wicked outdoorsy

Timing is everything

2022-01-28T07:40:00.002-05:00

"Are you with this crew?”

The red jacket of the ski patroller was about 50 feet above me, just above the X-crossed skis that are the universal sign for trouble. Often just a broken leg or arm, but sometimes much worse. In this case, the X was marking the spot of a panting, panicked skier who was laying on his back, staring up into the sky and talking rapidly, adrenaline fueled by the fact that about 20 minutes ago he almost died from suffocation, head far below his feet in the trap known as a “tree well.”

“Yeah. My son is the one who found this guy.”

“Well … your son saved his life.”

The guy was still clearly processing what had just happened, and was still rambling away about how he had taught skiing in Europe, about how he had just watched a video about avalanche safety, and about how he and my son should exchange phone numbers and stay in touch. He knew that this skinny 19-year old had been the difference for him, and told him so repeatedly about how that last cry for help was actually is his last breath, and he thought for sure that he was soon going to die.

Two days earlier – 48 plus hours and numerous minutes – our entire voyage to this snowy Wyoming mountain range was in total uncertainty. It’s never easy to travel to the Northern Rockies in January, but this year and this trip things were worsened by a wave of unprecedented flight cancellations due to the Omicron variant of COVID-19. Thousands of flights were being cancelled every day over the New Year’s Weekend, like snow stacking up on a windowsill, higher and higher. Our original itinerary – Burlington/Newark/Jackson – was an early casualty, cancelled five days ahead of our actual scheduled flights. We were rebooked automatically, of course, but we were also given the opportunity to cancel the trip with no penalty. As a family, we wrapped our heads around the reality that the trip just might not happen.

It prompted a family meeting. Something we don’t do very often. But it was important to get a read on what everybody wanted to do. Do we go and risk spending days in the purgatory of the Chicago airport? Or do we kick the can down the road and postpone for a year? It was a good conversation with plenty of honesty and heart-felt sentiments covering the full range from caution, to pragmatism, to fuck it let's go. By the end of the family meeting, we were agreed. We were going to go for it, despite the very very real possibility that the whole thing could easily go sideways. Sawyer said it best, though: "I just think that if we can make it there, That first turn is going to be so worth it."

As expected, however, things did go sideways right from the start. Our inbound plane was two hours late, and by the time we got to O'Hare, our Denver flight was long gone. We grabbed an airport hotel room, ate French Onion soup ad wedge salads in a red leather chop house staffed by Eastern european waitresses, and caught a morning flight the next day to Wyoming,

The thought was not lost on us that if we’d made our original flight – or if we’d been delayed even more – we would not have been on that exact part of the mountain at that exact moment when that skier made his last gasp for help.

When Sawyer stopped and turned toward the weak, small voice, he saw nothing but branches at first, and nothing but snow. He had headphones in, listening to music as he typically does while skiing, so it crossed his mind that maybe he had imagined things.

When he looked again, though, he saw a single ski wrapped in the low branches. Which was connected to a boot. Which was connected to a leg. Which point almost straight downward toward the trunk of the tree. This person, this human, had been struggling to free themselves from this snow trap, but every time he tried to wrest himself away from the snare of the snowy boughs, his head would sink deeper down and more snow would fall on his face. Like a human dart pointed headfirst toward the roots of the tree.

Tree well deaths are sadly common in the mountains known for deep snow, and they don’t discriminate between experts and novices. Because the tree itself is giving off a tiny bit of heat, the snow around the trunk becomes thinner, almost rotted, like a snowy trap door waiting to suck in a nearby skier.

It can happen when a skier or snowboarder falls near trees, but it can also happen when they’re trying to side step past a group of trees, and a ski placed too near can spin the skier around and drop them backward, headfirst into the trap.

I found a stat that 9 out of 10 skiers involved in some experiments around tree wells were not able to extricate themselves. No partner, no rescue. “In many cases, he or she can die as quickly as someone can drown in water.” LINK

“Where's your partner?" was the first thing the ski patroller said to the newly alive survivor. It's not just a faux pas to ski solo on a heavy, deep, wind-loaded powder day: it's potentially fatal. The skier’s "partner", apparently, was far ahead as he’d been trying to prove his ski superiority, the standard result of a competitive, somewhat dickish friend.

"Well,” the patroller paused, “when you find him, he owes you more than a beer"

Something familiar

2020-03-20T10:57:00.001-04:00

There’s something familiar here that really came to me yesterday during a sanity walk. The waiting. The dread of checking. The constant bad news cycle. The emotional roller coaster.

Spring of 2020 is creating ... for anyone who’s been through it or near it ... a wave of emotional carnage that is very much like having cancer.

My own experience is more than a decade in the rear view mirror. But a few things immediately leap to mind from that era, as they are tips I given other cancer adventurers over the years. And they seem to be way too appropriate to not share.

1) Don’t do independent web research: This was one of the first things my oncologist told me, and it holds true today. Steer clear of a deep dive into the virus-rumor bowels of the Internet. Stick to the basics.

2) Avoid statistics: Focus on health, not numbers that are out of your control.

