zach-johns-blog

The best/worst month of skiing in years

Thu, 04 Apr 2013 14:56:43 +0100

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.

Sunday, March 10 was one of the best ski days of the season. The snow was good, the jumps were perfect. We did a little bit of helping out at a ski team fundraiser, but the majority of the day was skiing for fun!

Ever since the high school ski racing season had ended, my oldest son Nick had been going crazy with his skiing. Nailing 360s, launching huge balled-up airs with his skis stylishly crossed and grabbed, going high off of spines and quarter pipes, shredding powder lines in the trees - his skiing was reaching new heights. Plus, with the weather holding up, we were set to enjoy a full month of great spring freeskiing!

The next evening I got the call. The boys had been out sledding with their mother and Nick went down an icy run on his knees. Hitting a bump, he flew off the sled, landed fist-first and broke his wrist.

Season over.

Nick was completely bummed. One day, he was soaring off of jumps at Giants Ridge. The next day, his arm was in a sling.

I think if he had hurt himself skiing he wouldn’t have felt so bad. He probably would have had a great story to tell the kids at school - the very kids who spent the next few days asking him, “What happened? Did you hurt yourself skiing?”

Of course, that’s what everyone expected. But to lose a whole month of skiing just because he was goofing around on a sledding hill was almost too much to bear.

Especially because it just kept snowing.

And I kept skiing.

Now, come on! I wasn’t doing it to be mean! It was March. There was snow on the side of a hill. Chairlifts were spinning. What did you expect me to do?

Actually, the first weekend that Nick was injured, we kind of struggled with finding a way to spend our time. We went to a movie. We went out to eat. We played video games. We cleaned the house a bit. Since we’re nearly always either skiing or hiking or off doing SOMETHING outdoors, staying home got us just plain fidgety!

A few days later I scored a half day off. I also scored a blue sky day after a snowstorm!

Now, I have been a season passholder at Giants Ridge since the 1996-97 season. And that season was the last time I remember having such a great powder day.

I found untracked line after untracked line. There were only about five other people on the hill and none of them knew about my secret stashes. The fresh snow was binding-deep almost everywhere, boot-deep in some places, and several times the powder even flew-up and hit me in the knees! The wind was howling from the north making it slightly chilly but worth it. The best part about the wind was that in some places I could make fresh powder turns and return an hour later to find it filled-in and untracked again!

Toward the end of the day I found a hidden gem on a run we call “Rock Face.” Nestled in an open area on top of the Helsinki headwall I made three blissful, thigh-deep turns! Sure, it was only three turns, but in my 16-year Giants Ridge career they were by far the deepest.

After that run, I sent a text message to Nick who just arrived home from school. “Rock Face was Powder Face - thigh deep!!!” I sent from the chairlift.

“I h8 u,” was all I got back.

Poor guy.

But that was nothing compared to last weekend. With four days off, the boys went to see relatives and I, of course, went skiing.

To make matters worse, I skied that weekend with pretty-much all of Nick’s favorite ski buddies. First, Nick’s cousin Conner and Uncle Dwight came over and skied with me twice. The boys always love skiing with Conner and after a busy hockey season, it was Conner’s first chance to hit the hill. Next, my college buddy Ryan came up for two days of skiing. Nick in particular always loves skiing with Ryan, and the two of them had been having a great time skiing together at Welch Village and Spirit Mountain earlier in the season. To round-out our skier posse was Nick’s teammate Blake. The two of them were notorious for getting as many free runs as possible on practice and race days. Among the Hibbing team, the two of them meshed very well as freeskiing fiends.

So with all of Nick’s favorite ski buddies in tow, we went somewhere I haven’t been in nearly a decade.

The North Face Backcountry.

You may recall how I wrote in this blog several weeks ago about “Smooth Rider” a friend of mine who hikes up Giants Ridge in the summer and clears secret runs for himself and his friends.

Well, the pinnacle of these runs are the North Face Backcountry. Not on any trail map, this is a series of trails on the north face of Giants Ridge that are laced with tight trees and cliff drops. There has to be a lot of snow for the north face to be skiable, thus the reason I hadn’t been back there in nearly ten years.

So we snuck beyond the ski area boundary making quick turns in the timber. That’s when we found it. A beautiful double cliff drop. A three-footer leading to a ten-footer with fluffy snow underfoot. A few of us skied over a smaller cliff to get to the bottom and watch Ryan do the drop.

It was rad. Super rad.

Then he said, “I think I can clear the whole thing.”

“You huck it, I’ll film it,” I told him and madly started skating back to the lift before he changed his mind (regained his sanity).

On the next run I skied to the bottom and got into position. Ryan pointed the way and Blake hit the double drop. “Man, Nick’s gonna be mad he wasn’t able to do this,” I thought. Hoots and high-fives for Blake.

Then it was Ryan’s turn. I couldn’t believe he was actually going to do it. But there he was standing on top of that ridiculously huge (by Midwestern standards) cliff.

“Ready?” he shouted.

“Ready!”

“Dropping!” With that he pushed off, helmet snapping tree branches. Suddenly, he was flying through the air with a strange “whoo-whoo-whoo” sound like a goose flying by. I later figured it was Ryan’s arms whipping frantically like he was rolling down the windows of his car. Half a second later he crashed to the ground in a hip check.

“Whooo!” We all cheered as he popped-up, poles raised triumphantly. What a great day! The boys hucked the cliffs a few more times and then had a fantastic terrain park session as well. It was by far one of the best days of the season.

Of course, with such amazing days of skiing, I couldn’t help but feel bad that my boys weren’t with.

Especially Nick.

Sure, I could have just told him the skiing was okay and left it at that. But it’s kind of hard to hold back after days like that, and over the phone that evening I told him all about the day.

I tried to be sensitive. So did Ryan. We both told him how much we would have loved it. How we wished he could have been there jumping off that cliff that hasn’t been skiable in ten years. How much we look forward to next season and how he’ll be back ripping it in no time.

As we were talking we were looking at photos and videos of the huckfest. “Woah!!!” “Dude!!!!” “Sick!!!!”

We tried to be sensitive.

He hung up on us.

Answering the call - 4,600 miles on the North Country Trail

Thu, 28 Mar 2013 13:39:03 +0100

The call of the trail. Everyone who hikes or backpacks knows the feeling, especially this time of year. It’s looking at maps, reading guidebooks, planning trips - trails just seem to call to you.

I’ve had many trails call to me over the years. I’ve hiked the Kekekabic and Superior Hiking Trails in their entirety. I’ve even knocked-off each Hiking Club trail in every state park in Minnesota. Recently, the Border Route Trail through the BWCA and the Greenstone Ridge Trail on Isle Royale have been calling my name. They are calls I’d love to lace-up my boots and answer.

Luke Jordan is a young man who knows the call of the trail very well. But the trail that is calling his name is not just a little five-mile state park loop, a hearty forty-mile hike like the Kek, or even a grand 300-miler like the SHT.

On March 27, Jordan left Lake Sakakawea State Park in North Dakota on a 4,600-mile adventure. He plans to end his hike in early October in Vermont. His goal is to join an elite group of three people to thru-hike the North Country Scenic Trail.

