MONTANA HEADWALL Volume 1.4 JAN–MAR 2010
JAN–MAR 2010
Complimentary
mtheadwall.com
Photo by Chad Harder
Montana Headwall
Page 4 January–March 2010
George Ochenski flashes back on the ice of Georgetown Lake
CONTENTS
’SNAKE BIT Darkness falls on a grueling ski trip across Missoula’s backyard wilderness
HITCHING A GLIDE Thumbing it to summer turns in the Beartooths
Cover photo by Chad Harder
INSIDE On Belay
Wild Things 36
6
Skin tracks
Contributors
The secrets of snow fleas
Grub 38
8
Chow meets pow at Snowbowl
Head Lines 11 Head Trip 44
An early season avalanche Olympic hopeful Keely Kelleher Missoula’s iron woman rebounds Idaho steelhead make record run
No-frill thrills at Altoona Ridge Lodge
Head Out 48 Your winter recreation calendar
Head Light 20 Head Gear 50
Avoiding a steamy scene
Head Shots 22
A newbie’s guide to AT gear Karhu XCD 10th Mountain touring skis
Our readers’ best
The Crux 58 A hockey-mad father puts a gift on ice
EDITOR-IN-CHIEF GENERAL MANAGER MANAGING EDITOR ADVERTISING DIRECTOR PRODUCTION DIRECTOR CIRCULATION MANAGER CONTRIBUTORS COPY EDITOR ART DIRECTOR PRODUCTION ASSISTANTS ADVERTISING REPRESENTATIVES ADVERTISING COORDINATOR FRONT DESK
Please recycle this magazine
STAFF
Matt Gibson Lynne Foland Chad Harder Peter Kearns Joe Weston Adrian Vatoussis
Matthew Frank, Skylar Browning Amy Linn Kou Moua Jenn Stewart, Jonathan Marquis Carolyn Bartlett, Tami Johnson, Steven Kirst, Chris Melton, Miriam Mick Hannah Smith Lorie Rustvold 317 S. Orange St.• Missoula, MT 59801 406-543-6609 • Fax 406-543-4367 www.montanaheadwall.com
Montana Headwall (ISSN 2151-1799) is a registered trademark of Independent Publishing, Inc. Copyright 2009 by Independent Publishing, Inc. All rights reserved. Reprinting in whole or in part is forbidden except by permission of Independent Publishing, Inc. Views expressed herein are those of the author exclusively. And yeah, we’re having fun. Chad Harder
www.mtheadwall.com
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FREEZE FRAME
ON BELAY www.mtheadwall.com
W
e take the road less traveled, following a single set of tire treads onto the two-track leaving the highway. Cold, dry flakes swirl in the headlights, scattering across the frozen road in the inky pre-dawn. The early winter weather is an auspicious sign for our hunting party, and likely for other early-risers en route to their secret honey holes. With just four days remaining in the hunting season, most of the rigs we see on the highway brim with game carts, backpacks and blaze orange, the drivers hauling at top
speed to their trailhead of choice and hoping to arrive before somebody else invades their hunting grounds. Soon we’re hot on the bumper of an older 4Runner struggling up the pass. Topped by a RocketBox, skis and snowboards, the occupants are clearly not gunning for a year’s worth of meat. They seek instead to slay early-season powder. But we are all hunters, all pursuing the coveted prize of an exceptional day exploring Montana’s backcountry. We’ve hung a number of these impressive trophies—bagged by our
team of crack correspondents—on the pages of this inaugural winter issue of Montana Headwall. Alex Sakariassen hitchhikes the Beartooth Highway to deliver the straight dope on lateseason turns. George Ochenski holes up and drops a line from the thick ice atop Georgetown Lake. Aaron Teasdale gets turned on to Karhu’s new-school touring skis. And that’s just for starters. We hope you’re impressed by our mounts, and that our reports help illuminate your way as you head out on Montana’s lesstraveled roads. See you out there! Chad Harder Managing Editor
Chad Harder
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V-upper compression carries skis (diagonally) or snowboard Abrasion-resistant PU texture on front panels protects pack from sharp edges Crossover lower diagonal ski/snowboard carry loop, doubles as lower compression strap Lower reinforced loops for A–Frame ski carry Ice axe loop
Internal organization
Helmet carry
Reservoir sleeve
Hipbelt stash pockets
ospreypacks.com
Photo: Mikael Pilstrand
CONTRIBUTORS www.mtheadwall.com
George Ochenski
Todd Wilkinson
An award-winning writer and accomplished alpinist, Ochenski has pioneered ski traverses across Montana’s mountain ranges, ice-climbed frozen waterfalls, and enjoyed plenty of stormridden tent time on major expeditions to Alaska. Ochenski continues to ski, climb and fish the high and wild places where nature, in all her glory, still calls the shots.
Wilkinson has been a journalist for 25 years, most of that time in the West. He is a regular contributor to major newspapers and magazines and currently is writing a book that examines the life of mediamogul-turned-bison-rancher and environmental humanitarian Ted Turner. Wilkinson lives in Bozeman, where he is also at work trying to freeze an outdoor hockey rink in his backyard.
Andy Smetanka
Alex Sakariassen
Smetanka moved to Missoula from Billings in 1990 to attend UM—a project he finally finished in 2007 with an MFA in creative nonfiction. An avid Super 8 filmmaker, he has also made music videos for the Decemberists and contributed animated sequences to several features, including Guy Maddin’s award-winning My Winnipeg. He lives on a 19th-century homestead with his family.
Sakariassen grew up skiing the bluffs above North Dakota’s Missouri River Valley. Not much vertical, but he’s since shredded across the U.S., Canada, Scotland and France. He foolishly considered leaving Missoula after graduating from the University of Montana. Fortunately, snowpack, a reporting gig at the Missoula Independent and his stool at the Kettlehouse Brewery kept him firmly anchored. He’s freelanced for several publications, including HUT! Magazine and the Boundary Waters Journal.
• Ski charters • Birthdays • Bachelor & Bachelorette parties • Weddings • Frat & Sorority parties • Tube shuttle • Backpacking drop off and pick up • Fishing trips • Concerts • Christmas • New Year’s Parties • and we run the after school shuttle for the Z.A.C.C.
Montana Headwall
Page 8 January–March 2010
HEAD LINES www.mtheadwall.com
Toby Meierbachtol leads Bob Presta and Jesse Doll over a grassy knob during the final cyclocross race of the season at Fort Missoula in October. Presta eventually overtook Meierbachtol for the win, with Doll third.
Cathrine L. Walters
SURPRISE SLIDES
Early season avalanches strike backcountry skiers On the protective cast covering Don Gisselbeck’s left arm, a friend Sharpied the mnemonic device familiar to backcountry skiers: a triangle with the words “snowpack,” “weather” and “terrain” along its sides—a reminder of the factors contributing to avalanche danger. “And I suppose,” says the rueful Gisselbeck, “in the middle”—and what he blames for his broken wrist, stitchedup elbow and sore knee—“is the human factor.” On Oct. 24, Gisselbeck, a 54-year-old employee of the Trail Head in Missoula, along with three other skiers seeking early-season turns, got tumbled in an 800vertical-foot avalanche on a steep northeast-facing slope on Trapper Peak in the Bitterroot Mountains. It was the first of two such incidents in western Montana during the last week of October. Three other skiers were caught in an avalanche in the Tobacco Root Mountains on Oct. 31. “It’s October,” Gisselbeck says. “It’s not even in the mindset.”
But despite the calendar, and despite the forecast that called for only one inch of fresh snow, the conditions on Trapper Peak proved suitable for a slide. The two separate groups of two skiers from Missoula encountered each other mid-morning as they climbed near Gem Lake, eyeing the couloir that snakes down from the top of one of Trapper’s sharp ridges. Toward the top, Gisselbeck stopped to strap up his ski boots for a warm-up lap on the apron to the right of the couloir, where snow had piled knee-deep. A few minutes later, “I hear a yell, look up, and there are three people sliding and a big wall of snow,” Gisselbeck recalls. “Then I get hit by it. I start thinking of self-arresting, but it’s ridiculous. I get knocked down and rolled.” According to the incident report posted on missoulaavalanche.org, the avalanche carried the top three skiers 50 or 60 feet, while it sent Gisselbeck downslope about 200 feet into the thick of a talus field. Still, with a tender wrist
Montana Headwall
and bloody elbow, he skied the rest of the way down the mountain. “It’s unusual that we’ve had this many incidents early in the year, but not all that unusual in terms of the way the snow came in,” says Steve Karkanen of West Central Montana Avalanche Center. “Typically the early season snows like that don’t bond real well to those old perennial snowfields. It takes a little bit more time for them to bond up, depending on how the snow comes in. And it came in cold this year, which is a little bit unusual. Typically it comes in pretty wet and heavy.” It certainly weighs heavily on the mind of Gisselbeck, who knows a cast is better than a casket. “If you sat me down with a beer,” he says, “and we discussed the situation the week before—the bare facts of four people on a slope with a perennial snowfield and wind-loading—I probably would have gone, ‘Oh, what a bunch of idiots.’” Matthew Frank
Page 11 January–March 2010
SKI RACING
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HEAD LINES
Big Sky’s Keely Kelleher aims for games Big Sky native and international ski racer Keely Kelleher has had it tough the past few years. She broke her right leg in pre-season training in 2004—one year after making two Europa Cup podiums in Innerkrems, Austria—and complications from surgery kept her off the circuit for nearly three seasons. For a while, her dream of becoming one of the fastest female downhill skiers in the country seemed dashed. But now at age 25, Kelleher says she’s skiing with more confidence than ever. And with the 2010 Winter Olympics in Vancouver just months away, her rebound comes at the perfect time. She currently holds a spot on the U.S. Ski Team’s B-squad, vying against teammates like superstar Lindsey Vonn for a coveted slot in the Vancouver lineup. Kelleher’s come a long way since her first pair of engraved neon-pink Atomics at age nine, which she remembers taking to bed with her when she got them for Christmas. She lives in Europe nine months a year with the U.S.
Ski Team and spent the past summer training on the slopes of Chile and New Zealand. Yet she retains the chirpy affability of the skier next door. Her ideal chairlift refreshment? Jelly beans, followed by a cool Pabst Blue Ribbon later at the bar. She’ll need plenty of those high-performance carbs to reach the starting gate of the Olympic downhill. To qualify for Vancouver, she’ll have to place consistently among the top five American skiers in World Cup competition leading up to the games. Compared to that, she says, the Olympics don’t sound so daunting. “What’s going to be the most nervewracking part is skiing fast in every World Cup race leading up to the games,” she says. Like the rest of the U.S. Ski Team, Kelleher trains constantly, on and off the mountains, leaving little time for life’s social distractions. Lucky for her, she’s happiest when the gates are little more than a passing blur.