3) Perfect the art of waiting: During a cancer adventure, you spend a remarkable amount of time waiting. Waiting for an appointment, waiting for results, waiting for surgery to get scheduled, waiting to heal, and so on. The art of killing time is one that most of us have lost in the era of instant gratification, but it’s one worth rediscovering. During my time in the cancer spotlight, i discovered binge watching old TV shows (Seinfeld, Six Feet Under, Rome, etc etc). I rediscovered golf. I wrote and worked a ton. And I found that any sort of mild activity was enough to push my brain out of the negative and into a happy neutral.

4) Know that the constant buzzing in your head will eventually fade: When you (or those close to you) are in the midst of cancer, it’s all you can think about. It feels like that thought is in your brain all day, every day. I used to refer to my cancer as an “uninvited houseguest” … one that wasn’t asked to come over, but has to decided to stay indefinitely. And the reminders of their stay seems to be everywhere. But, eventually, that constant refrain that keeps replaying in your head will eventually fade. You’ll think about a little less, and then even less, and then hopefully so little that you only call on it when you need it, like to remind yourself to not sweat the small stuff.

This land is your land. Until it’s not

2016-07-26T14:40:00.000-04:00

In the spring of 2015, I wrote a piece for The Drake magazine on the “transfer movement” in Utah – an effort to take federal lands and put them under state control for maximum economic benefit -- and how it might affect anglers and other outdoors-minded folks. In every interview, I heard the same refrain which amounted to “this will never happen, but holy shit if it does.” At the time, oil prices were sky high, a fact that gave supporters additional courage and energy.

As oil prices dropped, however, the transfer movement shifted from an economic conversation to a political ideology. Sen. Ted Cruz got noisy about his support for transferring public land ownership to the states last spring, in an effort to differentiate himself from the other front-runner. And then, last week in Cleveland, the Republican National Committee included their own support for transfer in their 2016 platform (along with ending federal funding for international climate change efforts, killing the Endangered Species Act and downgrading the Clean Air and Clean Water acts. LINK). Apparently, Cruz and the RNC-nominated candidate do agree on many things, after all.

For the glass half-full folks, a former newspaper editor in Utah told me this: “There’s always 10% on each side that gets involved, and an 80% in the middle that just doesn’t care. But now it’s changing. People are starting to get involved, and showing that they care. It’s a weird world, but there’s the possibility that people will be rejuvenated in the public lands discussion by this effort.” However, for those who see things as darker, the same editor in the same conversation also said that the transfer of public lands for Utah “could also be the end of the world.”

###

Utah can be a funny place. Funny like a short story by Kurt Vonnegut, in that it can be simultaneously beautiful, strange, poignant and almost laughable if it wasn’t so serious.

Last January, I was in Utah doing indoor business at an outdoor trade show. But I squeezed in a few hours to attend a meeting about a new Utah state law called the Transfer of Public Lands Act (TPLA). Depending on who you ask, the law is either a dinner party conversation gone on way too long or the first step toward environmental Armageddon.

Signed by Gov. Gary Herbert, the TPLA demands the return of more than 30 million acres of Federal public land to State control. The backbone of the TPLA is a fresh interpretation of the 1894 law that made Utah a state (the “Enabling Act”), which essentially says that the Feds were never planning to hang on to Utah public lands forever, so they should just give ‘em back.

What the TPLA “wants back” includes lands run by the Bureau of Land Management (22.8 million acres), the US Forest Service (8.1 million acres), the US Fish and Wildlife Service (112,696 acres), as well as the Utah portion of Glen Canyon Recreation Area (1.2 million acres), otherwise known as Lake Powell. Step one in the TPLA began by setting a deadline -- New Year’s Eve, 2014 -- for all those lands to be wrapped up with a bow and handed over. The expected step two – since the Feds didn’t RSVP by Dec. 31 – is the traditional American two-step of public relations and litigation. While the lawsuit party hasn’t started yet, the PR part definitely has, in meetings like the one I attended, which have been going on throughout the winter and spring in various Utah communities.

To be clear, the TPLA is very real. This is not a theoretical badminton match with no real winners and no real losers. Inside Utah, backers of the idea are dead serious and moving forward. And outside Utah, the TPLA has inspired similar initiatives in Colorado, New Mexico, Arizona, Nevada, Oregon, Montana and Wyoming.

While there’s some disagreement about the he-said-she-said interpretation of the 1894 Enabling Act, there’s no disagreement from anybody on any side what this is about. The TPLA is saying, straight up, that the State of Utah wants more oil and gas money, and they want it now.

“Wouldn’t it be great to believe that this effort to transfer public lands from the feds to the states is some altruistic grassroots idea meant to manage those lands in a way that works better for everyone?” asked writer Tyler Hansen, in a recent piece on the subject for Hatch magazine. “Sadly, that’s just not the case. This isn’t a Sagebrush Rebellion, it’s a corporate bait-and-switch scheme meant to open America’s natural resources to immediate extraction.”