I met Luke last summer during a Superior Hiking Trail volunteer work weekend. We were part of a group who repaired the Encampment River bridge and built a new quarter-mile of trail between Duluth and Two Harbors. During that weekend I learned that Luke had been on many of these volunteer trips and he was an enthusiastic and hard worker.

Then, while sitting around the campfire, I learned of his ultra-ambitious hike. My first reaction was, “Holy cow! That is so crazy!”

A split second later, it was, “Holy cow! That is so awesome! I wish I could come with you!”

Another volunteer had hiked the entire 2,184-mile Appalachian Trail - perhaps the most famous footpath in the world. Throughout the evening, Luke would page through that hiker’s photo album, soaking-up the photos with reverence and awe. I could see the other hiker’s adventure building the excitement in Luke for his own hike - still over six months away.

The North Country Trail is a national scenic hiking trail administrated by the National Park Service. Established in 1980, the NCT is really a network of smaller trails all connected under the North Country banner. Highlights include The Kekekabic, Border Route and Superior Hiking trails in Minnesota, the Penokee Mountains of Wisconsin, Porcupine Mountains and Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore in Michigan, the Buckeye Trail in Ohio, the Alleghany Mountains of Pennsylvania, and Finger Lakes Trail of New York which enters the spectacular Adirondack Park. Home of 5000+ foot peaks, Adirondack Park is a mostly wilderness area larger in area than Yellowstone, Glacier, Yosemite and Great Smokey Mountains National Parks combined. The eastern terminus is a few miles east of this vast wilderness at Crown Point State Historic Site at the Vermont state line. Plans are currently underway to extend the trail into Vermont and connect to the Appalachian Trail via the Long Trail.

Separately, these places can occupy a lifetime of a hiker’s daydreams. All together, it becomes the trip of a lifetime.

As a youth, Jordan’s love of hiking was instilled in him like so many of us - by our parents. Like me, his parents took him hiking at many of the incredible state parks of Minnesota’s North Shore. If that’s not a place to get a kid hooked on hiking, no place will.

When he was 14, he discovered the Superior Hiking Trail and found himself exploring the high peaks of the Sawtooth Mountains which surrounded his family’s land near Finland.

By the time he was old enough to drive, he set-off to hike the entire Superior Hiking Trail piece by piece - a goal he is eager to complete during his current hike.

The summer after he graduated from high school, Jordan signed-up for the Forest Service’s “Passport In Time” program in Twin Lakes, Colorado doing historic preservation work. The project was located on the Continental Divide Trail where he met other hikers and heard their trail tales from around the world.

Later that year, he decided to answer the call of his hometown trail by helping the Superior Hiking Trail with trail building. Over the next several years while attending college at Saint Cloud State University, he would head-up to the SHT as much as he could, venturing-out on multi-day backpacking trips and helping-out with trail work.

Graduating from college in December, Jordan knew it was now or never if he was to complete his dream of completing the NCT. After months of planning, he is now setting forth upon his grandest adventure.

Last week, I caught up with Luke by email to ask him some last minute questions about his trip. His excitement was infectious. But underneath his gung-ho enthusiasm I could see that he has put a lot of planning into this serious expedition.

His planning has been so meticulous, in fact, that he already made a trip to Michigan’s Mackinaw Bridge last Labor Day - the only day it is open to pedestrian traffic annually. After making the crossing he had to hightail it back to Minnesota since classes started the next day.

Jordan plans to keep his pack weight under thirty pounds as he has found that it starts to get uncomfortable at 35. That will allow for extra pack room if he needs to carry extra food or gear for any reason.

As far as food goes, he plans to carry enough food for roughly eight days at a time before resupplying at predetermined mail drops. He also plans eat “on the road” about once a week to lift his spirits and get some extra calories.

But back to the excitement. Jordan said he was anxious to start and very excited about the northeastern Minnesota section as well as Michigan’s upper peninsula and New York’s Finger Lake region. Each section of trail has its own unique character and he’s looking forward to every inch.

But to complete a 4,600 mile trail in six months, you can’t do a lot of casual sightseeing - you have to move pretty fast. Apparently, that shouldn’t be much of a problem. During a family trip to the Northwest Angle region of Minnesota, Jordan inherited his trail name when he was asked to slow down because the others could not keep up with his long strides. He has since been known on the trail as “Strider.”

We’ll be following Strider’s journey through the next several months here at Minnesota North Outdoors. We’ll provide a link to his web site www.stridernct.com where you can see photos, read his journal and sign his guestbook to offer encouragement.

Here’s to a great hiking season to Strider and to all of us who answer the “call of the trail!”

Spring fever

Thu, 14 Mar 2013 13:35:27 +0100

I blacked out. Seriously, I blacked out! One moment I was flying down a slushy ski slope at Giants Ridge, hurling toward a pool full of floating ice chunks, and the next thing I knew I was struggling to stand-up, body completely numb, water pouring from my sinuses. When I finally got my senses about me I could hear the cheers and laughter of my fellow skiers and snowboarders. Weakly, I managed a smile and bent over to release my ski. Then I fell in again.

Say what you will about alpine skiing being a winter sport, but truthfully, the real fun starts in the spring. Moguls turn slushy, terrain park landings are soft, barbecues, outdoor music, goggle tans… It’s like the season just keeps getting better and better and better from November to March then, “boom!” It’s over.

Mother Nature is cruel.

Some years crueler than others. Last season, for example, we skied the last three weekends of the season in shorts - it was nearly 80 degrees!!! It was sunny! It was fun!

That is until the hill closed on March 18.

Every year we expect to ski at least one week in April - if not two or three. But closing in mid-March - it’s kind of heartbreaking.

But I didn’t plan on writing this week’s blog about the sadness of spring skiing - I want to focus on the revelry! Let’s talk about the good times, man!

So here we go again! March - my favorite month of the ski season! And this year we’re even getting snow! Yes, finally our powder prayers are being answered. It seems like we’ve gotten more snow this month than every other month of the season combined!

Plus, this March we’ve had SUNSHINE!!! Bluebird powder days! Life doesn’t get much better. After a winter of gray NONSNOW days, the sun just amps up the stoke-o-meter! With bright sunshine you can see everything - jumps no longer have blind landings - ruts and death cookies are visible - cheeks get brown. Life is good.

Back in college I LIVED for March. I would schedule my classes to make the most of my Spirit Mountain season pass and would pretty much be on the hill all day. Then, during spring break, while all the other kids would take-off to Cabo or Padre, I would stay at Spirit and would always have the deepest, darkest tan on campus.

Well, my face did, anyway.

People would come up to me and comment on my brown face. “Wow! Where did you go on your spring break? Florida?”

“No, Duluth.”

I’ve always said that we need to earn those wonderful sunny March days by enduring those -30 days in January. The more you ski in subzero conditions, the more days of spring skiing we will get. In fact, I kind of dislike seeing the local hill get so crowded on these warm spring days. Where were all these people during frostbite season?! They don’t deserve to be here!

