St. Johann WC day 1

Back in March the snow started melting and the skiing felt like it was the end of April.  Now that April has rolled around the snow is falling and the mornings feel like January.  Maybe I am just soft and the temperature is getting to my body like I am on vacation for the first time in a snowy climate, but after mentally preparing to ride my bike back in march I think I have gone soft.  At the same time, the late season snow has saved our season as it was starting to look pretty grim at a few of the resorts with brown snow.  Maybe it serves us right for ridding mountain bikes in March, but the storms that have blown through in the last few weeks have brought this layer of Moab dust which is causing the snow to melt at an incredible rate.  However, with one remaining week at a few of the resorts in Colorado, the snow is still great considering the bass-ackwards season we have had.

So, I have given in on the good fight and put my bike away and continued to ski, which after being hurt in January has been an incredible few weeks.  I have experienced some of the deepest turns in years in the last few weeks, which may be a little misfortunate because it will leave the taste of powder in my mouth for the months to come, which will inevitably leave me jonesing for more.  But whatever your fix, be it powder, gravity, coffee, there comes a time that waiting for the next symbiotic dance with your chosen pleasure can be a cross between torture and mental bliss.  Sometimes the waiting makes it all worth it.

Behind every situation there is a hidden meaning.  Sometimes this can be some type of subliminal message conveyed or carried out as a result of many factors like karma, fate, or destiny, but the true meaning holds the answer yet is all in the eyes of the beholder.  For instance, everyone has been some place and experienced a weird feeling like,“what if I was there..?”  or “What if I had boarded that plane..?” “What if I had accepted the invitation and I was there when that happened..?  Would of, could of,should of are all things we say when it comes to remembering the past and thinking about buying stalk in Apple 30 years ago, but in other situations the only thing to say is, “Thank (god) I was not there.”

Whatever the situation, sometimes the fate that we are delivered, no matter how depressing or miserable at the moment, may be better then the alternative.  Sometimes the grass is greener on the other side of the fence, but maybe that grass is only green because of chemicals and toxins applied in order to make it thrive vindictively.  In the situation I experienced the other day, any grass was greener then my bed or the couch where I was forced to remain in as a result of a few broken ribs, however, the call I received a few days later explaining what I had missed made my day on the couch seem like a day at 1900’s brothel.

I was invited on a trip to go explore a remote location to shoot some ski photography.  Like I mentioned, I had to decline the invitation as a result of some fracture ribs that I suffered a few days before – luckily.  Make a long story short, the group ventured out despite my absence, but afterward they wished they had been in bed with me.  To sugarcoat the situation would do it no justice, but needless to say they had an experience they would all never forget. 

After leaving the trail head at 5:00am to take photos at sunrise, they were hoping to ski a face that was directly east facing and had great light in the morning was their goal, although as the photographer dropped on to the face to get into position, the whole face slid to the ground leaving the entire area un-ski-able.  It took the photographer for a short ride, but the snow slid so quickly it left him standing in the middle of the slope almost on grass.  He realized he was in trouble when the slope started moving so he had unfortunately dropped the midget sized backpack full of camera equipment.  At the time it was the best call, as the 50lbs would sure be the end of him had be been buried.  Luckily he was able to self-arrest-- but the bag went to the bottom and was buried. 

After spending three hours digging to find the bag, they hiked to another zone in a last effort to get some photos out of the day.  They skinned up to another peak, but as the first athlete prepared to make a few turns on a slope, and maybe get some work done, he broke his binding stepping into his ski.  At this point the snow gods had spoken and sent them a strong message, so they willingly hiked back to where they had left the snowmobiles to graciously walk away unscathed.  However, as they walked up to where they had parked the sleds, they noticed something was not right.  While they had been out, the sun had wormed the snow so much it had created a flow of water below the snow surface.  Therefore, the weight of the sled was enough to find a hollow spot in the snow, and had fallen through to the creek it was unknowingly parked on top of. At this point they were baffled and astonished by their stroke of bad luck.  They could only laugh at the situation and start digging a path to get it out.  They dug and dug for a few hours, as the sled was many feet below the snow level and in the creek. However to make things worse, as they started to load up and excitedly get back to the cars to go home, one of the other sleds would not start.  They pulled and pulled on the starter cord, but with one last thrust the cord snapped and the now unguided energy of the pullers hands followed through and hit the other guy standing behind him in the nose.  The force was enough to make is nose start to bleed profusely, but furthermore the sled was kaput.