Take a spin around your Utah rolodex, and you’d be hard pressed to find a local who truly believes that the TPLA has a snowball’s chance in Kennecott Copper Mine of actually becoming a reality. It doesn’t take a 900 buck-an-hour lawyer to see that the thing has serious and significant legal, financial and political obstacles to overcome, not the least of which is basic unconstitutionality. That notion of impossibility is a popular one, and is cited as the primary line of defense by just about everybody who opposes the idea.

" If this ... concept somehow gains traction, and it spreads to other fishy states, it doesn’t take much imagination to envision the massive environmental wrecking ball right behind it."

But those same people who are up on the issue, who recognize the massive hurdles faced by the TPLA , and who would rather bet on Karl Malone coming out of retirement than any land ever exchanging hands are also totally freaked out by this tiny sliver of light underneath an otherwise impenetrable door. Part of the anxiety is because, well, this is Utah we’re talking about. And in this wildly unpredictable political arena, there’s no such thing as a surprise. The other reason is that if this TPLA concept somehow gains traction, and it spreads to other fishy states, it doesn’t take much imagination to envision the massive environmental wrecking ball right behind it.

If you cast TPLA as Maverick from “Top Gun,” then Goose is undoubtedly a state-sponsored, 784-page, 10-pound bass of an economic study called “An Analysis of a Transfer of Federal Lands to the State of Utah”. The job of the wingman has always been to make it happen for its bro, and this Study is an excellent wingman.

The Study doesn’t worry itself with the idea of quality, or subjective questions of who’ll do the “best” job of managing public lands. Instead, the report centers on dollars and cents. Specifically, it asks three questions: 1) How much would it cost to run the lands? 2) How much money could be made from more drilling and more resource extraction? And 3) Which entity (State or Feds) would be better at providing direct economic benefit to local communities from the use of that land?

One essential takeaway is the estimate of how much it would cost to manage Utah’s public lands, which is set at $280 million/year. The other big one is a roulette wheel of income projections, with numerous variations based on the number of new wells drilled, the amount of royalties that the State would get from those wells, and the possible stratospheric price of oil in the future. Those income figures range from a high end of $763 million/year to the low mark of $169 million/year. (Not surprisingly, the word “gamble” is used in the introduction to this chart).

The TPLA and its wingman doesn’t officially covet wilderness areas, but they definitely flirt with them a lot. Utah has only 1.1 million acres of designated wilderness, the least of any Western state and less even than Florida. But it has 3.2 million acres of Wilderness Study Areas – including the fishy Fremont Gorge – easily the most of any state (Oregon is the second with 2.6 million acres). The bad news is that the Study spends more than 60 pages breaking down those WSAs, mineral by mineral, gas by gas, and rating them on “Hot or Not” scale for future development.

While the Study doesn’t know exactly how it would actually manage 30 million acres of new public land, it definitely knows that if Utah takes over those public lands -- it will have carte blanche to do whatever it feels like doing in them. New roads, new wells, new coal mines, new resource extraction, new fees and no burdensome Federal paperwork. You can safely bet that would also include hefty cost increases for anglers and other users, in the same way you can bet on having less (or zero) input on how the land gets managed because old Federal laws would no longer apply.

"Some might say that the Study automatically stacks the deck in favor of the TPLA, as it ignores the question of who would actually be the best steward of the land, focusing instead on the best way to make the most money. And those people would be right."

“Making it work” for Utah could also mean selling that land. Since that “Enabling Act” in 1894, Utah has sold 50% of its public lands to private owners. Other Western states like Nevada have gone even further in this area, selling off more than 97% of their public lands. The TPLA Study and its presenters have certianly made it clear that it’s feasible for Utah to take over its public lands, but there’s a difference between feasible and advisable. It’s feasible for me to dig my own septic system in my backyard. That doesn’t make it advisable.

Some might say that the Study automatically stacks the deck in favor of the TPLA, as it ignores the question of who would actually be the best steward of the land, focusing instead on the best way to make the most money. And those people would be right.

In estimating the cash impact of a day of fishing, the crucial term is “market valuation,” which is pretty much an accumulation of anything that can give you a receipt -- licenses, beer, drift boats, shuttles, rods and reels, beer, tippet and flies, sandwiches, more beer and so on. That’s pretty easy to figure out. The money either gets spent, or it doesn’t.

The second big thing that’s starting to slip into the conversation is “non-market valuation.” NMV’s are a little squishy, but still relevant. They value things that aren’t sold at a market (like spectacular scenery, or a fishing experience), and they help formulate the process used to create a $532 million number for the value of freshwater fishing in Utah. It’s important to note that the very idea of an NMV bugs the shit out of some economists. As one of the Study presenters the Salt Lake City meeting said: "it's hard to convince people NMVs are real.”

And then there’s “non-use valuations”, which are things that hippies like to talk about but econ geeks like to ignore. This is when you try to put a value on the idea of fishing for people who aren’t fishing. How much is it worth to a guy sitting at his desk in Tribeca to know that the Green is still pristine and full of midge-sipping rainbows? Maybe a lot, but with no receipts, it has no home in this conversation.