Back in college, there was this guy Darryl, who would never show-up prior to St Patrick’s Day. And every year, he would arrive in the spring and be the best skier on the entire hill! It was so unfair! We would be there every day, paying our dues and Daryl shows-up and schools us all. He skied moguls like an Olympian, could do any trick in the terrain park, and all the cute skier chicks swooned over him! He would even win the barrel jumping competition at the Spring Carnival - and not by sucking his legs into his chest to achieve the maximum distance - he would make the crowd go nuts by floating a slow-motion helicopter over a line of about twenty barrels.

So unfair.

But I suppose there are fair-weather skiers just as there are fair-weather anything. I imagine that’s what people at Lutsen probably think of me when I make my annual trip there for the final day of the season. The annual tradition called “ski camp.”

Ski camp is the transition between seasons. It’s the last day of the ski season and the first day of North Shore camping/hiking season all at once. After Giants Ridge shuts down for the winter, Lutsen usually gives us an extra week or two. (Sometimes even more as they stockpile snow like Ebenezer Scrooge)

So I go over the Shore and spend the Saturday hiking the Superior Hiking Trail seeing what the snowmelt is doing to the waterfalls. Then I’ll set-up camp for the night - usually at the Caribou River backcountry site on the SHT or at Temperance River State Park. Sunday morning I ski for the last time. Speed runs down Moose Mountain with Lake Superior spread out in front of me. The slushy moguls of Hari Kari. Sunshine on my shoulder. Ahhh… Annually one of the best days of the season.

Then I drive home through the forest, tired, sunburnt and happy. With a great North Shore spring, summer and fall in front of me.

Yeah, Mother Nature is cruel!

Upcoming Spring Events:
March 16: Giants Ridge Annual Spring Carnival - slush cup, slope style competition, live outdoor music and barbecue. www.giantsridge.com

March 16: Spirit Mountain Spring Break Fiesta - Free NASTAR racing, rail jam, barrel jumping, water skipping, scavenger hunt and more… www.spiritmt.com

March 30: Lutsen Mountains Spring Carnival - Live music, family fun race/obstacle race, costume contest, fireworks. www.lutsen.com

Riding smooth

Thu, 28 Feb 2013 14:52:53 +0100

It’s funny how things just work out sometimes.

Back at the beginning of the high school ski racing season, our coach gave us a calendar listing of all the races. As a devoted parent, I used that calendar to plan my floating days off so I could watch my son race and help-out when needed. It worked fine until a week before sectionals when I received an email stating that the calendar was wrong and the race was actually the day before it was listed.

Well, my job requires me to put day off requests in ahead of time and although I tried, that new day off never cleared. I then discovered a rule I didn’t know about: I had to give a 48 hour notice to CANCEL a day off!

Suddenly, there I was with a day off that I didn’t NEED, but in actuality was better anyway. Instead of standing on the side of the hill gate-keeping for the Section 7 participants, I got to actually SKI on my day off! And the best part was, when I got to the Ridge on that Wednesday morning, Smooth Rider was there, too!

“Smooth Rider.” It’s a name given by “Smiley,” (whose name was given by Smooth Rider - nobody at Giants Ridge skis under their real name). His actual name is Robert … uh … Hamilton or something - not that it matters - he is really Smooth Rider. He was bestowed that title because his skiing style is just impossibly smooth - I mean, if they had a skiing video game where the character always stayed in perfect form and could link five million turns without a break - that’s him. Smooth. He’s an amazing skier.

And retired.

I first met Smooth Rider during the winter of 1997-98. It took a while. I spent half the season skiing by myself and wondering who that crazy old dude was who I saw on the hill every day. From the chairlift I would watch him link turns through the steep, tight tree lines and launch off the jumps with huge spread eagles.

One day we ended up at the bottom of the lift at the same time and one of us must have asked the other if they minded company. I don’t remember exactly, but I imagine we just started talking about skiing and from then on we were ski buddies. Me, in my early 20s, right out of college and in the prime of my skiing abilities. He, in his mid-50s, just into retirement and in the prime of his skiing abilities.

We had fun. Lots of fun.

Through the years we’ve had many memorable moments. Once, we built a snowman and put it on a chair and took turns riding up with it all day. Another time, we crashed a photo shoot by FAST snowmobiles by jumping over a sled positioned on top of the hill. (We did it for fun but then the snowmobile people asked us to do it again so they could get pictures). We even mocked the ski patrol my making a dummy in a ski patrol uniform and tying it in the woods to make it look like it had crashed into a tree!

Yeah, we were kind of renegades.

But despite all the horsing around, we were, first and foremost, skiers. We skied hard - every day. No matter if it was -20 or +50, dumping snow or thunderstorms, sunny or windy, we skied. We pounded moguls, launched in the terrain park and searched for powder in the woods. Skiing was life.

In those early years (before kids) I did a lot of traveling and Smooth Rider did too. I would come back from Whistler and find out that he had just returned from Montana. He would head to the Sierra Nevada and I would go to the Wasatch. One January we were riding up the lift at the Ridge and I told him of the trip I was about to embark on - a few days at Bridger Bowl, down to Big Sky, then Jackson Hole and Grand Targhee on the way back to Bozeman.

“I’ve always wanted to ski Jackson,” he said.

“Well heck, come on out! We’ll be staying at the hostel at the bottom of the hill,” I exclaimed, seriously wanting him to come but knowing he wouldn’t.

“I just might…”

A week later my friends and I pulled into the parking lot of Jackson Hole’s Hostel X and there was Smooth Rider’s pickup parked just like I had seen it countless mornings at the base of Giants Ridge. The old man had actually driven out there! We went downstairs to the big common room and there we was, relaxing on a couch, watching a ski movie.

“I can’t believe you actually came!” I yelled.

“Well, I told you I was...”

For some reason we never got his room number before we turned in for the night and the next morning we looked all over for him as we got in the tram line. But Jackson Hole is one of the biggest ski areas on the continent and the chance of finding him was slim to none.

We rode the tram to the top of the mountain, clicked into our skis and made our way down the immense Rendezvous Bowl. Then we raced down a groomer until we came to the Hobacks, some of the wildest inbounds terrain in the country. Just as we were about to begin our run, a lone figure came out of the trees. It was him! How in the world did we find each other on our first run?! Our best guess was that our skiing styles were so in-synch that we naturally choose the same runs!

He joined our group and we spent the rest of the day ripping some of the greatest ski terrain in the country. At about three o’clock he announced he had to get going as he wanted to make it to Bozeman before the next storm hit.

The next day he enjoyed a full-on Bridger Bowl powder day. My buddies and I skied the scraps two days later.

It was memories like these that Smooth Rider and I laughed about during that unexpected day off two weeks ago. He told me that he usually heads home at about eleven these days, but since I was there he stayed until one. He showed me some of the new lines he cut over the summer, hiking up and clearing the brush and repositioning rocks so we would have new lines to ski. I skied hard that day. Probably the hardest ski day I’ve had all season.

On one of the final rides up, we laughed reminiscing about at trip we took to Whitecap, Wisconsin - a nice little ski area on the Michigan border. When we bought our lift tickets they told us that if we wanted to ski the black diamond runs we would have to take a test with the ski school.

This was five days after we had returned from Jackson Hole, well-known as having some of the toughest terrain in the country. We showed them our lift tickets. Wouldn’t THAT qualify us? Nope, if you wanted to ski the blacks at Whitecap, we had to be tested.

