20 minute read
In Praise of Small Ski Slopes
GREAT IDEAS FOR WINTER FUN
While it might sound sacrilegious to some Granite State winter enthusiasts, man does not live by skiing alone. Same for every woman and child. Because although skiing and New Hampshire is a match made in heaven for many, it’s not the “be all, end all” for everyone. Even most skiers and snowboarders understand that.
Take me, for example. I’m a New Hampshire boy through and through. I can’t think of anything I’d rather be doing after Thanksgiving than hitting the slopes, carving big ol’ turns on fresh-groomed corduroy, or maybe sneaking into the glades after a good powder dump. But I’m also a husband and a father, and suffice to say, not everyone in my clan shares my single-minded obsession. Do they love to ski? You bet. Do they want to mix it up a bit? Absolutely.
So, to keep the peace, my wife and I rely on another time-honored adage: “Variety is the spice of life.” We make a concerted effort to enjoy all the activities that the winter in New Hampshire offers. That mindset can be a life-saver (or at least a trip-saver), given the vagaries of the weather.
We only have one rule:
EVERYONE NEEDS TO GET OUTSIDE.
King Pine at Purity Springs Resort
Snowshoeing ↑
With modern, properly fitted gear, snowshoeing can feel as natural as walking. That makes this sub-freezing pastime one of the oldest, and one of the most popular, winter activities for fans of the great outdoors. It also means you can do it almost anywhere there’s a well-maintained trail. Sample state parcels ranging from Monadnock State Park in Jaffrey to Bear Brook State Park in Allenstown, or federal lands in the White Mountain National Forest. For something more predictable, visit groomed tracts like the Nordic Center at Waterville Valley, Bear Notch Ski Touring Center in Bartlett, Eastman Cross Country Center in Grantham, Bretton Woods by the Mount Washington Hotel, the Dartmouth Cross Country Ski Center in Hanover, Great Glen Trails in Pinkham Notch and Gunstock Cross Country and Snowshoe Center in Gilford (all of which offer rentals). Prefer something more structured like a tour or workshop? Check out the offerings of the Appalachian Mountain Club, which runs programs out of the Highland Center on Route 302 in Crawford Notch, and the Joe Dodge Lodge in Pinkham Notch or Outdoor Escapes New Hampshire in Freedom.
BEST BETS:
Appalachian Mountain Club various locations Outdoor Escapes New Hampshire in Freedom King Pine at Purity Spring Resort in Madison Mount Washington Valley Ski Touring & Snowshoe in Intervale Gunstock Mountain Resort in Gilford Waterville Valley Resort in Waterville Valley Pats Peak Ski Resort in Henniker Jackson Ski Touring Foundation in Jackson Dexter’s Inn in Sunapee Great Glen Trails in Pinkham Notch Prescott Farm Environmental Education Center in Laconia Omni Mount Washington Resort in Bretton Woods Windblown Cross Country Skiing and Snowshoeing in New Ipswich Loon Mountain Adventure Center in Lincoln Beaver Brook Association in Hollis Granite Gorge Ski Area in Keene Dartmouth Cross Country Ski Center in Hanover
Snowmobiling in the Mount Sunapee area
Muddy Paw Sled Dog Kennel, Mount Washington Resort
Snowmobiling ←
Admittedly, I’m a fan of activities powered by nature. I prefer sailboats to power boats, windsurfers to jet skis, mountain bikes to motorcycles. That’s just the way I’m wired (plus the fact that I’m not mechanically inclined in the least). I was reluctant to try snowmobiling. Then a friend brought a couple of sleds along during a “boys weekend” ski outing. As soon as I hit the gas, I was hooked. These machines are remarkably agile and responsive. And fast. The New Hampshire Snowmobile Association maintains roughly 7,000 miles of dedicated trail throughout the state, so the variety is quite impressive. There’s also plenty of variety for tours and rentals, such as Dalton Mountain Motorsports or Jericho Outdoors in Berlin, Northeast Snowmobile or White Mt ATV Rental in Gorham, DirtVentures ATV Rentals or Out Back Kayak in Lincoln, or Bear Rock Adventures or Trailside Rentals in Pittsburg.