Politically, the mention of giving Utah (or any state, for that matter) control of Federal lands is enough to make a sportsman’s head pop off. Coincidentally, it creates the same reaction among treehuggers. More than 6 out of 10 people prefer the Feds to the State when it comes to managing public lands. In part, because people prefer the dentist they know over the one they don’t.

Admittedly, 60 percent is hardly a slam dunk, especially since we’re talking about the U.S. Federal Government– an organization that isn’t on the top of anybody’s list to run a laundromat, let alone our
national lands.

" The more you underfund stuff at the Federal level, the crappier of a job you end up doing executing on the local level, and the easier it becomes to consider other alternatives. In other words, when you lower expectations far enough, it doesn’t seem like that big of a jump to shift public lands from Federal knuckleheads to State knuckleheads with no plans other than to drill the shit out it."

One thing the Feds have done extremely well in the last two decades is to serially and systematically underfund our public lands, which in turn has helped lead to the sort of climate where the TPLA can bloom. The more you underfund stuff at the Federal level, the crappier of a job you end up doing executing on the local level, and the easier it becomes to consider other alternatives. In other words, when you lower expectations far enough, it doesn’t seem like that big of a jump to shift public lands from Federal knuckleheads to State knuckleheads with no plans other than to drill the shit out it.

But if you’re concerned with the long-term health of the land, with fishing or backcountry hiking or other outdoor pursuits, then the Feds have the upper hand because they have a track record -- a consistent plan from coast to coast that’s already on the record, and a longstanding national commitment to the idea that these lands are a national resource, not a local one.

In contrast, local economics are obviously the meat of the TPLA and the supporting Study. Other than the price for oil and gas and other resources, the Study doesn’t consider impacts or events from outside of Utah’s borders, like how a growing population and over development of neighboring states might change the value of a pristine Utah backcountry experience. Or how the value of the Utah brand to the national or international travel markets might decline as a result of hitching the State’s land legacy the price at the pump.

People with wet boots in Utah are already on edge about their rivers, as they should be. Decades of back-and-forth Stream Access bills have been exhausting and occasionally contentious, with tales of hostile exchanges between landowners and anglers, as well as a dead skunk or two. And while stream access debates have tangled up the status quo on private land, the primary threat of the TPLA is that it would do the same with waters on public lands – adding hurdles, increasing fees, or taking them off the table entirely.

When it comes to water that flows over private lands, fishing in Utah is an increasingly crowded place. One estimate puts the current fishable miles in Utah at 3,700 -- about one tenth of the available rivers in Idaho and Montana. That means that the idea of taking some water – any water – off the table for anglers makes some people very upset. “Things are already totally jammed,” says Steve Schmidt, owner of Western Rivers Flyfisher in Salt Lake. “We’re supposed to be growing the sport, and I can barely find a place to put people.”

The fishing discussion gets even bleaker when broader water issues are considered, especially with Utah sitting in the top five fastest growing states in the country. There’s already a proposed $32 billion water pipeline for Lake Powell, which apparently would be considered a good start by Todd Adams, deputy director for the Utah Division of Water Resources. “It’s necessary to put dams on all rivers in Utah,” Adams recently told columnist Mark Saal, of the Ogden Standard-Examiner.

“Seriously. Where else are they building dams?” Schmidt asked. “In this state, given how out of balance things are, with less than 30 percent of Utahans voting in last election, a lot of people are just no longer paying attention. Honestly, the implications are horrifying.”

-- The article "This Land is Your Land, Until It's Not" originally appeared in the spring 2015 edition of The Drake

The rise of Soft Outdoor

2015-07-28T15:36:00.002-04:00

"As the Outdoor market continues forward on an ever-expanding trajectory known as "lifestyle," people are understandably a little edgy as they try to keep things in focus.

The backdrop for Outdoor Lifestyle's growth is comprised of some big numbers. Really big. In a recent study for this widely recognized $646 billion market, “Outdoor” folks now include more than 60% of American consumers -- people living mainly in cities, being mainly in their younger years, and spending at least an hour a week and $450 a year on outdoorsy stuff (LINK).

As with all Outdoor data, the most recent study relies heavily on the market's historic affinity for measuring itself agains the yardstick of the activities it supports. The report leads with dozens of “Traditional” core market metrics like camping, canoeing and climbing, but also factors in a boatload of “Non-traditional” pastimes like walking, picnicking and simply chilling outside.

In this widening pool of data sources, the clear takeaway is that the biggest sustained growth in Outdoor is in the definition of what "outdoor" actually means. And the clear challenge is using that knowledge to forge a path through an often blurry Lifestyle landscape ..."

Read the complete post at PaleMorningMedia.com .... LINK

The Sweet Spot

2015-04-09T12:55:00.005-04:00

(PHOTO CREDIT: JONATHAN SELKOWITZ)

As it was the early 1990s, I honestly don’t remember why I decided to try telemark skiing. What I do remember is being vaguely disenfranchised by skiing in general, turned off by the euro-style stretch pants, the macho swagger that went along with 220 cm skis, and the hey-i-went-to-a-ski-academy perfect turners. It wasn’t a great snow year. I wasn’t a great skier. And those telemark freaks simply seemed to be having more fun than anybody else on the mountain. I was sold.