At the end of the day they gave us cards showing that we were indeed “black diamond certified,” in case we returned. Laughing, Smooth Rider announced, “I still have mine, see!”

He folded over the plastic armband that held his Giants Ridge season pass. There it was: Whitecap, Wisconsin. Black Diamond Certified.

“Boy, those were good times, weren’t they?” he sighed.

Yes, they were. But that was a good day as well.

It’s funny how things just work out sometimes.

The quiet of a Quinzhee

Thu, 14 Feb 2013 05:06:24 +0100

Halloween 1991. Yes, the day of the snowstorm to end all snowstorms. I was a freshman at UMD when that record snow fell, and we reveled in it as only college freshmen can.

Skiing behind the dorms. Jumping off the dining center. Snowball fights involving half the student body. We loved it. Soon after the blizzard it was time to choose our classes for winter quarter. As I paged-through the course catalog, my snow-crazed brain lit-up: Winter Outdoor Recreation! Yes, my first choice was not a class to fulfill my communication major, nor my journalism or history minors, nor even a liberal education requirement. Two credits which were in theory completely useless, but have proven to have made more of an impact in my quality of life than any other.

Sure, we did some cross country skiing and some snowshoeing. We even had a unit on rock climbing. But the main focus of Winter Outdoor Recreation was winter camping. In our camping unit we learned about proper clothing choices, how to prevent and deal with hypothermia and frostbite, proper eating habits in the cold, but the most fun part of all was building quinzhees!

Quinzhees are traditional Native American snow shelters which are surprisingly easy to build. You shovel a big pile of snow, let it harden for a while, then dig into it - hollowing it out into a shelter. That’s it! Of course, we learned some fancy tricks like piling the snow on top of your backpacks to save some digging, poking sticks into it so you know when to stop, sloping the entrance to capture heat, etc. But in it’s essence, all you do is burrow into the snow like you did as a kid.

And nobody in our class had more kid-like enthusiasm for quinzhee-building than the guy my friend Greg and I named “Captain Quinzhee!” When we practiced quinzhee building at the UMD campus the good captain was like a kid in a sand box, just digging and digging and digging some more. I swear, that kid single-handedly built a whole village of quinzhees behind the Sports and Health Center!

Of course, all of that training was just a build-up to the final exam of the class - an overnight quinzhee expedition out in the woods. Our class was divided into groups of four and we went to work preparing. My new friends Greg, Ron, Steve and I made a trip down to Duluth Surplus for polypropylene long underwear and wool pants. We traveled to Super One for high calorie food. We rented backpacks and snowshoes from the Outdoor Program. We were ready.

So was Mother Nature. The temperature for our campout: -30.

Needless to say, we spent most of our trip just trying to stay warm. We hiked around, searched for firewood, and had a snowshoe race, which I actually won. I guess that since I had snowshoed before, I was the only one who knew not to sprint and slowly overtook my classmates who landed face first in the snow.

We also kept warm by shoveling. A lot. One thing about quinzhee-building - you need a strong back and waterproof clothes. One must shovel for an eternity before piling enough snow to live in, and when you’re inside digging, you’re bound to get wet.

We shoveled and shoveled and shoveled until every flake of snow in our general vicinity was in our pile. As we were waiting for our snow to solidify, we heard a “whump.” I looked to the right and there was “Captain Quinzhee” sitting chest deep in a pile of snow. Apparently the captain was so eager to get to the “mole work” he neglected to let his pile sit long enough.

We were not going to make that mistake. So we snowshoed around some more to keep the blood pumping. After we deemed our pile solid we went to work hollowing it out. I’ve always found it easier to begin with your bare (gloved) hands, just punching and scraping at the snow and then sending it behind you to a partner who then shovels it out the entrance. Once you make enough space to move around you can use a shovel to scrape the walls and ceiling and then shoot the snow out, too. It’s sort of claustrophobic for a while, but one you get a big enough space, it’s not too bad!

At one point I was standing outside and “Captain Quinzhee” himself came strutting over and offered to check-out our work. He stuck his head inside for a while (his entire body minus the legs, actually) then came out, complimenting us on our progress. As soon as he left, Greg, who was digging inside, stuck his head out of the hole and sarcastically beamed, “That was Captain Quinzhee! He survived a cave-in!!!”

I laughed so hard tears froze to my cheeks!

Once the sun went down, the temperature really dropped. We retreated to the relative warmth of our quinzhee. As the four of us were getting situated, I discovered the most important rule to quinzhee-building. This is one I have ALWAYS remembered since.: make sure the ceiling is high enough so you can sit up in it with room to spare. Having your head scrape against the ceiling causing snow to fall into your sleeping bag is about the most miserable experience you can possibly have!

So the four of use snuggled deep into our -40 mummy bags, making sure to have peed several times before entering the quinzhee. Throughout the night we passed around a bag of bite-size Snickers which we had to suck on like Jolly Ranchers since they were frozen solid. We barely slept, passing the time until sunrise cursing our instructor Grant because he didn’t join us - just sent a couple of TA’s instead! The nerve!

I would learn later that Grant became the director of the Sir Edmund Hilary School of Outdoor Pursuits in New Zealand. So I guess he did know what he was doing!

Well, we survived the night and lived to tell about it. We even had bragging rights as the other half of the class went two weeks later (with Grant) and the temperature was +40!!! We out-wintered them by 70 degrees!

I also passed the class (with an A) and have used what I learned ever since. I try to camp in a quinzhee at least once a year. Sometimes I don’t due to lack of snow, but I try, and have had many memorable trips. I also never get cold anymore and I sleep like a baby!

Probably my favorite post-college trip was with a group of co-workers to the BWCA. We hiked in to Hegman Lake, and piled our snow at one of the campsites. While it hardened we trekked over to the famous pictographs and climbed a few steep rock islands. We then ate supper and dug our quinzhee-out. As the main excavator, I was soaked by the time I was done. Luckily, I packed extra clothes (as I learned in class) and changed EVERYTHING under the cold night air.

Before we retired for the evening we all stood beneath the brightest, starriest sky any of us had ever seen. Then the wolves started howling. All around us their wild song rang across the lake, through the pines. It was magic. Then it was quiet.

We crawled into our cave. Silence.

If you ever want to “hear” true silence, go to one of the quietest places in the world, then sleep under a couple feet of snow. It’s so quiet your ears will ring.

The quiet of a quinzhee.

Confessions of a racer dad

Thu, 31 Jan 2013 04:43:52 +0100

It was a gorgeous day at Giants Ridge. The sun was shining, the air was crisp, and there was even a light dusting of powder gracing the hill. It was one of those days just meant for making turns.

Yet there I was. Standing on the side of the hill - wearing REGULAR BOOTS on my feet - holding a clipboard like some backup quarterback. “Thwack, thwack, thwack,” the next skier came charging down the course, smacking the gates aside. I paid close attention, making sure they were turning where they were supposed to.

Suddenly, I heard someone make a hard turn and come to a stop behind me.

“I can’t believe my eyes! Just can’t believe my eyes!!!”