BEST BET:
New Hampshire Snowmobile Association in Tilton • nhsa.com
Bretton Woods Canopy Tour
Dog Sledding ↓
This ancient pastime combines all the excitement of snowmobiling, without the throttle-twisting horsepower or fumes and cacophony created by internal combustion. Generally speaking, sled dogs are unusually good natured, which the kids love. But these dogs don’t want to sit still for long. And the unmitigated joy they exude when “working,” running along snow-covered trails and through open fields, is absolutely infectious. “It’s just an amazing feeling of cruising down the trail, and it’s only you and the dogs,” said Lily Stewart, a dog-sled racer who attended the University of New Hampshire. “At first, it’s a little nerve-wracking, because it is just you and the dogs, but then you get into this zone where nothing else really exists.”
BEST BET:
Muddy Paw Sled Dog Kennel in Jefferson • dogslednh.com
Zip Lining ↑
One of the coolest, and potentially coldest, winter activities in the north country, zip lining is about as close as most of us will ever come to actually flying. At Bretton Woods, a three-hour canopy tour offers a unique perspective on the wilds of the White Mountains. The thrilling treetop experience features a series of nine zip lines and glorious, sweeping views of Mount Washington and the Presidential Range. The longest zip is roughly 830 feet, and more than 165 feet off the forest floor. Not to be outdone, Alpine Adventures to the south offers three zip line options year-round, including the original Tree Top Canopy Tour, the SkyRider and the Super SkyRider Zipline (with zip lines longer than 1,600 feet, and speeds of up to 60 miles an hour).
BEST BETS:
Bretton Woods Canopy Tour in Bretton Woods brettonwoods.com Alpine Adventures in Lincoln and Woodstock alpinezipline.com
Cranmore Mountain Resort has been rated one of the best tubing parks in the country.
Ice Climbing →
Traditional rock climbing routes in New Hampshire are popular in part because they’re predictable. Ice flows, conversely, promise an ever-changing canvas on which climbers can test their skills. New Hampshire boasts a number of spectacular locations, including Frankenstein Cliff and Mount Willard in Crawford Notch, Champney Falls off the Kancamagus Highway and Huntington Ravine on Mount Washington, where climbers can set their ice axes and crampons. The biggest caveat is that ice climbing can be a high-consequence activity, so working with a guide is the best option for beginners to intermediates. “We’re able to take people of all abilities climbing both on rock and ice,” said Bradley White, co-owner of International Mountain Climbing School. “The steeper the ice, the more upper body fitness is required, but everybody can climb something and be challenged.”
BEST BETS:
International Mountain Climbing School in North Conway • ime-usa.com Mooney Mountain Guides in Concord mooneymountainguides.com Eastern Mountain Sports in North Conway emsoutdoors.com
Eastern Mountain Sports
Whether you’re 7 or 70, whether you’re riding solo or racing your best buddies, speeding down a track on an inner tube will instantly connect you with your inner child. Seriously, what could possibly be better? You don’t need any particular skill or special equipment — just warm clothing, a tube, a long patch of snow and gravity. The big tubes are as comfortable as an overstuffed Barcalounger, and the tracks are buffed super smooth to keep any drag to a minimum. Many areas offer surface lifts to shuttle you back to the top of the hill, and night lights allow you, and friends and family, to extend your day.
BEST BETS:
Cranmore Mountain Resort in North Conway • cranmore.com Pats Peak Ski Area in Henniker • patspeak.com Gunstock Mountain Resort in Gilford • gunstock.com McIntyre Ski Area in Manchester • mcintyreskiarea.com
The Cog Railway Cog Railway ←
On the opposite side of The Rockpile, the legendary Cog Railway chugs halfway up the mountain’s western flank (winter rides do not go to the summit). The world’s first mountain-climbing cog railway is not an exhilarating ride, per se, given the slow, steep approach. But the stunning views and sublime sense of history are unparalleled. And kids will love the chance to stand in the coach and lean out way over their toes, thanks to the sheer incline (with grades exceeding 35%), much like a ski jumper in mid-flight. The small museum at the Marshfield Base Station is also worth a visit, with fascinating displays such as the Devil’s Shingles slideboard (which early daredevils used to race down at breakneck speeds) and Old Peppersass, the first locomotive to climb The Rockpile on July 3, 1869.