They were left in the backcountry with four people, one snowmobile, minimal daylight, remaining, no more food, and miles ahead of them in order to get back to the cars. Frantic, frustrated, and I am sure astonished by what they had experienced, they tied some ropes and straps together and stared towing each other to the trail head.  However,the snowmobile was not designed for towing three people and not long into the journey the belt snapped.  After spending the time necessary to change out the spare, they could not get the clutch to spin.  Supposedly some pieces of the belt sheared off and clogged the wheels that make the clutch spring engage, so without the proper tools and experiences it meant this sled was kaput as well. 

At this point I was at home on the couch most likely enjoying my third movie of the day, as these guys were out in the backcountry-exchanging expletive after expletive trying to make sense of the situation.  However, light was fading and their options were limited. Flabbergasted and without a doubt on the last string of patience for the day, they started to walk.  Fifteen hours after they had left the cars that morning, they walked up to the parking lot.  With two empty trailers, they drover home; defeated, angry, but more perplexed by the situation then anything.

I received a call a few days later explaining what I had missed.  I really had no response except, “Shitty!”  Overwhelmed by what I was hearing, I was somewhat elated to have declined the offer, but more shocked such ironic and implausible misfortune had become a reality. 

“Next time you’ll get the cover shot guys.”

The other day I ventured out into the backcountry to film with Two Plank Productions. After digging out snowmobile after snowmobile for two days on the way up to the location we wanted to ski, we were pretty confident about the snow pack in the particular valley where we were playing. Having involuntarily dug numerous pits on the way up, we expected the conditions to be similar to the light fluff that we had experienced. The snow was so light and fluffy that is was nearly impossible to snowmobile. The slightest hesitation left you spinning straight down as your forward momentum was lost and you were yet again getting out a shovel. Over the two days it took us to break the trail, including time dealing with Jeff Berman’s Dukes of Hazard experience where he was broadsided by a 60’s steel Toyota Land Cruiser, the sun had been out and the conditions were ever changing. The sun had come out the day before, although the temperature hadn’t gotten much above two degrees Celsius, however the snow that was once ready for the Champaign cork to pop, was turning into a fleeting window of opportunity before it was totally cooked.

Yesterday however the sun was not only out, but it was on high. As we skinned up the south ridge we found the snow to be conspicuously different on every aspect we crossed. We could feel the snow change as it started to stick to our skis and clump on the bottom of our skins. We could feel the temperature change as the sun melted snow off of the trees and baked our exposed skin. My buddy Bunt and I took turns crossing precarious slopes on the way up, but with nothing moving or settling we felt semi confident about the conditions. When we both got to our respective lines, we spoke with Corey at the bottom. Corey had perched himself on a hill looking at the slope to film, so he gave us a play by play of where we were expecting to ski.

On the way up I periodically checked the snow for texture, depth, and density and at no point did I question our decision to ski that zone. However, after I had gotten my gear together and looked down the line the sun was hot. My skis were on and I was ready as Corey said, “Rolling!”
I pensively dropped in and made two turns above the cliff. The snow felt solid yet soft, however when I reached the end of the rock I saw there was a wind drift in my landing. I expected the landing to be firm, but the dense snow was more then I anticipated. My skis hit the firm snow instantly driving my knees toward my chest. Unfortunately my elbow followed the path of gravity and lowered between my knee and chest just as my body compressed together. The impact from the 50ft cliff was enough to press my chest so hard into my plastic protected elbow that it fractured a few of my ribs. Immediately I knew something was wrong as I skied towards Corey who was operating the camera just below me. I removed my gear and inspected my chest like a JV football coach. I did not know what I was looking for, but I looked anyway.