“You’re just so in the moment,” Kelleher says. “It sounds corny, but you really are. You’re just going down this mountain so fast and things kind of slow down. It’s your canvas, and you can paint it any way you want.” Alex Sakariassen
Mike Schirf
Wander Wonderlands with your four-wheeled friend
Renewing Subarus since 1984 127 27 S. 4th St. W. Missoula, MT • 406.728.1747 Montana Headwall
Page 12 January–March 2010
IRON WOMAN
Corbin rebounds after Kona A top contender going into October’s Ford Ironman World Championship in Hawaii, Missoula’s Linsey Corbin finished this year’s race in a respectable but nevertheless disappointing 11th place, trailing winner Chrissie Wellington’s recordsetting time of 8:54:02 by 50 minutes. After her fifth-place finish last year, Corbin had hoped to make the podium in 2009, but things didn’t go her way. However, Corbin finished her season with a strong second place at Ironman Arizona in Tempe, setting high expectations for next year’s charge back to Hawaii. The race in Hawaii was a struggle. Outpaced by the lead female swimmers, Corbin found herself paddling in what she calls “no-man’s land.” Then, on the bike leg, she was slapped with a four-minute penalty for failing to drop back quickly enough when passed by a competitor. Corbin, a stickler for the rules, remained unfazed. The real trouble started during the marathon.
this better,’” says Corbin. “So, you find yourself signed up for another race looking to improve.” After her disappointment in Hawaii, Corbin scrapped plans to race in the XTERRA and Ironman 70.3 World Championships in favor of tackling Ironman Arizona on November 22. She had something to prove. “I was a bit disappointed with how my day panned out,” she says. “I figured I would throw my hat into the ring and race one more Ironman to end the year.” Corbin ran her trademark race at Tempe, coming up from behind in the marathon to post a second-place finish, barely trailing winner Samantha McGlone (9:09:19), and setting a personal Ironman record of 9:13:46. If she’d gone that fast in Kona, Corbin would have easily made the podium. “I am really happy with how the day ended up,” she says. “I’m already looking forward to 2010.” Eric Wynn Ali Gadbow
Corbin’s typical race has her trailing on the swim and steady on the bike. Her moment comes when she blows past competitors on foot, but at Kona, Corbin never found the burst of speed she needed to compete at the top of the field. “In that long of a race there are always things that you look back on and think, ‘I could have done this, this and
Montana Headwall
Page 13 January–March 2010
The Tracker
This Winter
$94 Cost of a Lone Peak Pass, allowing skiers to access both Big Sky and Moonlight Basin for one day
5,512 Combined acres of in-bounds skiing promoted by the two resorts
1.7 cents Cost per acre of skiable, in-bounds terrain with the Lone Peak Pass
$30 Cost for a one-day lift ticket at Turner Mountain near Libby—one of Montana’s smallest liftserved ski areas, which claims more than 400 skiable acres
$2,500 Price for exclusive use of Turner Mountain for an entire day
26 The number of Lone Peak Passes your $2,500 would buy
CORRECTION BLADE SPEEDFORM COMPOSITE (MODEL 3500)
A lot of things make us feel stupid at Headwall, but one in particular requires special attention. A photo caption in our last issue incorrectly identified a competitor at the Lost Horse Boulder Bash. The guy in the shot we published is actually Ryan Holm of Bozeman. Our apologies to Ryan and to our readers for the mix-up.
Whatever you’re doing this winter, from snow camping to hunting, Kershaw has the knife you need to complete your gear. Yeah, go ahead, celebrate.
kershawknives.com Montana Headwall
Page 14 January–March 2010
SPAWNING
Steelhead run breaks records A bountiful run of steelhead has led to monster catches on the Salmon River near Riggins, Idaho, this fall, with seasoned anglers netting as many as 30 fish per day. “This is one of the best hook-intoand-catch-rate years we’ve ever seen,” says Amy Sinclair, owner of Exodus Wilderness Adventures, a local guide service. “We are seeing multiple days of double-digit hook-ins.” As of late November, more than 310,000 steelhead had dutifully wriggled their way over the fish ladder on the Snake River’s Lower Granite Dam in southeastern Washington—the eighth dam they must overcome on their instinctual journey from the sea to their spawn-
ing grounds on Idaho’s Salmon and Clearwater rivers. Biologists expect another 5,000 fish to follow, with the grand total topping the 2008 run by 140,000 fish. Better yet, the number of wild steelhead returning to spawn seems destined to set new records as well, with more than 44,000 wild fish counted, compared to 38,000 in 2001, the next best year in recent memory. Wild steelhead are protected by the Endangered Species Act and can be identified by their intact adipose fin, unlike the clipped fin of their hatchery counterparts. A perfect blend of favorable conditions has helped the steelhead on their way: abundant winter snowfall and sub-
sequent heavy runoffs, new water flow management techniques on the Snake and Columbia, and high survival rates at sea. Once winter sets in, the steelhead lay low—biologists call this “staging”— before blasting upstream to their spawning beds in the spring, when the unprecedented numbers should lead to great fishing. “There are 80,000 to 100,000 fish between North Fork and Stanley—three times more than we’ve ever had,” says Idaho Fish and Game biologist Larry Barrett. “They’re stacked up.” Anglers will no doubt be itchy to knock a few down. Josh Mahan
Montana Headwall
Page 15 January–March 2010
he year is 1978 and the ancient woodstove crackles away in my old ghost town cabin while day fades softly to twilight. Deep snow almost buries the tiny abode in late winter as my comrades and I, all in our 20s, dig through ice-fishing supplies in preparation for a nighttime pilgrimage to Georgetown Lake. The goal is simple, and there are few secrets to winter fishing on the lake. Use a hand auger to cut holes in the thick ice and drop down tiny hooks that glow when exposed to light. Baited with canned corn and maggots, the thin monofilament line attaches to the tiniest of bobbers so we can detect the most delicate bites of fat brook trout, shining silver salmon, and iridescent rainbow trout. Knowing there are some very large fish in these dark depths, we doublecheck the knots and sharpen our hooks so the big ones don’t get away. Then we load all our gear into an old pickup and head for the lake, hoping, if the fish gods are with us, that we’ll bring back a bucket of beauties to feed ourselves and our friends. And maybe, just maybe, if the orange-fleshed silver salmon are really biting, there’ll be enough to can with barbecue sauce, jalapeño peppers, garlic and onions to make the much loved “belly burners.” Winter nights are cold in Montana at 7,000 feet, but we’re a lucky group of ice fishermen. Swathed in the best mountaineering gear of the 1970s, courtesy of the sponsors of our recent Alaskan climbing expeditions, our outerwear includes thick Polarguard parkas with fur ruffs on the hoods and bright orange expedition pants that zip into half-bags for highaltitude bivouacs. A specially modified North Face tent with a half-moon zippered hole in the bottom allows two people to sit in cozy, windproof comfort while hauling up fish from the deep. Toss in a Coleman lantern for light, warmth and lighting up the glow hooks, and a night on the frozen, wind-swept lake suddenly seems downright comfy. So comfy, in fact, that it’s not unusual for us to occasionally toss in sleeping bags and pads and spend the entire night on the ice in silence, solitude and beauty. Sometimes we even bring a small camp stove and frying pan to cook the wriggling catch as soon it comes up through the holes.
T
ump forward now more than 30 years—to 2009. The old cabin still stands, although most of the rest of the ghost town has been bulldozed into
J
oblivion. The young visitors who frequent the cabin these days call it the Wayback Machine, because it’s filled with photos, vinyl records and various regalia from about the time they were born. Here, next to the same old woodstove, still crackling merrily, I am now the old ice fisherman, peering through reading glasses and showing the ropes to my two younger friends. New line is wound onto classic old rods whose handles are made from the antlers of long-dead deer. Our new, high-tech models go through the pre-fishing ritual, too, as glow hooks are carefully attached and knots tested. Even the blade of the old ice auger gets a gentle tune-up to remove any rust and ensure it’ll cut through the thick spring ice now covering the lake. Amazingly, and as a testament to the longevity of good equipment, the same old expedition parka and pants are once again heading for a night of ice fishing on Georgetown Lake. Likewise, the patched but still functional North Face Oval Intention tent is going, just in case the night turns bitter cold or Hard to the winds begin to howl. How many fish has that old tent seen come through the ice? Hard to say for sure, but hundreds wouldn’t be out of the question—which probably contributes to the decidedly funky smell the nylon has taken on over the ensuing decades. But, hey, the last thing ice fishermen worry about is smelling like fish. Gone are the old pickups in favor of the ubiquitous Subaru station wagons. Gone, too, is the old gas-fired Coleman lantern. Nowadays, through the wonder of light-emitting diodes, tiny, superlightweight headlamps shine brightly
gulate the hidden spring—ancient dead trees, for the most part— have disappeared, fallen victims to the passage of time. There are other changes, too. Unlike days of yore, before the advent of the power auger, the lake now looks like Swiss cheese from all the holes drilled in the ice. We have the old hand auger, of course, but we really don’t need it; there are freshly-used holes everywhere we look. Nonetheless, my friend John Adams, being young and strong, and perhaps motivated by the tradition of it all, decides to hand drill yet another hole. After he laboriously chews his and burn through the night on small way through nearly two feet of ice, a batteries. friendly local fisherman and his son, the “The boys” and I load up and head last two people on the lake, wander over down to the lake to see if, more than a to offer to drill holes for us with their quarter century later, the night-bite on power auger. They’re done fishing for Georgetown is still happening. the day and have had good luck using We arrive as dusk falls, leaving the hand-tied nymphs in the shallow waters snow-capped peaks of the Anacondaabove the dozens of springs that boil up near the shore, providing oxygen and an abundance of food for winter-hungry trout. Things being what has that they are among the brothof ice anglers, they seen come through the ? erhood willingly offer us some of their flies in hopes that say for sure, but we, too, might walk off the lake with a bucketful wouldn’t be out of the . of trout. But we are here for night fishing—and for Pintler Wilderness shining in alpenglow. fishing at night, glow hooks are hard to Due to a recent warm spell, thick, mushy beat. Their tiny gleam, deep in the dark snow covers the frozen lake, leaving our water, draws the eye of the trout and deep footprints filling with meltwater then the tasty corn and maggots on the behind us. We intended to locate a oncehook give the fish a meal. If we’re quick, secret underwater spring hundreds of we’ll get a meal, too. yards out from shore, but trudging The night is calm and mild, so there’s through the heavy snow soon convinces no real need to put up the old tent for us that maybe we ought to forget the old shelter. That said, it seems a shame to spring and try our hand at the numerous drag it out onto the lake and not let the upwellings closer in. And besides, the faithful old domicile grace the ice once landmarks that were once used to trianmore with its beautiful geometric curves.