BEST BET:
The Cog Railway in Bretton Woods • thecog.com
Mount Washington SnowCoach
Mount Washington SnowCoach ↑
The 7.6-mile Mount Washington Auto Road, first opened in 1861 and winding 4,200 feet to the summit of the Northeast’s tallest peak at 6,288 feet, has a moth-to-the-light pull for visitors. Mount Washington is often tagged with the reputation of “the word’s worst weather,” thanks to the subarctic conditions and the 231-mile-an-hour wind gusts recorded in April 1934. Those winds have scrubbed the granite dome above treeline, giving the landmark its affectionate nickname, “The Rockpile.” But being above treeline also provides remarkable views. (Imagine looking down on Wildcat Ski Area!) Be sure to bring your camera or smartphone. Advanced reservations for the 1½-hour tours are highly recommended. The Mount Washington Observatory also offers longer snowcat day trips and overnight “EduTrips” with a dedicated trip leader and a tour of the weather station.
BEST BETS:
Great Glen Trails in Gorham • greatglentrails.com/snowcoach Mount Washington Observatory in North Conway mountwashington.org/experience-the-weather/summit-adventures/overnights
Gunstock Mountain Resort
Fat Tire Biking ↑
These bikes, with their low-pressure balloon-like tires, are an absolute hoot in the snow. They’ll even roll confidently over ice, provided your tires are equipped with studs. For newcomers, the best options are machined-groomed cross-country ski routes, like you’ll find at Great Glen Trails and Outdoor Center in Pinkham Notch (unfortunately, no riding is allowed either up or down the Mount Washington Auto Road except for the Ski, Shoe & Fatbike to the Clouds event held in March) or the Mount Washington Valley Ski Touring Center in Intervale. However, these bikes are incredibly adaptable, and don’t require manicured terrain, making a host of trails fair game. Many shops offer rentals and maps of local trail networks. And the New England Mountain Bike Association has several local chapters in New Hampshire that can also provide local information and rides.
BEST BETS:
Great Glen Trails Outdoor Center in Pinkham Notch • greatglentrails.com Highland Mountain Bike Park in Northfield • highlandmountain.com Mount Washington Valley Ski Touring Center in Intervale • mwvskitouring.org Gunstock Mountain Resort in Gilford • gunstock.com
Sleigh Rides ↑
There was a time when I thought that a horse- drawn sleigh ride through the snow, snuggled beside my sweetheart, was the epitome of romance. Actually, I still do! But once I saw how much our young daughters relished these outings, I was convinced it was one of the ultimate family winter activities. These rides are a blast day or night, but I’m especially partial to going out after sundown, under a constellation of stars.
BEST BETS:
Omni Mount Washington Hotel in Bretton Woods omnihotels.com Merrill Farm Inn in North Conway • merrillfarminn.com Purity Spring Resort in Madison • purityspring.com Nestlenook Farm in Jackson • nestlenookfarmsleighrides.com
Aprés Ski (and Snow Fun )
Winter sports and activities encourage us to embrace the cold and snow. So what could be better than sharing those experiences with a host of other folks at the end of the day? It’s difficult to find a better sense of camaraderie than an aprés ski get-together with friends and family.
BEST BETS:
Babe’s Blue Ox Lounge at Loon Mountain loonmtn.com/dining/babes-blue-ox-lounge Buckets, Schwendi Hutte and T-Bars waterville.com/dining-shopping Cannonball Pub at Cannon Mountain cannonmt.com/amenities/food-drink The Cave at Bretton Woods • omnihotels.com/hotels/brettonwoods-mount-washington/dining/the-cave Delaney’s Hole in the Wall in North Conway • delaneys.com Onset Pub at Crotched Mountain crotchedmtn.com/explore-the-resort/during-your-stay/dining Paul Bunyan Room at Loon Mountain loonmtn.com/dining/bunyan-room Ptarmigans Pub at Attitash attitash.com/explore-the-resort/during-your-stay/dining.aspx Red Parka Steakhouse & Pub in Glen • redparkapub.com Sled Pub at Pats Peak patspeak.com/the-mountain/sled-pub.aspx Stone Hearth Bar at Ragged Mountain raggedmountainresort.com/the-stone-hearth-bar Wildcat Pub at Wildcat Mountain skiwildcat.com/explore-the-resort/during-your-stay/dining Woodstock Inn Brewery • woodstockinnbrewery.com
— Dr. Martin Luther King
am from the central foothills of North
ICarolina where the farmland undulates gently and produces animals that outnumber the people. It is mostly chicken and pig country. There, one hides how close their relationship to the outdoors may be. I peacocked (dressed brightly) to hide my tan. Others wouldn’t be so lucky to effectively hide; or would be so lucky as to be proud. It depended upon the space you held onto and on what type of land. Shining on industrial lands, the sun would brand exposed wrists, necks, heads and the workers’ hands, marking the labored time and accumulated grime. On recreational lands, the suntans revealed where bikini lines and goggle tans spanned — vacation badges honoring time leisurely spent. I lived on a farm, the son of a son of a sharecropping son from an almost interminable line of farmhands. I moved to New Hampshire with my family when I was 10 or 11.
