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 .
The lights flashed rhythmically across my face as my eye reached out the window for a few glimpses of the sky. I lay in the back of a Subaru letting the dull roar of the passing road lull me to sleep. Myself and friends where speeding westward in search of powder.
The search for powder as a Midwesterner is much akin to a patient fisherman. We scour the depths of meteorology information hoping to grasp the passing of the next storm and race for a mountainous location praying that a giant winter storm will swallow the mountains in a snow filled sky. And then there are the attempts in which we simply get skunked.
The asphalt of I-80 pass under us as we sped for the Wasatch mountains outside of Salt Lake City hedging our bets and awaiting the snow to fall. We arrived by the cover of night and woke by morning and hurriedly rushed to Alta. But mount the lift the mere sound of passing skiers edges alerted us to the unsavory conditions. We found that hardened slush upon the steeper slopes and took to the groomers. Finally in desperation myself and Andre took the furthest and highest traverses and began to find some semblance of soft and steep snow. We made the best of what conditions provided and left feeling content and well exhausted.
Given the conditions on the slopes, it seemed more fitting to nordic ski. In the morning light, we made our way across the upland plateau to the rising mountains and into the quite vale of Sundance. The sun greeted us with it warmth as we took to the trails. Before long we had lost our shirts and soaked in the rays while cruising amongst soaring views of Sundance Mountain. The day came to a close with a trip to the local pub to satisfy our growing hunger.
Warmth at Sundance!
When we awoke the next morning the uninspiring sight of rain was upon us and the weather reports indicated that the it was raining on the slopes. Disheartened we took the liberty of a slow morning and final embarked southward. On the way we stopped at the Homestead Crater.
Swimming in Homestead Crater
The second hand information we had gained indicated that there was a steamy hot spring within a small crater in the earth. As we drove up I saw before me a 70 foot high mound of earth with a small door tunneled into it's side. We paid are nominal fee and enter into a well lit and long rocky tunnel. Before us opened a unique seen. An ethereal light swirled amongst the rising steam cast from a round cavernous hole revealing the dim sky.
Homestead Crater
Yet bright blue water of the spring where in stark contrast to the dark walls of the crater. We slowly enter the pool and inflated the life vests we were require to wear. In the steamy water below us diving platforms resided as people often honed diving skills here. After a long soaking we, made for the open road again. Seeking better weather we drove south for Moab.
We arrived in the twilight and made for camping. Awaking in the morning the sun shone upon the red sandstone outcropping that accentuate the landscape of the Moab area. We pack and drove our way into Arches National Park for the day.
Arches NP!
As the day came to a close the weather reports were looking more and more favorable and we again headed northward to Salt Lake City. On the way we hiked a up a small wooded path for 2 miles up a small creek in search of a secluded hot spring we had caught wind of. Hiking up the stream it became apparent that the snow was lessening along it's banks. Before long the smell of sulfur hung in the air. We beheld a small water fall running into several pots of pooled hot springs. We basked in the heated pool amongst the sloping hillsides and felt like royalty. We sorrily walked away from the springs an continue northward settling into a hotel room.
Hotsprings!!!!
The snows came and we woke earlier to hit the sloops of Snowbird this time. We an came to find 6 inches of fresh powder and went to quick work searching for the steepest slopes and the best lines. Although it was not the massive amount of powder we had hoped for, the snow was none the less heavenly to a naive Midwesterner. I left the slopes too tired to think, grateful for snow, and skis to carve it.
We awoke the next morning and drove into the eastern sunrise. My other companion were beginning their homeward journey. Meanwhile my adventures were just beginning. In the town of Fruita, CO I waved goodbye to my friends as they drove away. There I sat waiting for my ride.... as I was soon to be climbing in Indian Creek.
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.
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...
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