How many fish old tent ice hundreds question
The fishing is slow, to put it mildly, so a little time spent putting up the tent instead of staring at an unmoving bobber is no big deal. Our ace photographer for the trip decides to light up the tent from the inside with his powerful commercial flash, and conscripts me for the job. On the count of three, I pop the flash, he hits the shutter button on his digital camera, and if all works like it’s supposed to, we get a great picture of a glowing yellow tent against the natural backdrop of the night. After a couple shots, I decide to put my glow hooks under the flash and see what happens. Well, what happens is that the faintly glowing hooks charge up and suddenly look as if they’re running on 120 volts. They are bright—brighter than any I’ve ever seen—and I can’t wait to drop them down the hole and see if they’ll draw the fish. Sure enough, no sooner do the brightly beaming bits of plastic go down the hole than the bobber begins jumping and we start pulling rainbows and brookies up through the ice. The action is fast and furious as Adams hauls a fat, pound-and-a-half, slabsided brook trout into the night air. It’s incredibly beautiful in the pale light of our headlamps, but due to a change in regulations, brook trout, once abundant and highly prized, are now catch-and-release only. I almost have tears in my eyes, recalling the old days and the sweet taste of their winterfirm, bright-orange flesh, but after admiring it briefly, we put the big fish back down the hole, where it disappears with a splash from its huge square tail. The flash keeps popping over the glow hooks while Adams and I are popping cans of Kettlehouse beer we barely have time to sip before the bobbers start dancing again. Soon enough, we catch our limit of shining rainbow trout and begin to pack up, all the while laughing at how it must have looked to anyone driving by: three crazed fishermen alone on a lake in winter, illuminated by a flashing strobe light. Hauling our gear and a bucket of beautiful trout, we slog through the snow to the car and head back up to the warm and cozy little cabin for a midnight fish fry. The wood cook stove crackles away as the fresh fish curl and pop in a big cast-iron frying pan, turning slowly but surely into a golden feast. The years seem to disappear as the old and scratchy vinyl records spin out ancient tunes from the Woodstock generation while we dig into the delicious fish. So much is the same that the intervening decades might not have passed. But one new lesson has been learned and will not be forgotten. For ice fishing at night, you can’t beat the flashbright light. Montana Headwall
Page 19 January–March 2010
HEAD LIGHT by Chad Harder
Steamy scene It seemed a perfect storm: six feet of snow in the same number of days, coinciding perfectly with our week-long alpine party at the Fairy Meadow Hut in Canada’s Selkirk Range. Perfect, except for the ominous rumblings of avalanches, echoing day and night from across the valley. These regular reminders of danger dictated that even the most hardcore in our 20person group bail on their loftier objectives and stick to the mellow(er) slopes just outside the hut. Here, we could slay the pow and check in regularly with our kegs and comrades coolin’ in the toasty lodge. Contending with the triple-whammy of poor visibility, drab skies and conservative Chad Harder
skiing made photography difficult. Even worse, laps between blustery winter air and a warm hut humidified by 20 skiers’ soggy gear can ruin cameras and lenses, sometimes permanently fogging the glass or even frying circuits. To avoid a vaporous invasion in these situations, manage the temperature of your camera diligently. Going from warm to cold is never a problem, but never, ever allow a cold camera to warm up quickly. Instead, wrap that pricey number in a hat or fleece, shove it in your pack and leave it in a cold corner to warm up slowly. When the perfect storm clears and steeps beg for tracks, your snazzy little digital will be ready to fire.
HEAD SHOTS www.mtheadwall.com
Shasta Hood floats from one powdery pillow to the next in the Beartooth backcountry. 1/2000 sec. @ f/5.6. Canyon Florey
HEAD SHOTS www.mtheadwall.com Packing skis, Aaron Deskins ascends a steep couloir en route to Sonielem Ridge in the Mission Mountains. 1/320 sec. @ f/7.1. Andy Hoye
The staff of Montana Headwall knows you’re out there, having wicked adventures and documenting your exploits photographically. Problem is, even excellent images often get dumped onto a hard drive, never again seeing the light of day. We’re ready to fix this tragedy by dedicating a few pages of every issue to our readers’ best photos. The criteria are simple: go outside, play hard, and take a bunch of pictures. Then send your best to hweditor@mtheadwall.com. Include your name, the location pictured, the names of all people shown and the technical beta like shutter speed and aperture. We’ll take it from there. Now get outside and start shooting.
A mountain ridge above Bass Creek in the Bitterroot Mountains reflects in a quiet pool. 1/200 sec. @ f/2.8. Dave Chenault
’ Don
ce Me In en F t
Montana Headwall
Page 25 January–March 2010
HEAD SHOTS www.mtheadwall.com
Mountain bikers Andy Althauser and Matt Radlowski descend from a snowy promontory on the Gallatin Crest trail south of Bozeman. 1/160 sec. @ f/4. Dylan Johnson
An unidentified kayaker plays in Brennan’s Wave on the Clark Fork in downtown Missoula. 1/30 sec. @ f/5.6. Matt Rogers
Story and photos by Chad Harder
Closing my eyes, I rest for a moment and consider the miles still separating us from the trailhead. This wasn’t what we’d had in mind when we set out on our tour from Snowbowl six hours earlier. Yes, our route was ambitious: a oneday traverse of the high, remote upper Grant Creek basin, from Montana Snowbowl to the main trailhead of the Rattlesnake National Recreation Area. We’d planned to drop in near Point Six, head down a beautiful protected chute known locally as “Too Steep To Tele,” and cross the basin to ascend its east side somewhere between Mosquito and Stuart peaks. Then we’d just follow the ridge to the trail and be home free, skiing a near-continuous 4,000 feet of mostly mellow terrain into town. But lured right of “Too Steep,” we’d found ourselves cliffed out and sketched, a mistake that ate up two hours as we humped back up to a skiable line. Perhaps we should have called it a day then, but we’d packed for a significant day trip and continued on. Besides, it wasn’t unknown territory. My partner Kara McMahon and I had explored the area multiple times. I’d been on forays in the basin as far back as the early ’90s,
including an ignorant, whiskey-fueled photo shoot that I survived only by dumb luck. And on a trip four years earlier I’d hiked and skied the route alone, coming the opposite direction, in May. This time, however, I’d erred. When the day dawned bright the morning of the trip I was so eager for adventure that I’d dismissed my lingering flu and misjudged my capacity. While getting down into the bowl had been easy, coming out on the other side wasn’t. And now, things keep getting harder. I find myself struggling, feverish, out of breath and pausing every 10 steps or so. Resting on the snow, I can feel my eyes closing, my consciousness drifting. “Hey! Chad! You can stop as soon as you have to,” Kara offers. “But until then, you have to keep moving.” Clearly, she’s not interested in dealing with 210 pounds of fluweakened skier on the wrong side of Stuart Peak on a cold March night. But I’m thinking about our options. I’ll feel better in the morning, I reason. Perhaps we should build a fire, or two fires, and take a nap between them? We can leave
at sunrise and still make it to work tomorrow. No? Then, a snow cave? She rebukes my absurdities with the only real answer: no. If I can continue, then we must. Flipping her skis back around, she turns and heads off across the slanted ice, the dim light of her headlamp bobbing toward the diffuse orange glow of Missoula’s trademark inversion. The radiance is our guiding star; just follow the light, and eventually, we’ll find Missoula. My head swimming, I sit up, slam my skis into the hardening crust and stand upright. A faint beam nods a steady rhythm, already 50 yards distant and moving quickly. I shake my head and try to focus on each singular icy step while forgetting about the hours still separating us from relief.
THE WILD WITHIN Grant Creek is best known for the shiny McMansions cluttering its lower valley, each claiming its own five acres of historic elk wintering grounds like pimples on a supermodel’s ass. But just a few miles upstream—and only 13 miles
coming from Snowbowl who drop outof-bounds near Point Six for a few wild turns in the nearby slackcountry powder stashes, all accessible with relative ease just by buying a lift ticket. Yet while most adventurers arrive prepared to negotiate the terrain safely, others do not. That can be a problem, because nearly every descent leading from Snowbowl into the basin either crosses an avalanche path or is itself a slide zone. It’s relatively easy to follow
a road out. But those who point their tips past the signs that warn of death, pass through the well-marked boundary gates, and drop into the Grant Creek drainage should consider themselves fairly warned that should their day go south, help can be a long ways away. Still, it happens almost every year— ambitious but ill-prepared or adrenalineaddled explorers pull stunts that could bury them alive, or find themselves in the deep-snow bottoms of adjacent ravines,
silent exhaustion, eyes peeled for any hint of the trail that must cut through here somewhere, albeit hidden five feet beneath the crusty pack.
We plod on in
as the raven flies from downtown Missoula—an upper basin rises, as pristine and difficult to reach as nearly any in Montana. Its flanks are so welldefended that few people—other than skiers or snowboarders venturing in from Snowbowl—ever explore them. The drainage’s southern boundary was once accessible via a creekside trail, but that path is now closed off, blocked by an unbroken lineup of private land. Its eastern ridge abuts the well-traveled Rattlesnake National Recreation Area, but trails leading into the basin are few, far between and often overgrown. They’re also long. Approach from the main corridor trailhead and you’ll walk more than seven miles just to summit the ridgeline, and you’re still a long haul from the basin’s spectacular high point, 8,167-foot Murphy Peak. The west side offers no trail access. All routes require bushwhacking across a steep, cliff-scarred ridge stretching north from Snowbowl Road to the Flathead Reservation. This, its most northerly flank, is also the basin’s burliest, the sacred no-white-man’s land of the South Fork Jocko Tribal Primitive Area. All said, it’s one wild basin. Most visitors to the upper reaches of Grant Creek are skiers and snowboarders
in the tracks of a qualified group up and over the edge into the untracked and tempting freshy-fresh. Getting back out, though, is another story. But so it goes. Snowbowl runs a ski area, not a nanny service. The resort can’t control those who choose to leave from top-of-the-mountain gates. Skiers know that if they stay on-area, they have the safety net provided by members of the National Ski Patrol, handy telephones and
wondering how they might get out, or call for rescue, or just survive the night. In fact, I’ve almost been there myself.