I look up to the hills from whence my health comes; if you’re lucky enough to be in the mountains, you’re lucky enough.
Like me, maybe you’ve also lived with those two phrases running free in your head. Because my life, here in New Hampshire, has felt like being the ball between two paddles on a rigged pinball machine with these phrases buffeting what I decide and framing what I choose. Be grateful, keep looking up; be grateful, keep looking up; be grateful, keep looking up — it has become my mantra. I admit, it is a lot to carry sometimes — with a positive attitude, despite it all. Within the long stretches of lonely quiet mixed with anxious chaos and the ever-present sorrow, there’s — wham! — that damn paddle: “I look up to the hills . . . if you’re lucky enough. . .” There’s only two ways to escape this looping mental track for me: submission or futile resistance.
So, I go outside, and I look up to find some damn hills.
New Hampshire has long been known to attract people of all stripes. Its outdoors are resplendent in fall and intoxicating in spring; they can also offer alternating moments of pure ecstasy and terrifying sublimity during the winter. These emotions — of ecstasy and sublimity — can be simultaneously present here in the outdoors. Yet, to me, the summers of New Hampshire are the closest I’ll ever get to heaven. You see, it was heaven that brought me here. Well, at least the idea of it.
It was a late summer day when we finally arrived from North Carolina. I will never forget what the air felt like as I elbowed my brothers to be the first to step onto our driveway and gawk up at our house: white with black windows, a split-level ranch, perched on top of the sloping hillside, across the street from the lake. “It feels like the perfect temperature,” I said with all my young earnestness. I began to feel part of the continuing New Hampshire saga, another family of transplants arriving full of ambition and dreams.
Almost 30 years later, my family remains here. This place gets in your bones. It makes other places seem foreign. It's like the air is charged with restless ions that make relaxing seem improbable. I live 25 minutes from the mountains, and an hour and a half from the coast. I live surrounded by lakes, hedged by three rivers and bordered by national forests. Bears, moose, deer, rabbits, foxes, moles, voles, mice, squirrels, chipmunks, coyotes, raccoons, porcupines, skunks and whole hosts of birds share the woods with my family. On early warm summer nights, you can find my daughter and me hunting with a single flashlight for frogs and toads to name, ID and classify. She’s only eight but already has a naturalist’s eye.
I teach high school kids humanities but have always been an outdoor enthusiast. I learned to paddle lakes here and master the “j” stroke. I found my haunts during hikes. The Pemigewasset’s wilderness trails are like love-lines across my palms and have become maps to pockets of joy. And, by God, there’s a shortness of joy these days.
It was May when I started planning this article — and now October’s vista has replaced the neon, vermillion and other shades of green, making my scene toned with an impressionist’s flair, something like Manet’s. Stately stanchions of evergreens still represent the greenery; but now, the hillsides flicker like flames colored with the yellows, the oranges, the pinks and fiery reds, all according to Nature’s diverse plan.
There was a time when going outside like this to mark the seasons — or even staying inside while the seasons passed by my window — was vital for me, essential for my safety. There was a time when I was taught to be afraid of having any relationship with
the outside. I hid my tan skin and wished my time spent in the sun would only make it lighter. It wasn’t that long ago when I was sternly told to stay inside — “if I knew what was good.” In some places today, this sentiment remains true, especially for Black boys, Black men, Black people, like me.
I’ve grown up and moved away from those places, but that world still follows me, clinging to the forgotten caverns of my brain like some repressed mantra. There is a pervasive attitude that I carry because I knew it was true, then, and I know it’s sometimes still true, today: There are places outside unsafe for anyone Black, like me.
Most of my childhood development happened or was noted by steps I took outside. I was the oldest boy in a family of six; my younger siblings shadowed me and, for a time, my older sister dogged my every step. But it wasn’t just because of my siblings that I felt a bond outside.