It was “Smooth Rider” the de facto leader of the Giants Ridge Freeskiers - a group of hard skiing renegades who are the hill’s heart and soul - yet fiercely against any type of organized skiing.

“I know … I know …” I said, my head hanging. “I can’t believe I’m doing this either…”

“It’s ok,” said Smooth Rider. “It’ll be good for him. ‘Can’t say the same for you!” He laughed and pushed off making turns through the powder.

Well, he was partly right. My son Nick joining the Hibbing High School Alpine Skiing Team was good for him. Very good, in fact, as he learns a whole new aspect to skiing. But it has proven good for me, too - in ways I could have never imagined.

Now, I am the last person you would possibly expect to have a racer kid. I know that might be hard to believe since I ski so much, but growing-up, I couldn’t stand racers. I mean, they were so annoying. They skied in big packs at Trollhaugen, causing long lift lines, always clad in their matching white helmets which made them look like stormtroopers from Star Wars. In fact, whenever the racers would start setting-up a course, one of my friends would come flying up to warn us, “The storm troopers are building a new Death Star on the far side of Summit!”

I must admit, however, that it really was just the local kid racers that annoyed me. The Olympic racers, especially the down hillers, were super-rad heroes! My first ski hero, in fact, was Pirmin Zurbriggen, the Swiss skier who won the gold in the downhill at the 1988 Winter Olympics in Calgary. Zurbriggen just flew - the speed, the air, it was just amazing!!!! He was the reason that my second pair of skis were Kastles. Of course, they weren’t racing skis - they were mogul skis! And in mogul skiing, I found a type of competitive skiing I could really embrace.

To me the most exciting event in the whole Olympics was, and still is, freestyle moguls! I think that’s because unlike a downhill course, where there are no Midwestern hills big enough, or freestyle aerials which needed a special kid of jump, moguls were something we could ski every single day. They were accessible to the masses - and fun as hell!

So in my 28 years of skiing, I have only participated in one competitive skiing event. Once during my college years, Spirit Mountain decided to have a mogul contest during their Spring Carnival. It was held on Blue Ruin, and was judged like any other bump contest - on speed, turns and air. Since I skied those bumps eight hours a day, EVERY DAY, I thought I would sign-up. Moguls were my element!

It was a dual format with the highest score in each heat advancing in the tournament. The first round I pounded down my line with my opponent keeping up fairly well. I threw a daffy off the first air and a backscratcher off the second. Of course those tricks would be laughed at by today’s mogul competitors, but they were pretty rad back then (to me, anyway). I finished just ahead of my opponent and the judges awarded me the victory. Sweet!

Before the second round began, I went off to ski some other runs and by the time I came back the round had ended with me a no-show! And so my competitive skiing career ended. Oh well, those other guys were throwing helicopters so I probably would have lost, anyway!

My post-collegiate skiing career took me to Giants Ridge where they are kind of “race crazy.” In January it seems like there is a race nearly every other day and in doing so they close-off the top part of Helsinki which accesses many of my favorite lines. And speaking of lines, you should see the lift lines when 100 racers come back out after lunch - always to the Helsinki chair, pretty-much the only chair I care to ride.

But alas, having kids tends to change things. Both my boys have grown-up on skis and now that Nick entered junior high I thought that him joining the high school racing team might not be a bad idea. In fact, most of history’s greatest freeskiers from Doug Coombs, to Shane McConkey to Seth Morrison, all have a racing background. Racing technique would be a good foundation to build upon.

At first, Nick wasn’t too big on the idea. “It would cut into my freeskiing time,” he complained. He wanted to focus on skiing moguls and powder and steeps and learning new tricks in the terrain park. Try as I might, I could not convince him that being a racer might be a good idea.

Then one day we were camping with my college buddy Aaron who is a great skier and ski patroller at Welch Village. Nick looks up to him a lot. As we were sitting by the campfire one evening the subject of racing was brought up. Nick again expressed his desire to focus on freeskiing. Then Aaron casually mentioned it would help his skiing a lot and within two seconds Nick had changed his mind!

Of course, when your parents say it …

So there I was, at the Spirit Mountain ski swap in October, buying Nick a new helmet with those “Gary Anderson-style” facemasks, poles with shields to protect his knuckles from hitting the bamboo, and even one of those skin-tight speed suits! He’s also now traveling with two pairs of skis in the Thule box at all times - his slalom skis and his twin-tip freestyle/powder skis. Yeah, ski racing is up there with hockey as the most expensive high school sport out there. I guess I’ll be riding the same pair of skis until the boys are in college! Or longer…

Well, now Nick is a ski racer. And guess what? He’s loving it! The kids on the team are great and instead of going to some other’s school’s smelly gym for away meets, they get to visit other ski hills like Lutsen, Spirit or Mont Du Lac! How awesome is that!?

His results have been so-so, but he’s just an eighth grader, and since we have always avoided skiing ice like the plague, he is still getting used to the icy course. He seems to ski relaxed, not trying to push it too hard citing the ice. He really needs to learn how to balance speed with control - how to push the speed to the maximum limit without crashing. He’ll learn…

He’ll learn, just like I’ve learned. I’ve learned that high school ski racing is a wicked cool sport. And the kids who ski and the parents who support them are awesome. It takes a lot of help to put-on a ski race - and I am more than happy to stand there on the side of the hill on a powder day so these kids can race.

I can honestly say that I am proud to be the dad of a ski racer. Of course, my proudest moment came last weekend, just before the race started. Jackson and I were riding up the lift as the first racers were in the starting gate. As I crested the top of Helsinki I saw Nick leading his buddy Blake into a steep patch of untracked powder between the trees. I had planned on hitting that exact same patch on the next run!

Sure he’s a racer, but he’ll still snag first tracks whenever he can! That’s my boy!!!

A Skier (Hiker, Paddler, etc.) Looks At Forty

Wed, 16 Jan 2013 14:32:43 +0100

It’s 8 p.m. on New Year’s Eve. I'm standing by my campfire at McCarthy Beach State Park dressed for the occasion.

By “dressed for the occasion” I mean wearing a fleece hat on top of a wool hat, fleece mittens, Gore-Tex mittens, two polypropylene tops, a polyester t-shirt, fleece jacket, down vest. Gore-Tex jacket, polypropylene long underwear bottoms, fleece pants, nylon wind pants, wool socks and LaCrosse boots rated to -100F.

Yes, I was camping. It would be -20F by morning.

It wasn’t just the new year that I was celebrating, however. In just over 24 hours I would reach my fortieth birthday. Yes, forty - that magical age of “Holy crap - I’m FORTY!!!” But at the time I was just standing there. Staring at the fire. Thinking.

I've found that I do a lot of thinking when I'm in the woods. Much of what I do is done alone. In silence. It gives me time to really reflect.

Granted, I do a ton of these activities with my kids, but even then there is a lot of quiet time. Sometimes I get in the mode I call “trail zombie.” It's where I hike in complete silence and get in this zone of almost numbness to the outside world - which is kind of sad because being out experiencing the natural world is a big part of what makes it great.

But it happens. It's usually at the end of the day when I might be cold and tired and have a couple more miles to get to the trailhead or campsite and I just plod on in silence. But only outwardly I am silent. Inside, my brain is going into overdrive with profound thoughts.