SMOKIN’ DA ’BOWL It seemed a perfect match. I was a budding shooter yearning for outdoor adventure images to fill out a thin portfolio. They were a group of local snowboarders, needing shots of themselves looking badass
1992-style to impress potential sponsors. We agreed on a date, and I went downtown to buy a wide-angle lens, six rolls of film and a fanny pack—along with a plastic bottle of Jack Daniels. On a bluebird powder day we headed “behind Snowbowl” to photograph big airs. The spring sun was hot and the snowpack was settling, causing natural slides nearby on the high, south-facing slopes of Murphy Peak—an obvious concern for anyone with even a cursory understanding of avalanche hazards, but meaningless to us, or at least to me. This was my first-ever trip exploring the alpine off-area in winter, and I was amazed at the snowboarders’ deliberate efforts to trigger slides by knocking cornices off into the bowl. As the photographer, I went first, dropping into a deep line and releasing a slow slough as I cut in beneath a cliff. We thought nothing of the instability, and the amped riders lapped it hard, outdoing each other with 30-foot airs against the bright blue sky, hooting and racing to the bottom. I rode down to join them, surrounded by towering snow ghosts. We passed the whiskey, sparked mad bowls and ogled our rad lines, all while standing atop huge Montana Headwall
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Montana Headwall
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piles of self-created slide debris and never questioning the tons of snow still clinging above us. Luckily, what we didn’t know didn’t hurt us, and soon our group of 10 or so was post-holing up through the deep snow back to the ski area. It was tough, sweaty going, and I vaguely recall being grateful to be able to share the task of breaking trail.
BENIGHTED Sixteen years later, here I am, dragging my sick and sorry carcass out of the other side of Grant Creek in the dark. It’s my first time on these way-too-fat-for-touring Black Diamond Verdict demo skis. Gracing their bottoms are misfit skins nowhere near the edges of their 136 millimeter tips. The hard snow and our upward spiraling path keeps our boards firmly on edge, rendering my skins useless, and the constant slipping crushes my morale. Resisting the urge to flop down, I instead focus on following Kara’s bouncing light, coaxing me onward
Montana Headwall
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through lightly illuminated trees toward what must soon be our high point. My vision dims. An eternity passes. We plod on in silent exhaustion, eyes peeled for any hint of the trail that must cut through here somewhere, albeit hidden five feet beneath the crusty pack. But we find no trail, nor even an obvious swath through the trees. Eventually I collapse to rest. We’re in dense forest now, and Missoula’s dim orange radiance outlines the branches above. I’m about to close my eyes when I hear an exclamation, and then a laugh. “Got it!” Kara yells, almost cackling with relief. I quickly skin toward her. Days-old snowshoe tracks pit the dirty, crusty snow. Just a bit farther, we spot a Rattlesnake Wilderness boundary sign, typically head-height but now barely peeking from the snow. It’s an important landmark, and the protection it denotes explains precisely why we hadn’t seen a single “improvement” since leaving the ridge above Snowbowl— not a house, not a snowmobile track, not even an old road cut. Despite the proximity to town, these mountains remain wild, as gloriously untamed and fearsome as they’ve been for eons. The snowshoe tracks lead off into the darkness of Spring Gulch and eventually to our truck and food and a nice warm bed. It’s 10 o’clock, and although we still have seven or so miles to go, they’re all downhill. All we have to do is skitter out through the trees in the dark. Kara turns on her phone and calls Ryan Shaffer, our dogsitter, to let him know we’ll be late and not to worry. We share the last piece of jerky, chug our remaining slush water and push off into five miles of combat skiing followed by a blazing runout down the last two miles of Spring Gulch. Home feels close, and the fear of an unplanned winter night in
the backcountry is gone. Our near-epic is now little more than a weary evening tour in the Rattlesnake. Nearing the horse bridge, two hooded figures appear in front of us on the trail, flanked by big dogs and carrying loaded bags. It’s Ryan, with our dogs and a friend, coming to meet their benighted friends with food and drinks. They also bring an epiphany, one we don’t verbalize until the next day, a realization that we’re extraordinarily fortunate to live in a city with a wild area so close and well
protected as the Rattlesnake. We may have just traversed some forbidding alpine terrain, but somehow it feels as though we barely left town. We scratch the dogs and gladly accept the gifts, showering our friends with assurances that they’ve earned enough good karma to last the rest of the ski season. We kick off our skis, zip up our down jackets and tromp the last half mile to the truck. The last slippery steps—on bulletproof ice in plastic ski boots—feel remarkably secure.
Kou Moua
Montana Headwall
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Snow flies
by Andy Smetanka
WILD THINGS
Why winter bugs don’t need snug rugs
A
fter an early cold snap, I was amazed to find that the webweaver in residence near my front door had survived several days of freezing temperatures outside. This is a spider, you understand, with an abdomen the size of a small cherry tomato. After what the plunging temperatures did to my cherry tomatoes, I wouldn’t have expected a creature incapable of producing its own body heat to fare any better. Perhaps it found its way into our house temporarily—it would have been in good arachnid company—but in any case there it was under an eave, barely moving but moving nonetheless. Some insects and arachnids simply tough out cold spells with chemistry. Their bodies may produce a natural antifreeze called glycerol, which increases the viscosity of their bodily fluids and inhibits molecules from crystallizing, i.e. forming ice. Tweaked
enzymatic systems in some cold-hardy insects also allow the chemical processes necessary for bodily functions to take place at lower temperatures. Others, like bumblebees, whose furry sweaters do seem oddly suggestive of ski clothing, display a range of energy-conserving thermoregulation behaviors to deal with cold temperatures. Arctic bumblebees have been recorded in flight at temperatures well below freezing—no doubt hurrying home to their miniature igloos for hot buttered rum. And then there are those unusual insects who actually seem drawn to snow—that hardy fringe of flies, midges and springy “snow fleas” that
seems to love hanging out in snow, or at least around it. These cold-lovers have thumbed it to the proverbial skihill through evolutionary serendipity, stealing a march on amphibians, birds and other predators either still dormant or away for the winter. Snow fleas—not actually fleas at all, but a genus of springtail—live in bark and leaf mold year round but are most noticeable as a peppery sprinkling over snow on warmer winter days. They get their itty-bitty boingboings from a pair of tiny springloaded tails called furcula tucked against their abdomens and held in place with miniature hooks. When they want to bounce somewhere, they release the hooks and off they go. They can’t control their direction. On the other hand, they’re not likely to swarm you. Only bug biting this time of year is the ski bug.
Andy Smetanka
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GRUB by Ari LeVaux
M
ontana has its share of good restaurants, more than its share of great watering holes, and unparalleled opportunities for outdoor adventure in the mountains. But nowhere does the blend of fine food, beverage-assisted cheer, and adrenaline-fueled exuberance come together as perfectly as at the Last Run Inn at Snowbowl in Missoula. Forget about the sweaty hot dogs, microwave Cheese Whiz nachos and cheap beer that pass as sustenance at your average ski slope. Sophisticated comfort food, legendary drinks and ambience give the Last Run Inn more than just a supporting role in the ski day. Which is why you’ll always find crowds there, brushing off the snow, bumping into friends, recharging their batteries for another round of carving turns, or settling in by the fire or on the deck. It’s Missoula’s best bar and a top-10 restaurant, and the fact that anyone gets any skiing done is a testament to Snowbowl’s outstanding terrain. The glue behind all the glitter is chef Garland Davis, a humble man with a wacky streak and a passion for keeping skiers happy. A Texas native, Davis made his way north to cook at Seeley Lake’s Double Arrow Ranch in 1977, and took over the cooking and management of the Last Run Inn 25 years ago. A faint Texas twang seeps into some of his cooking, especially in the turkey chili, pulled pork sandwich, and the evolving hot sauce selections. But he reserves the right to go in any culinary direction he chooses. His bartenders pour the finest beer, like the hard-to-find Blackfoot Single Malt IPA, and regulars speak reverently of his Bloody Mary, a multi-textured
Cathrine L. Walters
affair that drinks like a meal and is rumored—falsely—to contain fish sauce, beef stock, and Spam. During his tenure, Davis has gotten to know the many types of people who come in off the slopes. “There are the fast movers who don’t want to stop skiing for a second. They don’t even want to be in there and their hands are shaking, but they’re crashing from low blood sugar,” he says. To that crew, he recommends a slice of pizza from the brick oven—assuming you can push your way to the bar to order it, there’s hardly a wait. Then there are those who come in freezing cold and wet. This crowd needs a bowl of soup, maybe a hot chocolate, and perhaps a seat at the fireplace, he says. “The fire adds a nice element. People really get to know each other there. Some of them are suffering, and not shy about sharing close space.” Powder days and sunny “bluebird” afternoons have their obvious charms, but if the skiing sucks, he says, it becomes a bar day. “For a lot of people, a bar day is their ‘plan b.’ It can get crowded.” Of course, no extenuating circumstances are necessary in order to stumble off the mountain for a good meal. You can
count on pizza, a buffalo burger, a cake of warm brie topped with raspberry chipotle sauce, or the pulled pork sandwich— which has been known to cause a mutiny when it isn’t available. “I caught hell the last time it ran out,” Davis says. Other dishes, like “Not Your Mama’s Mac & Cheese,” appear only two or three times a year, keeping a devoted following in suspense. “It’s a side project,” Davis says of the fabled dish. “It’s on the stove for eight hours. There’s a white wine reduction. It’s got chicken gizzards, ham, bacon, ground beef, ground pork, three cheeses, plus Parmesan and smoked provolone.” If you ask Davis if there are any other slope-side kitchens worthy of note in Montana, he can’t say. He’s such a homebody—he lives at Snowbowl—that he hasn’t visited other ski areas in decades. A regimen of chemotherapy weakened his hips to the point that he no longer skis, but he isn’t bitter about it. “I had 18 great years of skiing. Besides, we’re so busy these days that if I skied, or had a girlfriend all winter, the place would die.” That seems hard to imagine, though it’s easy to see the thriving inn has become Davis’ lifework. His newest brainstorm—a “10 beer revelation,” as he calls it—is set to hit the scene this winter: doughy pockets stuffed with warm things like rice or pasta with chicken or broccoli. These portable morsels are for the ones who won’t relax until the lifts close and want to get back on task ASAP. “We’ll keep them hot, the bar staff can grab them like a slice, and folks can eat them on the chairlift,” Davis says. With that kind of thinking, it’s no wonder he’s at the peak of his game.