A short while later, after deciphering the best way to get back given the situation, I hopped on my snowmobile and cautiously drove down. I felt surprisingly in control and in a lot less pain then I expected when we reached the road, so I asked the others if they wanted to go check on our buddies who were building a jump up another valley. Feeling confident in my body’s condition, I thought it would be okay to go help the others and hang out, since we were already in the backcountry. When we arrived to the others location however, we found the jump building had turned into the typical backcountry junk-show and there were snowmobiles stuck all over the last hill that had to be overcome to get to the jump location. After looping around the group, we drove the track to smooth it out so as to help the smaller sleds make it up the hill. When I came through the trees to make another pass, one of the sleds were stuck in the path so I was forced to leave the track and tempt the fresh powder with half the speed I would have needed to make the top. Needless to say I got stuck, as I was unable to maneuver the sled with my throbbing chest. When I stepped off the sled I looked at Tanner Rainville who was stuck below me and jokingly said, “shitty.”
Eager to get moving I climbed on to my sled to cross over to the lower side so I could start digging it out, but as I stepped over, my boot slipped and I fell chest first on to the handlebars. Landing on the ribs that I had damaged earlier, I clearly answered my previous question wondering if they were broken. Well, they were, and the second impact on the sled was just enough to separate the bones and drive one in and the other side out. The sound of the grinding bones resonated through my body just as the shocking pain of tearing muscle tissue tore screams of agony out of my vocal cords. I fell off the sled into the snow in complete shock, all the while possessing a heightened empathy for those who have been shot or stabbed.

I was not worried at first, but as I tried to move I found the pain to be intolerable. Every muscle attached to my ribs pulled and separated the bones as I tried to wiggle into a comfortable position. However, as I sat in the snow pondering my options I knew that I had to get out of the backcountry and time was of the essence. My options were get search and rescue or suck it up and start moving. Corey, being a member of the Fire Dept. as well as the Search and Rescue in Crested Butte, had a radio to the dispatch ready, but stubborn and determined I knew either option was going to be painful. Zipping my coat to conceal my obviously deformed chest, I ardently climbed on to the back of Corey’s sled as we started down the hill. At first I was able to hold on and control my motions, but as we started up the other side Corey had to drop the hammer to cross the fresh powder snow without getting stuck, but the bumps, vibration, and rocking back and forth were too much to handle. I screamed over the sound of the engine in total agony for him to stop. Barley able to compose clear words I begged for another option. I told him there was no way I was going to be able to hold on given the hills that we were still up against in order to get back to the road. I thought it might be better if I drove my own sled because that way I would be able to predict the motion and act accordingly.

I sat with tear filled eyes as Corey and Bunt went to dig out my sled. The group started lapping the dauntingly steep slope looming in front of me to smooth out an unmistakable trail for me to follow. Apprehensively watching and fearing the inevitable, I could feel the separated ribs tearing the surrounding muscle tissue with each nervous breath. I tried ardently to slow my panicked breathing, but the combination of pain and panic had me hyperventilating like a nun in a brothel. After preparing myself mentally for what had to happen, I bit down on my zipper and lurched the sled forward before grabbing a fist full of throttle. Holding on to the sled with all the energy I could muster, the miles started to click off as we made our way down to the trailhead. Time could not have gone any slower on the way down as every bump and turn caused havoc on my pain tolerance.

After a visit to the hospital, I learned that I fractured two ribs and tore the cartilage connecting them. The muscle tissue between the ribs connecting to my abdominal, latissimus, and serratus muscles was torn when the ribs separated upon the second impact from the snowmobile handlebars. I guess I can take a lot away from this experience, such as go home after you know one thing is wrong with your body, but I never thought laughing would hurt so badly. Therefore, I have a few weeks to take it easy, drink coffee, and plan some more adventures while I heal.