I don't know if it's all the oxygen that's being pumped to my brain or what, but it seems like whether I'm hiking or biking or inline skating or simply sitting on the chairlift or by the campfire, my brain just goes crazy. I sometimes think that if I always carried a pencil and notebook in my backpack I could be a millionaire with the ideas that come out of my brain. But I don’t.

So as I sat there on the eve of 2013, the eve of my 40th birthday, my mind was racing as always. So in celebration of my forty years on this planet, I thought I’d share with you a few of those pearls of wisdom that have ran across my brain during quiet times in the woods (random thoughts, really).

Just humor me - I’m old! First, I’ll just give you a bit of trivia. Forty years ago I was born and named after a movie character. Can you guess the name of the movie? The answer will be at the end of this column.

Now for some deep thoughts from a forty-year-old.

If you’re ever feeling kind of bummed, go out and find a chickadee. I’ve never seen a depressed one. They’re the happiest, sassiest little bird out there, and I guarantee that watching one will put a smile on your face!
To heck with fancy perfumes, the best thing a girl can smell like is a combination of campfire smoke, bug spray and sunscreen - maybe with a touch of balsam sap thrown in for good measure!
If I could only ski one type of run for the rest of my life, I’d take a slushy mogul run on a fifty degree day.
I like paddling rivers much more than lakes. There are new things to see around every bend. The current is a helpful friend and there is nothing more frustrating than paddling a huge lake into a strong wind.
I love seeing moose on the trail, but I like telling the stories of seeing them even better! (Once I’m safely out of the way!)
I like oatmeal on the trail - once a year. Then I get sick of it.
Lake Superior is the center of the universe.
I like the sound of rain on my tent fly but thunder scares the crap outta me!
Catching a fish or shooting a deer is great, but watching your kid catch a fish or shoot a deer is hyper-awesome!
Our forefathers who set aside the parks and forests are among the wisest of the wise.
On one hand, I wish everyone in the world could experience wilderness. On the other, it’s ok if everyone just gets inspired by reading my stories and seeing my pictures. Otherwise, it would get too crowded.
I love paddling the BWCA, but the last ten or so trips I have made there have been on foot. The last seven in winter - I wonder what that means?
A bald eagle sitting in a stately white pine - yeah…
I can stare at maps all day. Paper maps. Preferably topo. Not that internet satellite stuff!
Some people like to eat like kings when camping. Not me. I prefer to live on jerky and ClifBars for a few days. Then when you get home - man, that’s the greatest pizza you’ve ever tasted! And cold milk!?! Mind-blowingly delicious!
Opening a book at home that smells like campfire and has a strip of birch bark for a book mark - reminds you to put it away until the weekend. Nothing like reading by the light of a headlamp in front of a fire!
Paddling close to a beaver or a heron and they accept you, just floating there, as a natural part of the river community. Pretty cool.
If you haven’t ridden a bike in a while, do it. Straddle a two-wheeler and hit a trail with the kids. You’ll feel like a kid again, too!
As much as I appreciate new school skiing and all the flipping and spinning tricks that come with it, nothing screams, “YEAH!!” like a big ol’ spread eagle, daffy or backscratcher.
As far a music goes, I prefer wolves howling, loons calling and chickadees singing. (Yeah, I really like chickadees!)
I am very satisfied with being a novice whitewater paddler. I love rapids, but huge water is scary. I’ll watch other people paddle big water all day, though.
As I have gotten older and had kids, protecting our environment, especially wilderness, has become much more important to me.
My favorite campsites are near noisy water. Waterfalls, rapids and Lake Superior make the best music to fall asleep to.
Green is the prettiest color in the world followed by “forest service brown.”
I don’t understand litter bugs. Especially in the backcountry.
If I won the lottery I would buy a really nice tent to live in.
Get your kids out in the woods as much as you can. They might not thank you now, but they probably will when they get in their 30s.
If it snows a bunch you had better be skiing. Powder days are few and far between.
You don’t know quiet until you’ve slept in a quinzhee.
One of the best things about going to Alaska is flying over the Canadian wilderness. For the longest time you can stare down at mountains, forests, rivers, and it just goes forever!
Oh, and there’s ALASKA!
Surfing a standing wave in a kayak is one of the most thrilling things you can do.
There’s no excuse for not climbing mountains during peak fall leaf season. None.
A bed of pine needles baking in the sun smells soooo good! Especially in late winter.
There really should be more wild buffalo.
I don’t really like “people who ski.” I love “skiers.”
Even though I don’t do either, I really respect surfers and rock climbers.
Getting lost is a privilege.
Teddy Roosevelt was a real-life superhero.
Spend as much time outdoors as you can. You’ll never be sorry you did.

Ok, that’s enough random “old man thoughts for now.” Mostly, it’s enough time in front of a keyboard for me. Get outside, ride a chairlift, stare at a fire, let your own mind wander! You’ll be all the better for it.

By the way, the secret to my first name - Forty years ago I was named after a movie character named “Zachary Bass.”

The movie: A MAN IN THE WILDERNESS. Kinda weird, huh?

The mountains are calling: You must go!

Wed, 19 Dec 2012 16:03:40 +0100

“How in the world are we going be able to ski that thing?!”

My high school friend Matt Bolang and I were standing at the base of Jackson Hole Mountain Resort staring at over 4,000 vertical feet of the rowdiest skiing on the continent. We were two Midwestern boys who had never skied anything bigger than Lutsen on our first trip west.

For years we had seen the photos in magazines featuring the legendary Doug Coombs and crazy skiers ripping terrain that looked impossible. Terrain labeled, “Jackson Hole, Wyoming.” We would practice our hop-turns at small hills - Spirit Mountain, MN, Trollhaugen, WI, Indianhead, MI, and dream that we were in the big mountains, conquering fabled runs such as Corbet’s Couloir, The Cirque and the Hobacks - places on the Jackson Hole trail map that we had committed to memory.

But there we were. In Jackson Hole - JACKSON FLIPPING HOLE!!!! It was time to see if we were, in fact, real skiers.

One of the greatest things about skiing, in my opinion, is exploring new mountains. There are so many places to ski in this world, and although it’s a great thing to be a “local” at a ski hill and know a place intimately, the real fun is taking those skills you hone all winter someplace different. New mountains where you can challenge yourself. To encounter new terrain, new views, new people. And this is the time of year that we as skiers start to lay plans for the winter - we plan a ski trip, or two, or seven…

Over there past 28 years I have been fortunate to be able to ski all around North America. So if you are still mulling over ski destinations for this winter, I have compiled the following list: my personal rankings of every mountain I have ever skied.

Keep in mind, they are ranked based on the conditions I found when I went there. Some places I have skied many times and have a good sample base - a few I have only skied once and might not have the greatest feel for. I judge high on challenging terrain and snow conditions. Scoring low are crowds, price and cheesey base areas. Regardless, here’s how I rank the thirty mountains I have known:

1. Jackson Hole, WY Big, bad, gnarly! Steep and Deep! Come on, it’s Jackson Hole! I named my son after this place for crying out loud! Enough said!