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Montana Headwall
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Hitching a Glide
by Alex Sakariassen
HEAD TRIP
Thumbing it to the Beartooth Highway’s summer skiing
s
kis, snowboards and snow-packed coolers of beer lie in scattered piles amid the sunbleached grass and glinting rock of the Beartooth Plateau. Snow addicts from all corners of western Montana chat-up complete strangers, spinning yarns about perilous lines as they prep for the next plunge. It’s mid-June along the Montana-Wyoming border. Temps likely push the 80s at lower elevations. Back in Missoula, my roommate probably has the lawn mower going. But up in the Beartooths, the only responsibility is carving as many turns as possible. Our vehicles sit in a ragged line along the shoulder of U.S. Highway 212, which snakes up from Red Lodge before leveling out for almost 10 miles en route to Yellowstone National Park to the south. We’re just shy of the 10,947foot Beartooth Pass, some of the most rugged and beautiful country in the lower 48. Abundant snowfall renders the road to nearby Cooke City impassable for nearly nine months Chad Harder of the year, and it opened just a few weekends ago. The author waits on a Chevy sherpa. To us that means one thing: the summer season is on. peratures and a darkening revealed articles and blog Skiing in June creates some posts from die-hard skiers who plateau. Man, I hope this works. logistical challenges, though— had braved the plateau’s mainly, getting yourself back The Beartooth Plateau steeps for years. Their success to the top without a chairlift. unfolds like some remote lakeonly strengthened my resolve. The proximity of Highway 212 pocked island, several thouBut now that I’m here, I’m inspired a half-baked idea. I sand feet higher than any having my doubts. Fail to get a would park the car up top, ski ride, and I could be stuck on the Montana ski resort save Big down, and use my thumb as a Sky and Moonlight Basin. roadside, several miles and lift ticket. It seemed an easy More than a dozen neighborhundreds of vertical feet from and relatively sweat-free plan. ing peaks break 12,000 feet. my Subaru. I take a pull from a The notion hardly proved orig- growler, trying to wash down The high alpine terrain inal. A quick Google search makes the Beartooths a sumthe image of plummeting temMontana Headwall
Page 40 January–March 2010
mertime mecca for ski enthusiasts lamenting the end of yet another season. Snowpack can hold out well into July on the plateau. Similar locales in Glacier National Park and on the Rocky Mountain Front hold late-season snowfields, but the bountiful drainages and basins along Highway 212 offer the decisive advantage of a hitchhiking option. You don’t need costly alpine touring gear
Jesse Froehling and I decide Gardner Lake basin and pull and long hikes through soggy to hike a mile or two to a skinny over to greet them. Sure enough, snow to get your fix. Weather they’ve just finished their second track of snow off the Rock Creek permitting, you could net a fiveHeadwall overlooking the run. Surprisingly good condirun day. Back in 1966, Austrians Eric Sailer, Pepi Gramshammer and Anderl the run fast, my knees screaming Molterer founded a ski area on the pass to train through the soft, U.S. Olympic hopefuls in the Twin Lakes basin, a steep bowl mere feet from of spring thaw. The between the highway. Their old rope tow—powered by the rear wheel of a Jeep—has cliff faces, than widens and since become two highspeed Poma lifts, the mainstays of the Red Lodge International Ski and Custer National Forest. The rest tions, they say. The snow won’t Snowboard Camp. You can ride the lifts for $45 a day, but capaci- get manky for a few more hours. of our crew will pick him up at the bottom and head for our We backtrack along the plateau ty is limited to 100, and riders campsite outside Red Lodge, to a spot near the Montana bormust be advanced enough to leaving me to try my luck with der and I park my car, anxious handle the terrain. There’s no late-afternoon drivers. for my turn. bunny slope here. The free alternative is a thumb and a prayer. More than 900 vehicles cross the plateau every day, slowing to a crawl along the highway’s flats and switchbacks. Drivers have plenty of time to size you up and take pity. That’s what I’m telling myself, at least. And a few friends who are willing to brave the Beartooth steeps are totally on board. Of course, my plan isn’t exactly foolproof. I’ve thumbed a ride or two over the years, but I wouldn’t call myself an expert. Throw in the handicap of toting skis, boots, poles and a full daypack, and scoping a safe descent from the roadside seems the least of my worries. But as I cross the border into Wyoming, the sun high over the plateau, the reservations ease. All I can think about now is making tracks.
I drop into
irregular gullies
chute narrows
Ribbons of snowmelt zigzag between scrub-covered hills. After some disoriented wandering, Froehling and I find a drainage I scouted earlier with Google. The snow below us ends abruptly at a jumble of boulders. About 30 yards beyond is a highway switchback and a wide turnout. I drop into the run fast, my knees screaming through the soft, irregular gullies of spring thaw. The . chute narrows between cliff faces, then widens and veers sharply left. I dodge patches of exposed rock and sun-crusted snow. Rivulets of slush spray up behind my battered Atomics. Fifteen hundred vertical feet pass in 25 turns. Before I know it I’m standing where snow meets rock, cracking a cool can of beer and practicing my ride-winning grin. Turns out catching a lift up the Beartooth Pass requires no real strategy, no Kerouac finesse. Mike Watkins flicks on his turn signal almost before I have a chance to stick out my thumb. He leaves his covered green pickup running while he lowers the tailgate and I slide my gear in next to two German shepherds, Draus and Cecil. They growl at the boots hanging off my pack. In the cab, a third shepherd named Liesel clambers back and forth across the seat, tail beating against the windshield. “She don’t bite,” Watkins tells me as I push Liesel’s tongue back into her mouth. “Don’t worry.” Watkins, a Forest Service retiree from Red Lodge, tells me he drives to the plateau on summer evenings to walk his barkhappy trio. He snugs his cap down over his glasses. Not much of a talker, unless he’s reiterating “Liesel doesn’t bite.” The sight of a skier on the side
veers sharply left
My friends and I traveled separately, and I’m willing to bet they’re a few runs up on the day. I catch sight of them hiking back to the road out of the
Chad Harder
Chad Harder
After 25 turns, celebrating beer-thirty. of the highway—hell, the act of giving him a lift—doesn’t seem to shake Watkins. He says crowds of snow-deprived powder hounds are all too common. Fifteen minutes and six miles later, we pull up next to my car. Our goodbye consists of a polite handshake exchanged over the truck’s stick shift. Liesel gives me a parting lick. I ask myself why I’ve settled for chairlifts all these years. The next morning, heavy gray clouds amble in from the west. The weather’s good for now, but we’ll get rain by midafternoon. A choice descent off the Gardner Headwall sits within snowball range of the road, less than a mile from the pass. I hike over with the others and we speed down one of the chutes in a broken line, turning up small chunks of granite. Halfway down I stop and gaze at Gardner Lake’s icy shoreline below. Another clutch of skiers picks through a narrower chute to my right. Gardner drops 800 feet in less time than it takes to strap on ski boots. The highway skirts the ridge of the basin, and we have Montana Headwall
to hoof it up the snowy slope to hit pavement. Each step feels like three on flat ground. Back on the roadside, Greg Nelson, an appliance technician from Bozeman, supplies a ride to any-
Joe Weston
Page 42 January–March 2010
one interested. No thumb needed this time. Seven people, friends and strangers, climb into the bed of his pickup. Three more squeeze into the cab. I hang my legs off the tailgate,
sandwiched between two more Bozemanites. One sports a “Montana Mogul ’97” T-shirt, dark green shorts and a handlebar mustache with flecks of white.
much. We strike up an instant “You got something to hold camaraderie, limited only by onto?” he asks. I nod, hooking how long the weather and our my fingers in the crack between adrenal rushes hold out. It feels the gate and the bed. “Well, let like strolling into your choice me know if you start to slip. I’ll watering hole after a cold day on catch you.” the slopes, only here, the party As we wind up the switchstays outside. backs to the Nelson’s act pass, we disconsists of giving us a cuss the lift has paid snowpack, off for everythe peaks of a one in interrupting swapped the horizon, exchanged over the beers and and the danwild stories. ger of falling Then onto the stick shift. Liesel there’s the road. clank and Our ride slap of gives me a ends and the shouldered mountaintop equipment party begins. I ask myself why and we’re We chase back to the sips of water Gardner with gulps I’ve chairHeadwall for of beer, another run. laughing as lifts all these . Lightning we talk. A skitters few seaacross the soned salts sky behind me. Raindrops patfrom Bozeman’s Bridger Bowl regale us with tales of record ter on my coat sleeve, the prelsnow years, nostalgia for winter ude to a storm and the day’s drifting between lines of converearly end. I pause for a second sation. Talk moves from favorite on the tongue of snow above microbreweries to accounts of the chute, wondering if I should what brought several out-ofsavor this final run of the seastaters to the plateau today. son. Whatever. By the time I Some resort bars might have carve my second turn, I’m maka lot going for them, but not this ing plans to come back.
Our goodbye
handshake
truck’s
parting
lick.
settled for
years
Chad Harder
Montana Headwall
Page 43 January–March 2010
Thrills without frills
by George Ochenski
HEAD TRIP
At Altoona Ridge, the solitude’s as deep as the snow
T
he ridge sweeps away in a breathtaking panorama to the high peaks of the Flint Creek Range where the white-clad massif of Mount Powell dominates the skyline. Falling to the valley below are dozens of steep chutes and fingers of old growth with tempting, untracked powder stashes we’re about to ski. It’s springtime in the valleys and Montana’s downhill areas are all closed. But here, just a short ski from the fledgling Altoona Ridge Lodge, north-facing slopes hold high quality snow awaiting bold descents. The route to this isolated, little-visited mountain range begins at the tiny town of Maxville, tucked just off Highway 1, the state’s first designated Scenic Highway, which runs from Anaconda up to Georgetown Lake and then down the beautiful, largely agricultural Flint Creek Valley to Drummond. Altoona owner Denison von Maur meets us at a trailhead, and we load our gear into the industrialstrength sled he’ll tow to the lodge with his snowmobile. Off he goes, quickly covering the miles that separate his operation from the bustle and noise of humanity. Soon enough, he’s back, and we grab the trailing ropes and hang on for dear life as he hauls us on skis up the rutted, icy trail to a small collection of woodsided cabins. There’s a main lodge with its common room and kitchen, and a nearby sauna and shower house. Close by, but far enough away for privacy, two creamy white felt Tibetan yurts provide comfy
Chad Harder
sleeping quarters for guests, their contours melding with the deep snow surrounding them. We unpack our backcountry skiing gear, enjoying the view of distant mountain ranges and the steep rock cliffs jutting up on the opposite side of the drainage below. The deck of the main lodge, which sits high above the steep hillside below, is airy and comfortable, a great place to lay out the day’s equipment as the wood stove roars away inside. We pore over topo maps of the area that von Maur has laid out on the dining room table as he explains the various options for our skiing adventure. Experienced backcountry skiers all, we’re drawn to the steeper slopes, where the wiggly lines on the map lie close together. But truth be told, there’s plenty of lesschallenging terrain available for those who prefer a mellow crosscountry or snowshoe over the heart-pounding thrill of rock-bound chutes. Following von Maur’s lead, we’re soon headed through the gently-rising forest toward the powder bowls he has promised us. Sure enough, breaking from the pines onto a rocky promontory, we’re greeted by a stunning
Chad Harder
Chad Harder
vista of untracked snow. “Americans are used to riding lifts and not hiking for their skiing,” says von Maur, who spent much of his life in Switzerland. “What I’m trying to provide is more of a European-style backcountry experience where you hike to earn your turns without the crowds or noise of typical downhill areas.” We peel the climbing skins from our skis and then check our avalanche beacons one last time to make sure each of us is capable of sending and receiving the
Chad Harder
Above: Home fires burn bright in Altoona’s main lodge. Below: A high, untracked ridge in the Flint Creek range. Opposite: Lodge owner Denison von Maur endures the daily grind. Inset: Warmth and goodness.