I was fascinated by the rippers who were flashing their free-heels from the first chair to last call, and I remember the feeling of seeing my first telemark movie: tingly and exciting, like getting a love letter from a long lost girlfriend. It didn’t matter that my boots were too flimsy, the skis were too narrow, and I had zero idea of what I was doing, because the whole thing was contagious, refreshingly different and totally addicting.

More than 20 years of turns past that sweet spot, however, my Tua Montets (with Voile releasable plates) are rusting away in the garage, a real world analogy for the quiet end of an era that was brought to light last month when Mad River Glen hosted the last-ever NATO Telemark Festival. (LINK)

The Tele Fest at MRG ran for 40 years, bringing flocks of free heel faithful to the extreme variable conditions of central Vermont. If you’re doing the math at home, the thing started when Gerald Ford was president, a lift ticket cost $10, and people still drank martinis out of a Thermos while they drove their unseatbelted kids around. There were other festivals, sure, but the MRG Tele Fest was the first to the party and the last to leave, providing a complete bracketing of the rise, the sweet spot and the quiet demise of telemark skiing.

The question isn’t whether a sweet spot existed in telemark skiing -- or anything else –– but rather when it existed. And it’s not as simple as calling out the “peak” of participation, as that sort of misses the point. (The peak is when you played Wembley Stadium in front of 100,000 rabid moshing fans. The sweet spot is when you toured for a year, perfected your sound, and recorded that album that got you the stadium gig in the first place).

Pre-sweet spot, you’re in the undiscovered country. Post-sweet spot, you’ve jumped the shark. And somewhere between the two, there is a sweet spot that emerges, gets noticed and makes fans.

The sweet spot is pure, electric and magnetic. It’s when charisma and energy combine, and when you can’t help but get sucked in. The more you get, the more you want, and the more you miss it when it’s gone.

But the fade of a sweet spot is also very real. Everything has a life span, and quality has nothing to do with it. Was it too many people? Not enough people? Lack of expectations? Burden of expectations? The simple passage of time? Hey, even M.A.S.H. went off the air eventually

For telemark skiing (and skiers), there is a distinct yearning for a return to that sweet spot. Ironically, though the gear is better and lighter and more durable than ever before, the more it advances the further away the sweet spot seems in the rear view mirror.

That yearning for a return to the sweet spot exists for lots of other stuff … other places, other brands, other businesses, other trade shows. It’s a normal, human and almost expected urge to want to go back to when numbers didn’t matter, when pure participation was its own reward, and when all the best accomplishments were still in front of you. Like daydreaming of seeing Yosemite before the crowds, of catching a steelhead before the dams went in, or seeing the boys from San Francisco before they were the Dead (LINK)

But that cooling cup of coffee isn’t going to warm itself. Enjoy it while it lasts, and don’t sweat it when it’s over.

When was the sweet spot of telemark skiing? When was it at its pinnacle? At it’s moment of peak soulfulness, coolness and peak contagiousness?

Interesting question...I would say late 90s/early 2000s. As alpine skiing was going through an identity crisis (thanks to their insecurity brought on by snowboarding) that put Charlie Sheen to shame, tele skiers were getting down and dirty with face shot after face shot. Downhill and AT gear still sucked, while tele was still the best way to get into backcountry--and hence, ski powder--and it was strong enough to rip it inbounds. Enough people had been doing it for some time that they made it look amazingly stylish, but it hadn't yet been played to death. There were festivals all over the place that encouraged drinking and embracing your inner dirt bag. Alta, Steamboat, Crested Butte, Telluride, Grand Targhee, Bridger Bowl, Alpine Meadows and Mad River Glen were all hotbeds for tele, and it's no coincidence that these places were also where you'd find the most soul. The first nail in the coffin was rockered skis, which made skiing easy and cool and surfy. And the second, and perhaps final, was the improvement of AT bindings, rendering tele burdensome and a huge pain in the ass on the skin track. Thanks a lot, Dynafit! -- Matt Hansen, Powder Magazine senior editor

if you can take a five-year span, I'd say 1997-2001. Not coincidentally, this mirrors the peak in popularity of whitewater kayaking. It's not so much that telemarking and whitewater kayaking were both considered "cooler" then, though that was certainly part of it. It's that what came to replace each of them—far better/easier/fatter alpine gear and randonne gear for tele, and stand-up paddle boarding for kayaking—wasn't around yet. Also, there were tele specific and whitewater kayaking-specific films being made at the time. Now? Not so much. --Tom Bie, The Drake editor (and former editor, Powder Magazine)