2. Whistler-Blackcomb, BC Probably could be number one. It’s like two Jackson Holes with an extra thousand vert and just unbelievable HUGENESS! It’s the closest thing to European-style backcountry experience you can get at a North American ski area. W-B has a cool foreign vibe even though it’s just Canada - you’ll hear everything from German to Japanese in the lift lines. And at the end of the day you’ll skid to a stop with your legs completely fried and some Australian will hand you a beer before you even click out of your skis. Crazy!

3. Montana Snowbowl, MT Holy cow! How can I have a place you’ve never heard of listed at number three!? Because even though there are just two chairlifts and the only lodging is a hostel above the rental shop, it’s mega steep - like a mini Jackson Hole. And cheap - the last time I stayed there the room was 30 bucks and included the lift ticket! And we had it all to ourselves!!!! Been there three times - great, soulful place!!!!

4. Snowbird, UT It seems like it’s always sunny at the ‘Bird! The snow is perfect, smiles all around, tons of steeps - I’ve never had anything but a stellar day at Snowbird!

5. Big Sky, MT How can you not get stoked by the sight of Lone Peak? It’s big, it’s steep, and there’s nobody there. Only drawback - it’s darn expensive! But then again, so are most of these places nowadays!

6. Solitude, UT Honeycomb Canyon. Parachutes. Headwall Forest. I’ve had some epic days at Solitude. Such a special place! Great snow and, if you’re lucky, you’ll see the “naked Indian” on the sun deck!

7. Brighton, UT Solitude’s neighbor in Big Cottonwood Canyon. Great snow, great steeps, I just have a bad memory of being sick and sleeping in the chalet after only three runs one time I was there! Otherwise, Brighton is “sick” in a good way!

8. Alta, UT Probably should be rated higher on this list but it seems like every time I’ve skied there it has been super cold! Then the next day I’ll go to Snowbird and it’s sunny and warm! But Alta has legendary snow and great steeps and trees - and it’s a throwback - still now snowboarders allowed! Normally I don’t like segregation, but at Alta it’s kinda cool!

9. Bridger Bowl, MT As core as it comes! Bridger is a fantastic little local area just outside of Bozeman. Make sure you have a buddy, beacon and shovel and hike the Ridge for the greatest turns of your life!

10. Alyeska, AK It’s the Chugach Mountains of Alaska - ALASKA!!! What more do I need to say? Mega snow - the most snow I have ever encountered, in fact! Great steeps on the north face, and the base is at sea level so there is no acclimatizing!!! (Except for the time zone difference) Best views you’ll see anywhere!

11. Mammoth, CA “A Man’s Mountain!” according to the old Glen Plake film. I’ve only skied Mammoth once - in May. It was 80 degrees and I fell-in with an Iranian dude from Orange County who was amazed that I skied “Hangman’s” and “Climax” on my first ever visit to Mammoth. In fact, he bragged about it to everyone we rode the lift with! AMAZING terrain in the heart of the Sierra. Mammoth is a place I would love to return to.

12. Squaw Valley, CA The light was kind of flat the day I visited Squaw but I could tell there was tons of rowdy terrain that inspired the 80s extreme movement. Another place that would probably rank higher if I had more days there.

13. Kirkwood, CA Yet another place I have only skied once- in May! But it was fantastic. Amazing Sierra views and great steeps! Tons of fun!

14. The Canyons, UT Again, should probably be rated higher - the terrain is great, the snow is usually perfect, but the development at the base hurts it a ton. Remember, I like tiny core areas like Montana Snowbowl. But the last time I skied The Canyons I was recovering from the flu and was dead tired by two o’clock. So I went to the bottom to rest while my buddies skied another hour or so. There I encountered not only a GAS FIREPIT (woodsmoke fires are mandatory parts of the western skiing experience) but a JUGGLING COWBOY CLOWN ON STILTS!!!! It’s not Disney World! It’s SKIING! I’ve never been back.

15. Alpine Meadows, CA I only skied ¾ of a day there as a snowstorm was brewing and we had to catch a redeye flight out of San Francisco. What we found was great - just wish I would have had more time to explore Squaw Valley’s neighbor.

16. Grand Targhee, WY It’s legendary for pow skiing and I did get tons of that my only time there, but it was so foggy we couldn’t see the chair in front of us and had to follow these green dots to the bottom of every run. Really need to return so I can see the Grand Teton lean the “wrong way” on a sunny day! (We did catch the goods of that same storm the next day at Bridger!)

17. Lutsen, MN Best in Minnesota. Without a doubt. Nothing else comes close. Big, long runs, steep runs, tree runs, views of Lake Superior, it’s a western vibe in the Midwest. Just too darn expensive for a Midwestern ski area!

18. Whitecap, WI Steep! And TONS of pow as it’s just on the Wisconsin side of Michigan’s big snow country. Plus, the scariest lift ride in the world is going between the two peaks at Whitecap - trust me - get a chair with a safety bar!

19. Giants Ridge, MN My current home mountain. Amazing terrain park, no lift lines and even though I would rather have them leave the fresh pow, the grooming is amazing - it can sometimes feel like pow when it hasn’t snowed for weeks!

20. Spirit Mountain, MN Great terrain park like the Ridge and the view is amazing - especially at night. But the crowds - feels like rush hour traffic half the time and the lift lines can be horrendous!

21. Big Powderhorn, MI Powder, Powder, Powder!

22. Indianhead, MI Powder, Powder, Powder! And powdery moguls!

23. Porcupine Mountains, MI In a state park - super cool. Long steep runs with a wild feel - and more of that U.P, Pow!

24. Welch Village, MN By far, the best of the Twin Cities area ski hills. The best patrol, too!

25. Loveland, CO I went there in October one year and there was only a single groomer open. I could barely breathe carrying my skis from the parking lot.

26. Trollhaugen, WI It’s not great, but holds special magic for me as it was where I learned to ski and had four season passes.

27. Afton Alps, MN Only fun at night (for some reason)

28. Mont Du Lac, MN “Ski the wheat!”

29. Mount Itasca, MN Watch crazy Nordic jumpers while jibbing a mini park.

30. Wild Mountain, MN First place in America to open every year. Ski there in early October. Leave when someplace else opens.

So there you have it. Plan a trip and ski someplace different for a change. And remember, as Matt and I found out in J-Hole, if you can ski icy moguls in the Midwest, you can rip anywhere!

Nothing lasts forever, even warm December rain

Thu, 06 Dec 2012 05:16:46 +0100

As far as opening days go, last weekend was kind of a bummer. After half a year away from the hill - summer nights spent in sweltering tents dreaming of fresh powder hitting you in the face - you kind of want a little more. You know, like bitter cold, real snow, more than just a couple runs…

Maybe I’m just being a bit melancholy - but gosh darn it, temperatures in the forties ABOVE, two runs of foggy slush, RAIN!?!? That’s the kind of stuff you expect in APRIL!!! And guess what? We didn’t even get THAT last season with the lifts shutting down on March 18! That was a full month early, folks!

I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be such a downer. It WAS nice to click into the bindings again - to link some turns and pop a couple of mini-airs. It was white, it was on the side of a hill, what more can you really ask for, right?