Chad Harder
life-saving signals. But then the time for talking is over and the time for turning has come. Launching himself down through the steep trees and rocks, von Maur carves a lovely line in the uncut snow, followed closely by the rest of us. Clutched in gravity’s fist, we find the shaded powder snow delightfully light and fluffy, but are challenged by the breakable crust in areas warmed by direct sun during the day, only to be frozen hard again every night. Hours of skiing down and climbing back up leave us spent but happy as we turn our backs on the powder bowl and make the gentle tour back to the lodge. Kicking off our boots and wind shells, we enjoy the afterMontana Headwall
noon sun on the deck, downing some local microbrews or sublimely refreshing gin and tonics, and looking forward to the
fades, and we’re treated to a display of the Milky Way only found miles away from urban light pollution.
Sure enough, breaking from the pines onto
a rocky
promontory,
greeted by a of
we’re
stunning vista
untracked snow.
evening’s meal. Afterward, we’ll fire up the small-but-efficient sauna to soothe our aching muscles. Stars fill the sky as day Page 46 January–March 2010
The sauna, as hoped, is hot and totally relaxing, but unfortunately, the water lines are frozen, so we can’t shower away the
day’s sweaty residues. As in any new small business, von Maur still has kinks to work out, and keeping the sweet spring water flowing through the pipes in the dead of winter without the benefit of electricity continues to be a challenge. We head home the next day after a restful sleep in the total quiet of the deep mountains, thankful for the simple but gratifying experience of von Maur’s hideaway. His dream for the Altoona Ridge Lodge continues to grow and evolve with numerous improvements since our visit. But for those seeking a rare and genuine backcountry experience with minimal frills, Altoona is a worthy destination.
Way to go Altoona Ridge Lodge offers rugged backcountry ski adventures at 8,000 feet in the mountains by Maxville, Montana. There’s a two-day minimum stay; bookings must be made at least five days in advance. Getting there: Reaching the lodge in winter (and/or leaving for medical or other reasons) is not a trivial matter. Guests can either ski or snowshoe the five miles in, or have owner-guide Denison von Maur tow them by snowmobile. Either method will test guests’ fitness. Von Maur can also tow your gear. Packages: The “fully inclusive backcountry experience” provides meals, a guide, a basic avalanche safety lesson and snowmobile portage. Prices: $100$150 nightly per person, with lower rates for weekdays and larger groups. Wilder still: Experienced backcountry skiers can try the “solo group” package, for full use of the lodge, sauna and kitchen. At least one person in the group must be certified in wilderness safety, and a group leader must provide a resumé to prove experience. A guide ($75 per day) is mandatory for the first day. Prices: $35-$75 nightly per person. For details: Go to www.altoonaridgelodge.com, call 406-493-6810, or email Denison@ AltoonaRidgeLodge.com.
Joe Weston
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Student Marie examines cougar tracks.
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Page 47 January–March 2010
www.mtheadwall.com
HEAD OUT
JANUARY January 2 Take the last of your holiday candy—the part you’re carrying around on your torso—down to Bozeman’s Headwaters Park for the Franklin’s Fat Ass 50K, an outdoor fun run offering you the chance to crank out as many 5Ks as you want. Jog to www.winddrinkers.org for details. January 5 Bone up on what might be coming down during the West Central Montana Avalanche Foundation’s Level One Avalanche Class, consisting of two evenings in the classroom and two days on the slopes. The cost: $150 for this session with additional sessions throughout the winter. For more, probe www.missoulaavalanche.org. January 17 At Lookout Mountain’s Winter Carnival, you can ski the pow, shred the gnar and try your hand at a modern reinterpretation of the old ball and chain: the Pacific Northwest National Wife Carrying Contest. Drop in on skilookout.com for specifics.
Chad Harder
January 23 Dust off your varmint gun for the Seeley Lake Challenge Biathlon, a 10K classic or skate-ski race with 10 targets along the route, the highlight of the three-day Seeley Lake Area Winterfest. The event includes novice divisions and safety classes as well as a chance to sight-in. Take aim at www.seeleylakechamber.com for more info. January 23 Pull up a bucket and drop a line in Clark Canyon Reservoir for your chance to win at the Stan Shafer Memorial Ice Fishing Derby, kicking off at 7 a.m. about 20 miles south of Dillon. E-mail hunterstaxidermy@hughes.net. January 23 Skin up and ski down the slopes of Whitefish Mountain Resort randonee style for the Whitefish Whiteout Ski Mountaineering Race. Two levels of difficulty are offered, requiring between two and four ascents with total vertical of between 2,000 and 4,000 feet. Details are available at skiwhitefish.com. January 31 Unleash your athletic ambition at the Powder Hound Winter Triathlon, featuring a 5K-run, 10K-
mountain bike and 5K-Nordic ski brought to you by Butte’s Homestake Lodge and the Bozeman Triathlon Club. Visit bozemantritons.org for info.
FEBRUARY February 7 Tell your kids about how, when you were a kid back in Norway, you had to ski uphill both ways to school during Barnelopet, a non-competitive children’s cross-country ski race staged at the Lubrecht Experimental Forest. Sponsored by the Missoula Sons of Norway Normanden Lodge, the free event promises medallions for all children, and treats and raffle prizes, too. Parents are welcome to ski with their children. For information call Karen at 721-4947 or Leslie at 273-2815. February 13-14 What better way to show your honey how much you love her than by taking her to two days of United States Ski and Snowboard Association-sanctioned moguls, freestyle and aerial contests? The high drama unfolds during the Northern Division Freestyle Competition at Snowbowl. For all the romance, go to www.montanasnowbowl.com.
February 19-20 Celebrate a half-century of winter recreation at the Red Lodge Winter Carnival, which promises to deliver a lively blend of events for the family, including a parade, piñata busting and downhill racing on a conveyance built on the spot from cardboard and duct tape. Find out more at www.redlodgemountain.com. February 27 Grow serious snot-cicles during the Snow Joke Half-Marathon, an annual winter run on plowed roads around Seeley Lake. Expect icy patches, but then you already know that if you’re in any kind of shape to attempt this race. Start time is 11:00 a.m., with race-day-only registration from 8:45 a.m. to 10:30 a.m. The info’s at www.cheetahherders.com. February 27 Earn your turns at Lookout Mountain’s Up Down Ski Race, a lung-busting skin-up race to the top, paired with an agility-demanding skier cross race to the finish line followed by a spaghetti feed for season pass-holders. Visit skilookout.com. February 27-28 Witness the spectacle of human flight on alpine skis at the Snowbowl Cup Gelande Championship, an annual exhibition in which people in tight suits travel up to 200 feet through the air in hot pursuit of an $8,000 cash purse. You probably can’t join them, but you can watch from the deck with a Bloody Mary in hand. Fly to www.montanasnowbowl.com.
