top-Notch and scrambled down another gully. Into the wood I went a clamored my way through the forest back to the vehicle feeling weary.

Mt. Doane in the distance

An alpine lupine

Two days later having given myself an ample day of rest, I made it out of the cabin late. I quickly decided I'd do the "seven mile hole" trail that took one to the bottom of Yellowstone and to what I presumed was a nice hole... as in whitewater. So I embarked from Canyon village by running down the trail until I reach the descent into the canyon. About half way down, I heard some ominous cracking and breaking of branches. I stopped dead still. Barely breathing I listen intently. Something large was moving on the trail ahead, and I was not about to find out if was a bare. I quietly walked back up the trail with my bear spray in hand and found a decent tree. I climbed up 20 ft up and waited. After hearing enough commotion I decided I'd let whatever it was know I was around and begun singing a tune. Whatever it was it took off.Yellowstone Canyon

I continued down the trail and made it to the edge of the crystal waters of the Yellowstone Stone river. After the disappointment of finding no hole, I decided to take a quick swim before making my way out of the canyon. As I reached the canyon brim I halted my brisk walk to observe two set of bear tracks that had not been there on the way out. I nervously forged ahead, and found no sign of bear. I made it back to the car and drove back to my lodgings weathering the normal afternoon Yellowstone traffic.

The Yellowstone River

After two nights of rest and noting that I had time for one last adventure, I set out to hike a classic trail. I decided I would hike the Yellowstone river trail from Hell Roaring Creek to Gardiner, MT. I would have to leave a bike at the end of the trail and bike 20 miles uphill back to the car after hiking 18. Honestly, I wasn't sure I could do it. I had plenty of doubts as I left a bike under the bridge in Gardiner. But once I got back to Hell Roaring Creek and got established on the trail, my mind wandered elsewhere. However, I did notice that I was on the hot open plateau and hoped that I would find shad along the way. However the shade never came as the temps reach up into the 90's. I soaked my T-shirt in the river many a time in an effort to quench the days heat.

I kept walking along the river until the Mountain sides squeezed together and the water began to roar. I had reach Knowles Falls. Granite (or some other metamorphic rock) walls and smoothed formations pinched the river into some gorgeous whitewater. Viewing it from a kayaker my description is as follows: If kayaking the Yellowstone were not illegal, Knowles Falls would be a classic run. It consisted of 3 or 4 big water class IV+ and V rapids that looked absolutely beautiful.

The Lead-in to Knowles Falls

Knowles Falls!
(much bigger water than it seems)

Moving on past the enticing water, I again began to notice the heat. I walked on in a state of thoughtless motion, there but not really present. However, my conscious came crashing in on me. I had been walking looking maybe only 3 ft ahead of me. It took a second for mind to register what had entered my vision, but when it did I jumped back. I had nearly stepped on a extremely large snake, who otherwise didn't seem much alarmed by me. I'm not generally afraid of snake, but I also don't prefer to get ultra close with a bigger and hissing snake. I took a wide path around him as I snapped a picture. I later discovered that was a non-venomous bull snake, but really wasn't interested in finding out otherwise.

The bull snake

I kept marching down the trail find the Black Canyon of Yellowstone River and being disappointed I could more easily view the crazy whitewater that passed through it. I went on ward and just before the mountains opened up into broad plateau. I was shocked again, as a smaller bear ran from the trail in front of me. My bear spray's safety was off and I crept up a near by hill making all sorts of noise keep the bear from startling. For my good fortune, he had taken off and not looked back. I continued ferociously heated plateau. I was hot, tired, dehydrated, and slightly delirious as I finally reached Gardiner at 6 pm. The thought of biking another 20 miles uphill made me worry. Instead I waited until an older couple came up to the trail head. I asked for a ride and they agreed with thick French accents. I was elated to ride and talk with this couple who had touring the park just in from Paris. But as we neared the trail head, I was feeling more and more faint. I became so nauseous that I had them pull the car out. I felt so hot, faint, and clammy I quickly took off my shirt laid down on ground and poured water over my head. Before long I was ok again and made it back to the car. It was clear that the heat of the day had gotten to me and that I was pretty dehydrated. I made it back to my lodgings and fell asleep quickly.

And so with that adventure my time in Yellowstone expired. I was sad to leave the place I had called home for a month. It was a time for real growth in myself and a time of rejuvenation. I mounted a greyhound bus two days later, waved goodbye to my companion watched the open road open before me.

However, my bus ticket was not for Duluth but St. Cloud. I was on my way to meet a friend and head back to Sturgeon Falls for some last minute whitewater paddling before the start of school. (To be continued....)