If I had to pick a single year, it would be 1987. Why, you ask? The gear was getting better compared to when I started telemarking in 1980. Yes, Super Comps helped but wider, softer skis helped in the PNW snow too. I was working at a shop, and we were mounting 700 pairs of skis a year with 3-pin bindings so it was contagious, I guess. I was also 30 years old and probably at my best in terms of fitness, experience, ambitions, and mostly void of family or relationship responsibilities. There were like-minded kooks in every ski town ready to close a bar, at 1 am, and meet-up at a trail head at 6 am for a day of turns and laughs … (Interrupted here by a day of ski testing, for Off-Piste, with Dave Waag. During which time we discussed the question, at hand, while skiing AT gear, with no apparent irony)…. Dave’s epic year is more like 1995. This is not completely hinged on the fact that he is 10 years younger than I, but he makes a great argument that there was an epic bump in equipment refinement then, allowing us to make better, faster turns in any snow conditions. When did the first purple Scarpa T1 boots arrive: 1991-92? By 1995 everyone had a pair of plastic boots, maybe release bindings and wider skis, like the Voile Mt. Surf. We were skiing big lines, in deep snow, in BC, Alaska, etc with the ease and efficiency of AT gear while maintaining the "Tele" snobbery, that seemed so necessary then, and so useless 20 years later. -- Don Pattison, Off Piste columnist (and former outdoor industry heavy hitter)

Tele was at its most contagious when Terminator showed up, which was 1993. It took almost 10 years for the delusion of that moment to wear off and the reality of how hard tele is, and how inefficient it is for earning turns to set in. But the soul never left, just a bunch of wannabes who couldn't make the turn work for them left and those that stuck with it figured out the turn struck a chord with their soul and couldn't let it go -- Craig Dostie, Founder, Couloir magazine

“I think it was at its peak in the early to mid- 1990s…that’s when, like idiots, we’d all show up on these week-long heli-hut trips in British Columbia on our teles while the Canucks on their ATs looked on incredulously. We were beating ourselves up without even realizing there was a better way. I also still remember trading in a one-piece ski suit my mom gave me for Christmas for a pair of Fischer GTS skis.”-- Eugene Buchanan, Former editor Telemark Skier magazine

Two times- stick out. Spruce peak in 1993, 6 inches of fresh and laughing in the liftlines and giggling as a bunch of ex alpiners rolled around on the snow and learned together, sharing tips and essentially teaching each other how to tele. The other was Telefest at Mad River with Dickie in 97- surrounded by the tribe and feeling truly connected in a way with the tele movement and feeling part of the brotherhood.

Kenny Ballard, former Vermonter and forever telemarker

I'm going to go with 2002. Looking at the December 2002 Issue of Couloir and there are two pages of AT binding reviews (six bindings, including the Alpine Trekker!), and 11 pages of telemark binding reviews (including 17 bindings from the usual suspects--Rottefella, BD, Voile, G3, Rainey--as well as the likes of Bishop, Linken, Peak Rigs, and the Ultimate Telemark Co.!). I think there was a real garage band mentality still, and people were still inventing their own gear, and putting together rigs that were uniquely their own. It was still about the turn, too, and not so much about SKUs and selling free-heel in alpine shops, and access. Then the AT stuff got good (great!) and everybody started talking about how they had only tele-d because they had to in order to go OB, not because they loved making that knee deep waltzing turn. -- Peter Kray, author "The God of Skiing"

Telemarking might have been at its most soulful in the late-80s. How would I “know”…I don’t. My book was published in 1988 and was well-received. There was a place for it. We were very enthusiastic, missionaries preaching the gospel, and people were listening … (but) in terms of interest, buzz; I would say in the early 90s (1992) when the Terminator was launched. That created quite a dialog, well-deserved as it was a ground-breaking product. The Terminator really changed the sport … It’s still cool, BTW.

-- Paul Parker, author "Free-Heel Skiing"

Telemark skiing was cool in the mid to late 80’s when it was evolving and innovating. Starting with Alan Bard and Tom Carter doing the Redline Traverse people started to see what could be achieved on free heel gear. And the gear was constantly being upgraded and improved to allow people to push farther. But the true measure of its pinnacle was that being a tele skier gave you “cool points” with the chicks. As any ski bum can tell you, in any ski town, the ratio of guys to girls is about 10-to 1. So anything that gives you street-cred with the few female skiers was pure gold. -- Steve Gladstone, former marketing director Merrell/Karhu

Any time you see Ellingson in the backcountry -- Mike Geraci, Pearl St. Bagels alumni

Success means never having to fake you're sick on a powder day

2015-01-15T14:48:00.001-05:00

When you’re a dirt-poor ski bum who’s stealing toilet paper rolls from the newsroom bathroom, the picture of “success” is pretty damn simple … A ski pass, two healthy knees, and a dog that actually comes when it’s called.

Once you head down the slippery slope to that first five-day job though, the hopes and dreams slowly and steadily start piling up. Like hoping to earn your age in salary, or having an open bar at the office holiday party, or finally scoring a car with seat heaters. Ask and ye shall receive, dude.

But for those who aspire to even bigger things (or blew out their knee in December), there is the outdoor industry.

Throughout the next month, the big tent that shapes that industry will be on display in trade shows from Nevada to Germany. Maybe you're headed out to Outdoor Retailer Winter Market and the SIA Snow Show. And depending on how you swing, maybe you're headed to ISPO and SHOT Show too.