MARCH March 6 Win a prize for everything but the fastest time during the 29th annual Pinhead Classic at Bridger Bowl, a costume race for telemark skiers in which spirit counts as much as skill, and the benefits go to the Gallatin National Forest Avalanche Center. Lock in at www.pinheadclassic.com. March 12-14 If winter air doesn’t seem quite as crisp to you without a whiff of diesel, you belong at the 20th World Snowmobile Expo in West Yellowstone, culminating a year of motorized snow sports with racing galore and an exhibi-
Chad Harder
tion of next year’s gear. Start your engines at www.snowmobileexpo.com. March 18-21 Kick up your heels during the U.S. Telemark National Championships at Whitefish Mountain Resort, and watch Telemark Ski Team members (including four-time champ Kelsey Schmid-Sommer) vie for the national title. Races for all ages and levels allow mere mortals to ski, too. Catch the drift at www.ustsa.org. March 20-21 Enjoy cowboy cool at the Izaak Walton Inn during the Snow Rodeo, where you can bronc ride bareback down the mountain on a horse made of inner tubes and skis, rope a wooden goat while schussing, or harness your inner draft horse in the chuckwagon race. Visit www.izaakwaltoninn.com for the roundup. March 28 In stalwart, less-is-more style, Snowbowl’s annual North Dakota Downhill asks you to conserve your momentum in order to make the most of some flat-as-a-prairie terrain in this race to the farthest, not fastest, finish. Glide your mouse to www.montanasnowbowl.com for details. March 29-April 4 If you need a shot of adrenaline, go fly a kite—and strap yourself to it—at the Montana Snowkite Rodeo, a freestyle and racing event headquartered at Jackson Hot Springs with daily forays into the mountains around the Big Hole Valley. Book a flight at www.montanakitesports.com. Montana Headwall
APRIL April 3 Moonlight Basin’s Headwaters—the steepest in-bound terrain in the nation—hosts the 5th annual Headwaters Spring Runoff, a draw to alpinists, telemarkers and knuckle draggers from across the Northwest. Hike up from the top of Six Shooter at 9:30 a.m. and pick your line to descend for speed and style—or take in the spectacle from Stillwater Bowl. For detailed beta, point at www.moonlightbasin.com. April 10 You’ve spent all winter on frozen water; try your luck at the liquid stuff when Big Sky Resort hosts its annual wet and wild Pond Skim. Competitors in costumes see how far they can make it across an icy cold pond at the bottom of Ambush. Space is limited to participants; the fee is $20. Slide your mouse to www.bigskyresort.com to learn more. April 17 Race course designers promise to take full advantage of the 28,000-acre Lubrecht Experimental Forest and the 37,000-acre Resort at Paws Up for the third annual GrizzlyMan Adventure Race and Black Bear Challenge, sponsored by The Rocky Mountaineers. Both races require trail running, orienteering, trekking off-trail and mountain biking; the Grizzly course includes whitewater paddling as well. With an estimated 8to-10-hour duration, the GrizzlyMan counts as a qualifier for the 2010 U.S. Adventure Racing Association nationals. Advance registration is required at grizzlymanrace.com. Page 49 January–March 2010
HEAD GEAR by Aaron Teasdale
he glistening powder field lay below me in all of its irresistibly seductive glory. Though I stood on cross-country skis, I decided this would be a perfect time to impress my wife with my telemarking prowess. As she took video, I charged into the snow in my best athletic stance, ready to float through the froth. Then, on the border of sun and shade, the snow grabbed and my face-plant came sudden and fast. Really more of a face-plow, I slid for an impressive distance, my head furrowing through the snow. In the video, my wife can be heard unsuccessfully suppressing her laughter while I sit up and attempt to unpack the ice corks from my nostrils. If only I’d had the Karhu 10th Mountains. A hybrid of cross-country and alpine skis, the 10th Mountains are equally adept at skipping through meadows and carving turns down mountain snow fields. Sporting a fish-scale pattern on the base for traction (like waxless cross-country setups), and a generous sidecut with a full metal edge for turning and stability (like alpine gear), they’re as close as you can get to a do-anything, go-anywhere ski. Other brands have similar features, but 10th Mountains are different in two critical ways: they’re fatter and they have less camber. Part of Karhu’s XCD line (XCD stands for “cross-country downhill”), the 10th Mountains measure 99 millimeters at the tip, 68 at the waist, and 84 at the tail—dimensions a lot like the alpine skis you might have used a decade ago. Karhu’s XCD line also includes the even fatter Guide model, which adds 10 mil-
T
Photo courtesy of Karhu
limeters to each of the above widths. But you can’t beat the 10th Mountains for sheer versatility. Their unique camber—the amount of flex or arc in the ski itself—is a big reason why. Traditional cross-country skis have a double camber, which makes turning them perilous but gives them lots of spring for efficient kick-and-gliding (and face-planting). Alpine and telemark skis have a single camber for supple, stable descending and easy turning, but they’re too heavy and flat for trying to cover ground on the flats. The light, efficient 10th Mountains elegantly combine the benefits of both by having a camber and a quarter—which means there’s some spring to enable classic cross-country touring technique, but not so much that it destabilizes you going downhill. Depending on how you plan to ski, you can rig them with a variety of bindings and boots. For pure kick-and-glide performance, a light 3-pin or backcountry NNN or SNS binding would work well. But if you want to eat up miles and make turns, an ideal setup is the Voile 3-pin Cable binding ($85, www.voile-usa.com) with the Garmont Excursion boot ($420, www.garmontusa.com). The Excursion, a lightweight, ankle-height boot made of soft plastic, skis remarkably well in the flats, but delivers real power for turning. The simple Voile 3-pin is the most versatile binding in all of skiing; take the heel cables off for unrestricted cruising on mellow terrain, or put the cables on for maximum control on descents. The Voile-Karhu combo makes a super-stable setup that feels light underfoot while cruising logging roads or climbing, and descends anything that looks inviting along the way. You could even try this svelte setup in a ski area, if you wanted to try to “out-pure” your fellow telemarkers, but that would be missing the point. These boards are meant for the backcountry. Think of them as cross-country skis on steroids, or the nordic version of a cyclocross bike. If, like me, you love skiing in the woods, but find groomed tracks too inhibiting and tame, the Karhu 10th Mountains might just become your favorites.
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Montana Headwall
Page 51 January–March 2010
by Matt Gibson
HEAD GEAR
$pree Heeling Curious about backcountry skiing? We’ve bought everything you need. Until recently, visiting alpine wilderness in mid-winter seemed insanely dangerous to me and stupidly uncomfortable. There’s a reason James Curran invented the chairlift in 1936, and there’s no fun in suffocating under avalanche debris or freezing to death. But when I committed last season to spending more than the usual couple of days at the ski hill and made an extra effort to put in some quality time on the cross-country trails, I started to change my mind. I wound up enjoying more than 20 days on skis, including a 17-mile Nordic trip that boosted my comfort level and my confidence. I realized that you don’t need to be second cousin to a wolverine to venture offpiste, and even soft, middle-aged men of moderate skiing ability can find safe ways to have a backcountry blast. And when I learned that numerous cozy alpine huts cater to wellupholstered tenderfoots like me, I got inspired. This season, I’m going for it. I’ve got my eye on the slackcountry near Snowbowl, along with the ever-popular Crystal Theater area near Lolo Pass, and by spring I aim to tackle some of the bigger terrain in the Bitterroots and maybe find my way to one of those chill huts—albeit one with a chef. But first I would need some gear. With a couple of predictable rationalizations to explain myself to the wife, I ventured out, credit card at the ready.
Cathrine L. Walters
BINDINGS
Cathrine L. Walters
Montana Headwall
Page 52 January–March 2010
The first decision for the aspiring backcountry skier inevitably revolves around bindings. Unlike resort-style alpine bindings, which adhere to unified design parameters, there’s no single backcountry standard, so you need to choose a format, in a manner of speaking. But first, a brief aside about telemarking. It doesn’t interest me. It’s like fishing with a bamboo pole or shooting with a muzzleloader—elegant traditions, for sure, but past their moment in history. Modern alpine touring gear (Euros call it randonée, but we say AT) allows the boot to pivot for cross-country kick-gliding but locks down the heel for descents, a configuration that moves more naturally, weighs less and makes skiing easier. My tele-turning friends say unless you’re already a devotee, don’t bother. Your face will thank you each time you avoid planting it. (Telemarking faithful, send your hate mail to me at gibson@mtheadwall.com.)
AT bindings fall into two basic categories: step-in, familiar to resort skiers; and Tech, a solution developed by a company called Dynafit that requires a special boot. The step-ins work a lot like normal alpine bindings, except they’re built on a hinge that pivots at the toe, allowing the whole binding to swing with the boot during cross-country travel. Marker and Fritschi make the best-known versions. Because they’ll work with a standard alpine boot, the step-ins offer versatility, and the Markers in particular have a reputation for providing a super-solid connection to the ski. But they’re relatively heavy, and that matters plenty when you’re earning your turns. Tech bindings like the Dynafits work by clamping the toe in a sort of pincer, and they require boots with special metal inserts
designed to receive the binding’s unique pins. In touring mode, the boot swings freely on the pins. The Dynafits look slight, but Chris Ennis at The Trail Head in Missoula—where I kitted up with skis, boots and bindings—says they’re completely reliable. “These Tech-style bindings can certainly be skied as everyday ski bindings,” says Ennis, who estimates he spends 30 to 40 days a year on his backcountry gear. “The only binding I’m going to have is a Dynafit binding, and I’m not worried about it.” Between the enthusiastic endorsement and the weight savings, I was sold. I seriously considered the new G3 Onyx, which puts Dynafit’s technology into a beefier package, but it’s heavier and would have cost more, making it an easy call.
BOOTS Once you choose a binding, you’ll know whether you need a boot with Tech inserts. But if you go with a step-in and your ambitions don’t extend farther than the slackcountry adjacent to the local ski area, you might not need new boots at all. A standard downhill boot can offer passable touring performance on short climbs out of bounds. Just unbuckle the cuff and away you go. For the budget conscious, mounting a Fritschi Diamir Freeride or a Marker Baron binding on the alpine skis already in the garage and using them with alpine boots can make good sense and save $700. But if you envision climbing more than a few hundred feet to earn your turns, you’ll want a purpose-built backcountry boot. With upright walk modes, lugged soles for traction, and lightweight materials, specialized backcountry boots promise all-day comfort when there’s no resting your feet on a chairlift. Some of the latest models, like the Black Diamond Factor, boast downhill performance that rivals the burliest alpine boots, delivering the goods for hard-charging experts on the
gnarliest steeps. At the other end of the spectrum, lightweight touring boots like the Scarpa F3 emphasize comfort for long days of traveling, but sacrifice some carving muscle in the bargain. Since I’m not a particularly powerful skier, I don’t need a brawny boot, and I narrowed my options to the all-purpose Garmont Radium and Scarpa Spirit 4, two popular kicks that look like they can go anywhere and do anything. Obviously, fit’s key, so Ennis and I spent a lot of time evaluating the comfort of each boot. I’ve got an extremely high arch with a wider-than-average foot. The Scarpas have less volume above the arch and put pressure on the top of my feet. The Garmonts have a slimmer forefoot, which cramped my piggies. Both boots come with custom moldable liners to accommodate anatomical oddities and minimize discomfort, and I wound up with the Garmonts, which felt better right out of the box and have a more fluid walk mode. Thank God, because the mucusgreen Spirit 4s happened to be the ugliest boots on the shelf.
Cathrine L. Walters
www.mtheadwall.com
HEAD GEAR
SKIS Backcountry boots and bindings don’t come in a whole lot of different flavors, and with a little research, most anybody should be able to zero in on suitable gear. But skis present an overwhelming number of options, enough to create serious distress at the moment of decision, especially if you don’t bother to demo them. In my case, I thought I wanted one thing, probably should have bought another, but ended up with a third: some K2 Coombacks (named in honor of the late Doug Coombs, a world-class ski-mountaineer who attended Montana State University). Of course, I’m totally in love with them and can’t wait to try them out on the snow, but I have no idea if I actually made the best choice. Backcountry-specific skis are very similar to your standard alpine sticks, and your current resort gear might work just fine. But a dedicated backcountry ski typically uses less metal in its construction to keep the weight down, which pays off when you’re climbing for hours just to make one 20-minute descent. Even within the backcountry subset, you’ll find all the variety you can handle: twin tips, powder pigs, touring specialists, big mountain brutes, and everything in between. For the most part, think fat. My Coombacks have a width of 102 millimeters at the waist, pretty typical of the genre. Skis that wide would have been compared to snowboards just a few years ago, but modern carvehappy sidecuts make them manageable, even on firm snow. I initially thought I’d go narrower, figuring that something in the 88 millimeter range underfoot would edge more reliably on settled spring snow. But Ennis convinced me that I’d appreciate the Coombacks on powder days at the resort as well as in the backcountry, and I was eager to try the newfangled rockered tip, this season’s trendiest wave in ski technology. Rockered designs bend the front part of the ski higher, in the opposite direction of a traditional camber, to improve float in powder and initiate turns more easily. One of my buddies bought some rockered K2s last season and loved them on deep snow, so I’m curious. Then again, I’m a little bit concerned the Coombacks will get squirrelly in firm conditions, and I think I might have been happy with a pair of Voile Insanes. The Insanes share similar dimensions to the Coombacks but without the rocker, and they supposedly maintain terrific grip on hard snow. The Voiles cost less too. But Ennis closed the deal on the $650 Coombacks when he reminded me, “You’re not buying a ski for the bad days.” Once you find some skis, you’ll need to add skins, sticky strips of fabric that fix to the bases to help you climb. (Reality check: You’ll spend 90 percent of your backcountry time working, very slowly, to gain altitude.) Directional fibers allow skins to glide forward without slipping back, enabling uphill progress without awkward side-stepping. Make sure to get them large enough to cover the widest part of your skis, and try not to flinch at the cash register. They’ll set you back about $150.
