My Fall to the Dark Side

or "How I became a backcountry skier"

I've been fascinated with the idea of backcountry skiing ever since experiencing the Colorado mountains. I've been cross-country skiing since I was a sprout in the woods of New Hampshire. My parents bought me a succession of old-school wooden, waxed skis at least as old as I was, with directions entirely in a variety of Scandinavian languages ("Toppen tur let!"). I've similarly been doing alpine skiing for a while as well and am a solid blue-black skier, but resort skiing is expensive and I don't mesh well with the resort culture.

Two things have stopped me from jumping in with both feet and buying my own Alpine Touring (Randonee) rig. First, it's bloody expensive! Used resort-skiing gear is easy enough to come by since so many people do it. Backcountry is considerably more "specialty" and hence pricey. Boots and bindings on top of old junker skis would make the whole thing a $1000+ investment, minimum; a bit much for something I'd probably only do a handful of times each season. Second, I'm simply not a good enough alpine skier to handle the ungroomed, out-of-bounds conditions, especially the deep powder everyone out here is so enamored of. They say you should be very comfortable on double-black-diamond resort terrain to even consider backcountry. I can get down most black trails on a good day, but generally it's not pretty. Double-black? Please!

Pseudo-backcountry last summer at Sundance Mountain in RMNP. We hiked and skied in our alpine boots.

Little did I realize at the outset that there is a whole continuum of skiing from flat, groomed nordic touring centers to extreme alpine gnarliness. There is plenty of room in the middle for rolling backcountry terrain and mountain adventure just about my speed.

Part 1 - Dec. 28, 2008

After moping around the house all morning, I realized I could be miserable at home or I could be miserable in the mountains and made the correct choice. Instead of making the long drive all the way to Peaceful Valley, I headed to Nederland and thence to Eldora with the idea of skiing the popular Hessie trail to Lost Lake. This is something I've snowshoed, hiked, and run before, so it's a well-known area to me. Furthermore, it is varied and interesting terrain to really test out my "backcountry" skis; an old set of Choinard Telemarks (thus dating to 1989 at the latest) with three-pin bindings paired with a pair of soft, low-top leather boots my neighbor was getting rid of. (Yes, I'm a dirtbag.) Basically, these things look like the XC skis of my youth, but burlier, with a nominal fish scale pattern and metal edges. In theory, the former allows you to go up moderate hills and the latter down moderate hills.

The wind wasn't bad and it was warm and sunny. The first 1.5 miles on the road was irritating as always, but less annoying than moping around home. Snow cover was a bit thin in spots, but completely packed down by the three thousand snowshoers out for the day. The big climb around the meadow was slightly steeper than my fish scales could handle, but I made it up with only a minimum of sidestepping and herringboning. So far so good! The glades above the meadow were lovely and I made good time, enjoying myself immensely, glad to be out in the woods.

Instead of heading to Lost Lake (which is a steep, narrow trail undoubtedly clogged with unsuspecting hikers), I kept going straight and took the second left for King Lake and Rollins Pass. In the trees here, the snow was very deep and only tracked with a snowshoe "trench" about a foot deep and wide. I encountered a few more short rises steeper than my skis could handle straight-on and had to do a lot of pole work and herringboning. There was no obvious place to quit, so I kept going until I reached about 10,000' (and my turn-around time), had a bite to eat, and headed for home.

The trip down was fantastic! The old waxed, wooden skis of my youth--so old-school that the instructions are in Finnish ("toppen tur let"!)--offer downhill control best described as exciting. The metal edges helped quite a bit, but it was still attention-getting. Skiing down the trench was easy and I hit speeds of 15 mph in an exhilarating run down the trail. Back on the main, packed trail, I kept the speed up and discovered I could actually use the edges for snowplowing and "hockey-stopping" a la resort bunny slope technique. Sweet! Not nearly the control of a proper Alpine or Randonee rig and I don't know a Telemark turn from a hole in the ground, but I kept pretty good control on the way down, only falling a couple of times. The lower sections were most exciting when the snow was the most packed and there were the most rocks. But rocketing past the snowshoe hoards was most satisfying. Even the "flats" turned out to be pretty good downhill slopes when you added in the strong tail wind.

Have rivets, will travel! Retrofitted skins on vintage skis.

In all, it took 1:40 to go 3.5 miles and climb 1100'. The descent took all of 40 minutes (including numerous falls)! It was a great experience and I look forward to more. I realize that this is not proper backcountry skiing, but it beats the hell out of snowshoeing such an easy trail! I'm converted.

Part 2 - January 19, 2008

I played hooky on MLK day (technically it wasn't hooky since I had the day off, but it still felt naught to miss a Monday at work), and headed up to East Portal. East Portal is another area I've been to at least half a dozen times before. The terrain is more challenging than Hessie and the options are more numerous. My goal was Heart and/or Rogers Pass Lakes at above 11,000'; a five mile, 2000' climb from the trailhead.

Just like Hessie, this area is uber-popular with the casual crowd and the trails are largely beaten-down ice. I suffered through the first half mile of gently rising trail before pulling out the skins. My forward glide didn't work too well anymore, but I had loads of traction! Past the big meadow at 1 mile the snow became less beaten down as I'd expected. The first big hill was a breeze and I made quick work of the next couple miles of trail, climbing steadily on the purple skins. The occassional flat sections tempted me to remove them, but it seemed more prudent just to hike on through.

The Divide from Rogers Pass Lake (11,100')

After a long climb, I encountered the "cascades", a series of steep, short drops where the trail wanders through deep powder around some small cliffs. Again, going up this was trivial and shortly I arrived in the largely-untracked open forest immediately below tree line. Two hours up, I made it to Rogers Pass Lake and soaked in the great views and the usual Front Range wind. Lunch, photos, a bit of gloating, and time to turn around.

Off came the skins. Despite the globby, elderly glue, they'd stuck quite well and gotten me up here at least as efficiently as snowshoes would have. Now the fun part! It took a little while to get used to the my new lack of traction and the wind didn't help either. After a lap of the lake, I headed down the first few slopes, falling a couple times, hurrying back into the trees and out of the wind.

It was here that I encountered the irony of the situation: the skins allowed me to get into terrain I couldn't then, comfortably, get out of! I have a hard enough time in powder on heavy, fat alpine skis, never mind free-heel, skinny, XCs. Getting down the cascades was accomplished with a lot of side-stepping, falling, and general gracelessness. But it worked and I had a dandy time alternately gliding and snowplowing down the relatively moderate terrain. Perhaps I should take some tele classes.

Open terrain just below the lake. Lots of sun and wind and hard skiing.

I arrived back at the trailhead only an hour after leaving the lake, similarly stoked and ready for more. It was a great way to spend half a day off and very gratifying that my equipment functions pretty much as I'd hoped.

There is a middle ground between hard-core alpine skiing and groomed XC gliding and so far, it pretty well fits my style. Great! Another hobby. Just what I need.

To Be Continued?

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