If you’ve never been a trade show lurker, it's not tough to imagine. Just close your eyes and imagine multiple nights of a massive college reunion, punctuated by seven or eight hours of wildly variable business meetings between 8 am and 6 pm every day. You’ve got your crowds and parties, you’ve got your billion thank-God-for-nametag moments, and you’ve got yer occasional unforgettable train wrecks (see also, First-annual, last-ever OIWC Drag Show).

The reunion anaolgy is also spot on because of the inevitable yardstick moments … when you bump into "that guy" on the plane, or "her" in the coffee line, and you subconsciously (or maybe consciously) take a deep breath and measure part of you against somebody else’s part. Insert innuendo here.

Some days that measuring up is merely rampant insecurity. On others it’s gleeful schadenfreude. And on the best days it’s a healthy dose of totally appreciated inspiration.

When I sent out a couple dozen high priority faxes looking for a few outdoorsy people’s personal, honest definition of success …I didn’t know what to expect.

And then I got this.

…”(Success?) It looks like a mess. When I try to figure it out, my instinct is to run out the door and ski into the hills with my dog. I have been incredibly frustrated with my lack of success and progress, and scared by my financial situation -- all my fault. For me, short term success is paying off a deep line of credit. Mid-term success is getting at least some of the jobs of which I am more than capable of handling…”

And then this.

“… I'm afraid "success = never having to work with idiots ever again" may not go over so well….”

For some folks, starting a casual conversation about “success” is the same as shining a spotlight on a 42-foot tall stress ball in the corner of the room. It’s taking that that yardstick out of the shadows and laying it right on the table for everybody to see.

In the outdoor world, success can be a hard thing to pin down personally, if only because of its abundance. There are many who’ve achieved real, concrete stuff — women who’ve founded incredible companies or skied an epic first descent, guys who have shattered barriers in physical performance, climbers who’ve Instagrammed successfully from the Dawn Wall, and freelance writers who've managed to stave off the beast of a full-time job for yet another year..

There’s also what seems to be an infinity chocolate fountain of mind-blowing travel tales. (The print zine Mountain Gazette dug into that idea a years ago in a thing called the “Readers’ Reverse Bucket List”. Truly one of the coolest things I’ve ever read.)

And finally -- and maybe a bit unexpectedly for the outdoor world -- there are many, many true careerists who are impeccably dedicated to their craft, whatever it might be.

The brutally honest definition of success can be a tough question to answer, out loud anyway. There’s the answer you give friends and family, and then ... there’s the answer you only tell yourself during those quiet morning moments on the trail.

Maybe it’s “never lift a damn finger again.” Maybe it’s “I have no fucking clue.” But chances are good that it still includes a ski pass, two healthy knees and a decent dog.

WHAT DOES SUCCESS PHYSICALLY, ACTUALLY AND TRULY LOOK LIKE TO YOU? WHAT IS THAT THING IN YOUR HEAD THAT YOU’RE WORKING TOWARD, THAT PLACE YOU’RE DREAMING OF, OR THAT THING THAT WILL HAPPEN WHICH WILL SIGNIFY THAT YOU’VE FINALLY, TRULY PULLED IT OFF?

I think time is the most valuable thing we have, and we may not have as much of it as we think. Given that most of us spend an inordinate amount of our time chasing the almighty dollar to survive in this society, I figure that to succeed in life one must find a way to spend that time doing something they are truly passionate about. Otherwise, you just end up pining for a vacation that only comes a couple times a year.

-- Chris Figenshau, Photographer

Day starts with a trail run, accessible from our small mountain house, with at least one dog. Work—and by that I mean write—with a two-hour guilt-free slot for napping and reading. Have enough time and energy to make a good dinner, watch the sun go down, and sleep deeply.
— Dimity McDowell, co-author of Run Like a Mother + Train Like a Mother

My view of success is less materialistic and more associated with freedom. It is the ability to have freedom of choice. Not having to do things but doing them because I’m following my passions … I have this vision of a bison ranch on a trout stream with epic mountains for skiing in the back yard. For me it is symbolic of the freedom to do some of the things I love (skiing/fishing) and working a farm/ranch (passionate about land and food) while surrounded by friends and family sharing my passions. I hesitate to say that is my vision of success because things are dynamic and where isn’t as important to me as what (doing what I’m passionate about) and how (with friends and family).
— Erik Snyder, CEO Armada Skis

I have an intermediate thing in my head that defines success, and that's employing people. Knowing that their livelihood is on my shoulders makes me work hard; not in a fear-based way, but just in the sense that it's an enormous responsibility that I can't dick around with. In the long-term, success means retirement. I love my job, I love my work, but I have plans, man. I truly look forward to laying down the mantle of responsibility, getting the kids out of college on their own, and winding down my work in 15 years. Because there's so much to do! I suck at golf, have ignored tennis. I haven't traveled enough, haven't bought a horse, and far too seldom look my wife in the eye and say, "So really, how are you?" Those days will come, and when they do, that'll mean the ultimate success.
— Gordon Wright, President, Outside PR

My big thing is I still can't believe people pay me to do what I do--things that, in some cases, most folks would pay tons of money to do-- like being part of a historic kayaking expedition on the Congo or rowing a gondola in Venice. I feel so blessed and lucky that I've had these amazing opportunities over the years and the chance to share it with others through writing and film. My goal has always been to write a book, write a movie, and write a country song. I still have to write that country song.