Cathrine L. Walters
SAFETY GEAR Avoiding death and injury rank high among my list of priorities, so there’s no way I’m venturing into the mountains during winter unprepared—and you shouldn’t either. At minimum, you’ll need an avalanche transceiver and a shovel, and an avalanche probe is a good idea, too. Avalanche transceivers broadcast and receive distinctive radio signals, allowing rescuers to find buried victims and dig them out before they die of exposure or asphyxiation. They’re specialized pieces of equipment, and require some instruction to use correctly. When your buddy’s life depends on you, you should know which button to push. The West Central Montana Avalanche Center (missoulaavalanche.org) offers classes and maintains a special beacon park at Lolo Pass where you can practice your skills. I haven’t yet received any training, but when I got my transceiver at Pipestone Mountaineering in Missoula, general manager Dave Kratochvil explained the important features to me. Most transceivers on the market use computer technology to evaluate incoming signals, and they can point searchers in the correct direction to find the victim. Most people go with the Backcountry Access (BCA) Tracker DTS, Kratochvil says. At $290 full retail, it’s not cheap, but it’s still far less expensive than some of the others in the store, some priced north of $500. The Tracker uses a series of LED lights arrayed in an arc to indicate which direction to look, and it estimates the distance to the victim, but it can’t point backward if the person lies directly behind you. For better performance, Kratochvil steered me toward the sleek Mammut Pulse Barryvox, describing it as “the cutting edge” of avalanche transceivers. The $450 Pulse displays directional arrows on an LCD screen and can point out a victim anywhere in a 360-degree circumference. It distinguishes between multiple signals (if more than one of your buddies gets buried), and if you’re the one in trouble, it relays your
vital signs. I wasn’t really sold, though, until Kratochvil convinced me the Pulse finds victims faster. In trials at the Lolo Pass beacon park, people using it for the very first time to locate buried test signals broke speed records set with other devices, he says. That’s potentially a life or death difference. For a deal on the Pulse, try Backcountry Racks on Stockyard Road in Missoula. The store carries a full complement of backcountry ski gear and
Cathrine L. Walters
advertises the Pulse for $399 on its Web site, backcountryfreeskier.com. In trained hands, avalanche transceivers can get a pretty close fix on people, but to pinpoint the location, you’ll need an avalanche probe. Probes are very simple devices—just long, thin poles that collapse to packable size. When your transceiver indicates you’re on top of a victim, you can use the probe to locate the body in the snow and determine how deeply the person is buried. Again, a little training goes a long way. Most probes are aluminum, but the weight-obsessed can spend a few dollars more to upgrade to carbon fiber. Expect to spend $50 to $80. Of course, locating avalanche victims does no good unless you can actually rescue them, so backcountry travelers need a shovel, too. When you’re not saving your partner, they’re helpful for digging snow caves and test pits for avalanche assessment as well. Specialized shovels designed for backcountry skiers employ telescoping aluminum handles with detachable blades. Size counts, as bigger blades move more snow faster. Sturdy construction matters, too. A broken handle at a bad time can spell disaster. Count on parting with around $50.
PACKS You don’t really need a special pack to go backcountry skiing, but you should get one anyway. It will help you organize your gear efficiently and carry your skis for those forays across bare ground. For modest outings beyond the ropes at the resort, Kratochvil says a 20-liter capacity serves nicely. For day trips, you’ll want at least 30 liters, and overnighters require 40-plus. You’ll find lots of packs to choose from. Fit matters most, so you’ll definitely want to try the pack on in the store to judge its comfort, preferably with some skis strapped aboard. Kratochvil
suggests avoiding designs that force you to carry skis A-frame style—with tips or tails coming together above or below the pack and the opposite ends splayed—because you end up kicking your skis when you step. Better to carry them “Jacksonstyle,” with both skis oriented diagonally across the pack. I settled on a 30-liter Osprey Kode, a new model that sports separate compartments for wet stuff like my shovel, and dry, like my clothes; an insulated sleeve to keep the hose on my hydration bladder from freezing; and a handy mesh net to hold my helmet.
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THE RECKONING
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My final bill rounded up to $2,500. If I wasn’t justifying it all as “work related” I might have skimped more. I could have easily saved $1,000 by foregoing the boots, bargaining for some of last year’s skis from an overstocked dealer, mounting them with step-in bindings, and opting for a less expensive transceiver. Nevertheless, it’s money well spent considering I’ve now got a season-after-season-after-season pass to just about every tasty backcountry slope I can find, along with a nice setup for deep days at the resort. As the calendar rolls to December and the snow starts to pile up in the mountains, I can’t wait to find out what I’ve been missing all these years.
158 Ryman Street Downtown Missoula Cathrine L. Walters
Montana Headwall
406/721-6061
Page 55 January–March 2010
The Crux CONTINUED FROM PAGE 58 my act of rebellion, a protest to hold on to tradition as long as possible. Last year, I reckon I handshoveled 20 tons of snow to keep the muse alive for my son, a native Montanan who will know a different future while still drawing upon this shared past. The payoff from my icy nocturnal rite comes when I see the wonder flash in his eyes after he gets home from school, or proudly surprises his friends with what awaits. He’ll slide across the slippery glare on his Sorel boots, scramble indoors to grab his shin pads and breezers, and lace up his blades. Sometimes, in my office nearby, I’ll try to write a line only to close my eyes and listen to the familiar rhythm of his strides, the syncopation of his stickhandling and the snapping
pop of a shot on net. “Dad, do you want to play?” he asks. I try to be stoic and coy. “Do you think your rink can hold back an old man?” I respond. Soon, we’re going hard, one on one, oblivious to time and temperature until dinner and nightfall. We wave off my wife (his mother) imploring us to give it up. We’re not ready to quit. My son is now taller than I, more skilled with the puck. He fills more of the surface, though he swears it is still as large. When he’s asleep in his room surrounded by posters of Sidney Crosby, having his own hockey dreams, I head out again to shovel, then sweep, and hose down the ground a couple of times after midnight. Maybe if I can defy climate, then perhaps, too, I can hold off time.
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Montana Headwall
Page 56 January–March 2010
Todd Wilkinson
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Page 57 January–March 2010
by Todd Wilkinson
THE CRUX
The human Zamboni An obsessed hockey dad builds a nostalgic gift on ice
M
y bushy black brows are wild abstract ice sculptures; my eyelashes glued shut with frost; my cheeks, once burning half an hour ago, have gone numb. I have no feeling in my fingertips or toes and an ivory snot icicle hangs from my nose. Either deranged or euphoric, I My stand in an artificially-induced fog, which is the atmospheric effect one derives when combining tap water with negative 35-degree air. It’s cryogenically cold, as an the Arctic front swoops down across the mountains of southwest Montana from Canada. While the rest of Bozeman sleeps, I jig along, cocooned in Carhartt, Patagonia, North Face, cheap Army-Navy wool and inner cotton long johns. It’s 2 a.m. and I am a Zen master of liquid alchemy, a human Zamboni laying down thin sheets of H2O for a backyard rink in defiance of global warming. All of us have winter fetishes, or we wouldn’t dwell in northern latitudes. Some cut school and call in sick to snorkel through overnight dumpages of freshies. Others channel their inner surfer to ride single wide boards into curls of alpine waves, or lay down tracks of Nordic calligraphy, or punch their Ski-doos straight up vertical backcountry pitches to taunt (and occasionally be eaten by) the avalanche gods. My November to March addiction is more humble: playing pond hockey, one
addition to an indoor arena, there are park rinks as well as a frozen pothole where a codger caretaker takes it upon himself to chase off kids and adults carrying sticks and pucks in their hands. A speed skater, he regards us as heathen Viking gladiators. Our backyard rink is its own refuge. canvas: and A part of my motivation, admittedly, has roots in nostalgia. The first wedged between breath of freedom I knew was the frigid sting that graced my bronchial tubes on school nights in the 1970s. window and Outdoors, beneath the swaying lightbulbs primitively strung over a $7.99 nozzle makeshift ice, you could see stars in the sky and convince yourself you’d found paradise. That kind of soul hose. attached to a doesn’t exist in indoor ice palaces that rent for $150 an hour. Exposed to the breeze and life force energy that exists between occasional flurries, my friends and I mass and countervailing negative space. brought our wood sticks and a shovel. My medium is frozen water. My canvas: We could daydream that we were in a patch of grass and dandelions wedged game seven of the Stanley Cup, playbetween the kitchen window and the ing before a packed house in Montreal garage. My brush: a $7.99 nozzle or Minneapolis. attached to a garden hose. Winters had meaning. They seem, in Let me assure you scoffers, crafting hindsight, to have been darker and a near perfectly smooth 35-foot-by-60more extended. foot surface of skateable ice on a pondNow, we are in a new century. less, uneven lot is an art form. And if Along with the warm Chinook winds the consistency of glass is your dream— that arrive in January, the balmier winworthy of a pick-up game that won’t ters are bringing a looming threat to leave you tripping into trees—you need pond hockey. Our ice rink has become to become one with your elements. Bozeman has a splendid circuit of Continued on page 56 public places for outdoor hockey. In of the imports brought along a quarter century ago from a boyhood in the upper Midwest. I consider it a gift to my son. The Japanese have bonsai as objects of meditation, to help them channel the
a patch of grass
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garage.
My brush:
garden
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