A Maine Skier’s Summer Snow Search - A Daring Expedition in the name of Roller Skiing Avoidance

 To Read, To Skim, or To just look at the pictures ‘cause as a rule of thumb that’s the only interesting part of most blogs… 

The Blog-

Skiing is quite fundamentally a snow sport; it takes place on little ice crystals often created via a calculated combination of water and air, a skier wears an eighth-inch of fabric when they’re prescribed a workout, and its in the same Olympic Games as Ice hockey which has its championships indoor in June… How far the sport has come! Far from the days of slogging through deep powder on wide wooden boards as a sole means of winter transportation, with human ingenuity the ancient practice no longer bows its head to the whims of mother nature. 

Enter Snowmaking— If a crisp winter ski was a fresh glass of Sweet Rowan Farmstead whole milk, then skiing on man made snow is akin to finding a half-full carton of old 1% in the back of the fridge. It’ll do, but its not what you were hoping for. Enter Rollerskiing— The powdered milk of the nordic world, only the most dedicated of master blasters and aspiring athletes dare brave the constant threat of cars and pavement for the feeble promise of a few seconds, months in the future. 

As a born and raised New England skier, I’m well acquainted with the early season snow dances, the mid season thaw, and the final ski in not-so-late March. Come summer, snow is as rare as a mosquito in January. The year round snow patches of the West Coast was a fairy tale to the black and white seasons of the east. The allure of skiing instead of sweating it out on hot pavement was too much to resist, especially if I could find a valid excuse to make a cross country trip, in two different definitions of the word. And so, as a self-acclaimed connoisseur of snow, I set off with the one and only Ellis Slover on a cross country adventure. 

The East flew by in a mad westerly push, and after a few side quests in South Dakota, we found ourselves zooming across Wyoming (though not as fast as a certain McLaren). A solid day of driving later, we arrived at the Grand Teton National Park. Thus begins the first expedition…

June 12th - The Tetons

 

How one should ski the Tetons:

So as we pulled into the parking lot, making note of the post-six o’clock arrival time— PM, not AM just to clarify. After some convincing on my part, Ellis and I strapped boots onto our packs, and with ski bag in hand began the trek. Not two minutes up the trail a snazzy looking dude with some snow-melted skis informed us that the hike to snow was actually eleven miles round trip. Apparently we had quite the hike ahead of us. Hoping we’d find something a little closer, we trekked on, quickly passing the 90 minute turn around threshold, and reaching snow as predicted, five-ish miles into the hike. 

As we strapped on our skate skis the sun sank further below the mountain peak and we started the trek up. The rustiness of the initial turns gave way to the polished sending of stuff meant for a proper backcountry setup. For a Mainer, the sheer quantity of snow in mid June was astounding; we figured the West was pretty cool after all. 

A striking sunset graced the skies as we scampered down the mountain, arriving to the car revitalized by our encounter with the white drug and wondering where the heck we’d find a campsite at 10:30 at night…

The rest of the westward drive was almost entirely devoid of snow except for a sighting or two in Montana and some flakes and additional sightings in Washington, neither of which were able to salsify the thirst of a Nordic skier…

July 6th - Mt. Bachelor

    Bend is famous for its late season skiing. Even as the arid town is roasting in the triple digits, mountains such as The Sisters, Jackson, and Hood grasp tight their white mantles as the summer months progress. The nordic center calls itself home to members of US ski team into mid June while the rest of the nation’s skiers resort to roller skiing. As chance would have it, during a short stint in Bend with family, my second chance at slushy relief presented itself. The car’s thermometer was reading high eighties as the large Mt. Bachelor Ski Area sign rose into view. 

Sadly, I had waited too long to explore the nordic skiing trails so the time tested practice of norpining once again came to use. The snow was only a fifteen minute run up from the parking lot, and the top a further ninety of herringboning (bounding poles are a far cry from a skate pole replacement). The view was spectacular, and even better was the fact that I wasn’t roasting down below in the hottest temps I and my Mainer disposition had ever experienced. 

Then, amidst my sloppy, slushy, and not so smooth turns down the mountain, I experienced what many sauna-ists have been continually chasing: instead of having to switch between a hot and cold environments, I had both at the same time. My legs were freezing with the instant evaporation of the snow spray and my upper body on fire because of the hundred degree temperatures. I can now write off midsummer trips to Bend as a health treatment. 

A few falls but many hoots and hollers  later, I was at the bottom and starting to really question why I didn’t live in this place with July snow…

July 17th - Mt. Hood 

    The jewel of the West Coast, I’d first seen the mountain during a stint in Portland. I’d asked my host, “Isn’t Mt. Hood supposed to be ‘out’ some days and visible looming over the city?” I’d apparently yet to look up since following his finger was a mountain so large I was sure I’d just been transported to the Himalayas. At one point a mused about adventure, the ascent of this mountain in some form shot to the top of the Oregonian bucket list. Three weeks later I was sat in my Uncles’ mountaineering friend’s car, driving up to the access road of the famous Timberline lodge (filming location of the Shining), ready to try my hand at the legendary mountain.

 Many hours of hiking, skinning, and gasping for air later, we’d made it to illumination rock, looking down over the fields of snow and one of the southern most glaciers in North America. 

 

The first twenty turns were so good we had to hike up and do them again. What preceded was closer to dancing a ballet down the mountain than simply skiing. Carving large turns across the glacier we enjoyed the mid July snow and finished up… in a terrain park. We'd ended up in the alpine ski area with those who chose to ride the lift as their way of enjoying the summer.

July 28th - Specimen Mountain

    At last the time to leave the snow capped beauties behind was at hand. And so were the hopes of skiing. Meandering down through California, it seemed like a day below a hundred was something enjoyed only by the lucky Canadians. All hope of more snow was lost. The last holdout was a drive through the grand Rocky Mountain National Park, home to one of the highest paved roads in the US, topping 12,200 feet. A nerve-racking, half hour 5 am wait in line to sneak into the park just over 100 seconds before they started requiring reservations had us (The return drive featured the company of my friend Caden) cruising on a gorgeous access road peering into the mountains with hopes of something white. By the time we’d reached the Alpine Ranger Station, it wasn’t a matter of if, but where. The ranger humorously told us that we were four weeks late and there wasn’t any skiing to be had. Staying true to the crafty college kid ethos of the trip, we picked the biggest patch of snow and started bushwhacking up to it. 

The Bighorn Sheep threatened to foil our plans but following the aforementioned theme, we noticed the sign said “above” this point as opposed to the feared mission-terminating “beyond”. Consequently, a faint path staying at the same elevation revealed we weren’t the only ones to have the crafty idea.

A mile of circumnavigation later and our skis were making their way up a steep quarter mile of snow averaging just under forty degrees. One run quickly turned into two and likely would have been three if my binding hadn’t given out during the course of a gnarly telly-turn. With wet feet, an unsure path, yet some good views, we cruised down the mountain landing back at the car and concluding the successful summer season of snow searching. 

    Two and a half days later we returned to the East Coast where I can attest there has been no snow to be had and roller skiing continues to reign king until I can find myself a shady stretch of grass covered with the heaviest of frosts in the waning days of October.  

a shady stretch of grass coated with a heavy October frost.

If you’ve made it this far, thanks for sticking with me - to say it grew a little long wouldn’t give the quality of ramble enough credit.