At school, at work, out on the town, I noticed that eyes watched — and they recorded. I couldn’t find escape in the streets, but time got easily lost in the woods. I never lost my footing in the fields, my fleet feet fleecing time, turning moments into eternities. But that rupture of the temporal, when time and space, in dual constant flow, rippled and spiked, and a neuron was coded creating a record, creating memories to be ticked backward and forward, backward and forward, in times of reflection like these, and then back again.
It's silent around me now but for the breeze; and even the breeze seems to blow gentle, warm, knowing I’m alone.
I’m outside, and the angle of the sunlight grants me knowledge of the time, while the pen’s shadow leads my hand left to right. The sun still throws warm punches through dappling leaves, a punch that weakens daily as winter approaches. I’m excited for winter; it's a mixture of elation and dread — part childhood wonder, part learned adult angst. As for now, today, only an airplane’s contrail mars an otherwise perfect blue-bird day. Aster’s lavender and pale purple catch my eye, complementing goldenrod yellows. Changing raspberry bramble leaves color the ground.
It is as if each color, each splendor of nature’s complex quilt, cries to the shadow of the pen in my hand, insistent for its song to be sung. What is here in this open space that can be synthesized from my head to my hand? Can I truly capture it? Grasp its phonemes and command its language, trust that its essence can be delivered from my pen? I feel it calling me, sometimes, in quiet, to try and relate its plan. Whatever sickness that started this obsession must have happened to me when I was young.
My first official job was at Ragged Mountain. I was 15 teaching snowboarding lessons to mostly full-grown men. The skiing legend Dan Egan hired me. He would later hire me again, and it seemed like déjà vu to be teaching snowboarding for him four years later, this time at Tenney Mountain. For 19 winters since, I have been riding at Waterville Valley, more recently including my partner and three children. What started as perhaps novelty — a Black kid strapping his lead foot in — became, in time, a family tradition. It was here, in New Hampshire, that I was the snake’s head slithering down the slopes, leading mostly other races of men. Only later was it to become my career. Today I mainly work with other races of youth to draw their understanding of the humanities to intertwine with their passions. I work with teenage winter athletes, and together, we get to live, learn and play in outdoor spaces, mastering some of the pathways to understanding ourselves and our sport, in harmony.
I remember that first time I saw someone who looked like me outside, simply outside, succeeding in a recreational space. I found it odd that, like me, he seemed to harness joy in the outdoors even as others found it peculiar. I was watching snowboarding on TV. It was in the basement of the home I shared with my parents in the ’90s, with black windows and white siding, across the street from Lake Sunapee. The rider was Black, like me. In competition he landed a double backflip. It might seem insignificant, but I believe seeing yourself reflected in success stories is absolutely crucial.
Ben Bacote with his gear ready for another winter of snowboarding
To better illustrate this point, I went and found a familiar face, Mardi Fuller, to help me. As an essential configuration of New Hampshire’s values and diverse society, the stories — and outdoor experiences — of Black, Indigenous and People of Color (BIPOC) and Asian American and Pacific Islanders (AAPI) must be told. Stories like mine and stories like Mardi Fuller’s are threads that coil into our state’s tapestry; they strengthen the connective tissue that grounds our diverse experiences and expectations of the natural world and, in turn, help preserve New Hampshire’s outdoors. Without different voices telling their stories, the tendency to do the same traditional “thing” will always be what is — and will be perpetually rewarded, both materially and financially. I sought out Fuller to tell part of her New Hampshire story, not only because it is linked to mine but because it corresponds with all stories told of the outdoors. The joy Fuller finds in nature coalesces with my joy and yours, here, to share in and enjoy.
Like me, Mardi Fuller was also a transplant to New Hampshire. Her parents immigrated to New York from Jamaica and there, outside New York City, she had her little patch of green. Both her parents, having left their natural and comfortable “outside” in Jamaica, with livestock and crops that felt familiar to them, knew what they wanted for themselves — and for Fuller — here: a little patch of green. It wasn’t until backpacking through the Green Mountains of Vermont during her college years that hiking in New Hampshire inspired her.
Fuller has long been intimate with the “formal categorification of outdoor activities,
Mardi Fuller looks back toward her hiking partners along the trail to the summit of Mount Osceola.