Preying for winter to arrive is like preying for death.  Inevitably it’s coming, as the leaves fall and the grass turns brown and dormant preparing for its cold slumber underneath the coming snow.  When winter decides to show its face, it is just a matter of how hard it will hit perhaps after teasing us with freak storms and “Indian Summers” before it decides to stay.  The past two falls have been uncharacteristically long given that snow did not stick permanently until well after Thanksgiving. However, with the extended fall come certain fleeting pleasures.  We were able to ride Mt. Bikes and ski in the same valley on Thanksgiving day which was a experience to remember.  The temperature disparity between the north and south facing aspects of the Vail Valley back in November created the optimum living for a few weeks, with man made snow covering the ski runs, but clear tacky trails on the south side of the valley awaiting exploration.  However, now that the seasons have ritualistically swapped positions and winter has undoubtedly taken over it is hard to forget the past few weeks of blissfulness now that we are stuck in limbo with too much snow. 

Winter arrived and a few weeks ago the snow started falling, and has not stopped.  Aside from afew days of sun here and there, the sky has been dropping frozen love all around us.  Unfortunately, the snow has fallen so quickly and relentlessly there has not been time for the sun to come out, change the temperature, and bond the layers in the snow pack.  Therefore, massive avalanche layers have been created just above the ground on the season’s first layers of snow.  Usually this would not be a concern, but given the eight feet of snow that has fallen on most of Colorado in the past few weeks, that layer close to the ground is under a lot of weight and a lot of snow.  Consequently,unpredictable and un-triggered avalanches are releasing throughout the Rocky, San Juan, and Elk mountains, which has had a detrimental affect on our ability to ski and play in the backcountry safely.  However, with all the snow the skiing has been great inbounds where the resorts ski patrol have been able to mitigate the dangers with bombs and other techniques, while backcountry activities have been “highly not recommended,” by the Colorado and National Avalanche Centers.  The snow pack is so unpredictable that even popular dog walking paths that cross hundreds of yards below old avalanche paths in the town of Crested Butte have been closed as a precaution.  At the same time, there are other activities that we have been taking advantage of in the mean time.  Building jumps around town and snowmobiling in the safe areas of the backcountry, which has been great fun but a lot of work.  However, with the amount of snow that has fallen, it has been difficult to maneuver snowmobiles without getting stuck, which goes to prove “you can have too much of a good thing."When most people think of going snowmobiling they picture cruising around on trails and riding a machine through the forest.  However, with the amount of snow that has fallen, only specialized powder sleds can even leave the prepared trails without getting stuck.  At the same time, while these supercharged sleds we are riding these days do have the ability to leave the trails and blaze new paths of their own, they do have higher consequences and when you get stuck you get real stuck.  The glamorous idea of snowmobiling is not what many picture it to be.  With the long tracks, large paddles, high performance engines, and more suspension you do have the ability to get where you are trying to go, but you also have the innate ability to get really stuck.  Deep snow means that when you get stuck you start shoveling.  When the track starts to spin and you loose momentum, the track digs itself a nice hole straight down until the sled is resting on the foot rails, and you are going no place fast.  Sometimes the sled can be spun around,but usually it just means a lot of digging, pulling, and lifting, then digging some more.

Yesterday, three if us set out to do some filming on an area that has some short safer lines, but we knew we had to get there first.  To make a long story short, we did not do any skiing, but instead spent our time breaking a new trail through the five and a half feet of snow that has fallen in the last two weeks.  Using each others tracks to slingshot into the next patch of untracked snow, throttle pinned until you started to loose speed, then pulling off trail to come at it again, we got stuck a lot and only made it about two and a half miles. By the time we got to the top, there was no more daylight or energy to even think about skiing.  However,the trail is set and we are sitting in the kitchen drinking a cup of coffee getting ready to venturing out and try again today.