We even ran into some of the core Giants Ridge ski crew - and to tell the truth, that’s always one of the best parts of opening day - to see good friends you haven’t seen since the lifts shut down - people who you would never even recognize in the summer.

On Saturday, Jackson and I rode the lift with Dennis, a person who I used to ski with every single morning before work (In the pre-kid years). He is a part of the Giants Ridge Freeskier fraternity - a very tight knit brotherhood, yet one that never leaves the ski hill. Dennis and I have skied together for nearly fifteen years and I have never seen him without his goggles and helmet! I have no idea what his hair or eye color are or even his last name for crying out loud! Our friendship is based on one thing - skiing. We talk on the lift and maybe at a point halfway down the hill, but that’s it. When the Freeskiers ski together we don’t even go in to warm-up - we boot-up in the parking lot, ski, then go home.

A few years ago I was bringing Jackson in the chalet to pee when I heard my name called from inside the bar. It was “Smiley” a kind of “renegade” member of our tribe. He actually DOES go inside to hang-out at the bar with another group of friends - especially when the weather is bad. But if the sun is out, powder is fresh or the moguls are perfectly-formed, Smiley can be as core as they come.

Anyway, after calling my name, Smiley came up and complimented me on my new jacket.

“Um, this is the same jacket I’ve had for the past ten years,” I told him.

“No way, Zach Attack! You’ve always had a blue jacket!”

“Nope, I’ve had this green one since college.”

Smiley stood there puzzled for a moment, then lowered the blue-tinted sunglasses from the top of his head. In ten years of skiing together, the man had never layed eyes on me without his sunglasses on!

So seeing old buddies is definitely a highlight of the first day of the year. But meeting new ones is also cool. Saturday was Nick’s first day of on-hill practice for the Hibbing High School Alpine Ski Team. So while Jackson and I were making our laps on Sarajevo and Placid, Nick was over on the race course with his teammates honing his skills and making new friends. It sounds like he had a blast.

So yes, the opener was a bit underwhelming. There was no real snow, it was foggy, rainy, and not much terrain was open. But guess what - it was just the beginning. With a chance of snow in the forecast, it can only get better!

There’s a whole winter in front of us. Let’s rip!

Give thanks for Minnesota State Parks

Wed, 28 Nov 2012 16:34:33 +0100

I set my backpack down on a rock and started digging-in. Beef Jerky. Barbecue-flavor soy nuts. Chocolate brownie Clifbar. A bottle of Gatorade.

One by one I set the pieces of my feast upon the bench at one of my favorite backcountry campsites on the Superior Hiking Trail. Nearby, the Split Rock River cascaded providing me with dinner music.

Thanksgiving 2011.

The previous evening I had camped on a cliff overlooking Lake Superior at Split Rock Lighthouse State Park. As I sat by my campfire listening to the waves crashing against the rocks below, I thought to myself, “I bet I’m the only person camping at any state park in Minnesota tonight.” Since our Thanksgiving was going to be celebrated that Saturday and I had to work on Friday, I thought I’d take one more trip to the Shore before the ski season started.

Minnesota State Parks and the Superior Hiking Trail - those are two things ranked pretty high one my “I’m thankful for…” list. It seemed only natural to celebrate the holiday there.

Last week I decided to keep my state park Thanksgiving tradition alive another year. Except this time, I WAS going down to visit family on Thanksgiving Day. That gave me the perfect opportunity to camp again on Thanksgiving Eve and pay a quick visit to half a dozen state parks along the way home.

Wednesday night I ran up to McCarthy Beach right after work. Shockingly, I hadn’t visited the park since Labor Day Weekend! Too much time on the North Shore this fall, I guess.

Upon arriving at McCarthy I set-up camp in about thirty seconds. Throwing a self-inflating sleeping pad on a bed of pine needles, I placed my sleeping bag and Scooby Doo pillow on top of it. Then I put on my headlamp, and grabbed my book and the newest issue of POWDER to read at the picnic table. No campfire required. The stars were good enough.

It was a quiet night. The loons which usually sing me to sleep at McCarthy had long since departed for the winter. A gentle breeze through the pines was the only sound. After reading to the point of yawning, I crawled into my bag, put my glasses in one of my shoes and instantly fell asleep under the Milky Way.

Thanksgiving morning I awoke to an amazing sunrise over Side Lake. As the sky turned orange, the forest woke-up as well. Chickadees began chatting with their “good morning” calls. The chirring of red squirrels answered back.

After taking about 500 sunrise photos, I packed-up (again taking about half a minute) and headed out. I had a long way to drive that day to get to my Thanksgiving dinner, but my route would take me past six of our finest state parks. My day of thanks had begun!

My first stop after McCarthy Beach was Moose Lake State Park. Although there was fairly heavy holiday traffic on the roads, the park itself was deserted. I drove down to the picnic area by the beach for a short photo walk. Birds flitted around the shoreline as I examined various tracks in the sand. There was lots of evidence of shorebirds and deer but not many human tracks. That’s a cool thing about our parks. Even in the offseason for tourists, the wildlife is still there living as they always have.

After Moose Lake, it was a short drive to Banning State Park on the scenic Kettle River. As I hiked along the rapids I saw evidence of the flood from back in June. The river was much lower now. Banning is full of impressive rock formations along the river and it was fun to scramble long the bank to view the whitewater. There were actually quite a few people out enjoying the day at Banning - taking advantage of the last warm day before the forecasted cold front came through.

The next park on my route was Wild River, a park named after the wild St Croix - the river I grew-up on. There, I took a short walk among a restored oak savanna, then down to the river itself. Across the water I heard many gunshots as the Wisconsin deer season was in full force. It reminded me of the many Thanksgiving deer hunts my dad and I have made over the years. In fact, most of the deer we have harvested were taken on Thanksgiving day.

Park number five was Interstate, just six miles from my hometown. I took a quick hike atop the rocky dalles overlooking the river and gazed across at many hikers enjoying the Pothole Trail at Wisconsin’s Interstate. Whenever I am back home and need a quick hiking fix I head to the Wisconsin park - one of the first places I ever fell in love with hiking. In fact, the next day I did hike at Wisconsin’s Interstate, enjoying the contrast of the rocks with the fresh snowfall.

The final park in my Thanksgiving six pack was William O’Brien, just a few more miles downstream on the St Croix. Many times I’ve canoed the St Croix past the campground at William O’Brien, the scent of campfire wafting over the river adding something special to a summer evening paddle. I walked beside the river and then along the shore of Lake Alice where I saw about a thousand Canada geese - and one swan. By that time the wind was picking up and the air was noticeably colder than the warm morning I woke-up to at McCarthy Beach. Within three hours each of the six parks I had visited that day would be covered in a nice layer of snow.

It was now three o’clock in the afternoon and since the sun rose over my campsite at McCarthy Beach I had visited, briefly, six of Minnesota’s 72 state parks. A very appropriate way to spend the day of giving thanks to the parks and trails which have given me so much. As I hiked, I was thankful for the people who had the foresight to set aside these special parts of our state, and for the people who will continue to protect them for the future.

Plus, I was good and hungry for great Thanksgiving dinner.