— Mark Anders, writer and filmmaker

The bar is always moving. Ten years ago I was in the magazine business. Now I'm in the media business. And media is changing so fast, we're all trying to keep up.... The good news, and the thing I always come back to, is that at the root of my job, I'm trying to recruit new outdoors-people while still preaching to the choir of veterans. To inspire more people to love being outdoors, to be safe and happy and comfy out there. Cheesy, right? But true.

— Kristin Hostetter, Gear Editor, Backpacker

Living abroad with my family. Learning to surf. Climbing at least 30% as much time as I spend at the desk. Windows down, golden sun, loud music, driving toward the horizon. Fish tacos on the beach. A cold pint pretty much always works, too, regardless of region/climate/IBUs.

— Shannon Davis, Editor, Climbing Magazine

We half ass too many things. For me success is putting my heart and full attention into something and then seeing it come to fruition, even if it didn't work out as planned. So when I stress and freak out and work without sleeping to put out a magazine or write something, I feel incredibly proud when I get it in my hands. We made this, despite how easy it would be to let it slide. I am, however, often scared to open it up and look inside because I will see nothing but mistakes and faults and things I think I could have done better. But sometimes, years later, I will pick up an old magazine or story I wrote and look through it and say... this was damn good. Just put your everything into it. As the comedian Bill Hicks used to say, "Play it with your fucking heart." — Doug Schnitzspahn, Writer and Editor (Elevation Outdoors, Mountain Gazette, SustainAbler)

I come to work every day and it is hard for me to leave. I never can believe I get paid to market the idea that you should make the most of every day, have fun and live your life to the fullest. I find the freedom for creativity and accomplishing dreams is endless here. I would do this job for free. The paycheck is a bonus."
— Tyler Lee, KAVU marketing manager

I see only two enduring measures of success. One is internal and comes when you know you've lived or worked true to your values and beliefs. The second is external, when you see your good works reflected in others — but only when you see them reflected in actions, not words. It's easy enough to collect praise, but that's ultimately empty. Making a positive, tangible difference in someone's life is when you know you're on the right track

-- Steve Casimiro, Editor and Publisher, Adventure Journal

Although some part of me still believes that (Olympic and World Cup) medals are the true test of success, after all is said and done, I measure success by one simple rule -- did I work my hardest before the competition and did I ski/perform to my highest potential in the race when the pressure is on. If I did that, no matter what the outcome, I was successful. The medal or prize that you win at an event is not the goal. What that medal represents -- commitment to a goal, working hard, and performing at your peak --- is the measure of success.
— Doug Lewis, Universal Sports Alpine Analyst, 1985 10th place finisher Hannenkahm, 1985 downhill bronze medalist in World Championships at Bormio, Italy

Like most people, my dreams are a little conflicting – both simple and complex. I want to feel I’m impacting the world because of my professional work. I want to have a family that thrives, is connected and has a positive impact on their community. And I dream of spending my winters in a little house on a beach in Baja, traveling through all the warm places in the world, and summers in a cabin on a river. Ultimately, I just want to feel that I’m always trying new things, pushing my boundaries personally and professionally and that I am not complacent. As cliché as it may sound, I see "arriving" as a great journey, taking advantage of the opportunities given. For now, I’m too hopeful and excited about all the stops on the way to focus on the end game.
— Stasia Raines, Director of Marketing, Outdoor Industry Foundation

My dad had a great analogy that I'll share about this; there are 3 circles of truth; how all who know me see me, how I see myself, and the ground truth (how things really are). The more aligned these circles are (goal being directly overlaid, one circle really), the more honestly I'm living in the world. The more disconnected they are, the less in touch I am. It's another measure of success, I suppose.

— Kenji Haroutunian, bass player, OR All Star Industry Jam Band

On a very rare occasion, I am able strike a balance where I am happy with my performance as a husband, father, manager, mentor, athlete and community member. These times generally are my most stressful, but most fulfilling. I know when I’ve achieved this balance through interactions with family, friends, co-workers and teammates. (And I’m willing to sacrifice a good night sleep in order to accomplish this.)

— David Fee, VP Sales and Marketing, Benchmade Knife Co.

Success means being able to live where you want, in the way you want, without using more than you need. To be healthy, and to meet the unknown with open arms and an open mind. And I think I am actually getting a little bit closer. Though actually, getting to heli ski all the time sounds pretty good … maybe you should talk to my brother.
— Ted Wardlaw, marketing man

Every time I finish a freelance project I feel successful. Every time I see a story I wrote or photos I took published, I feel successful. It's not a lasting feeling, or really one that is even recognizable at times. But when the dice rolls my way and one project is knocked down after another, a feeling of accomplishment follows. I would liken it to the pursuit of winning individual stages of Le Tour, rather than the conventional concept of "success" being the finish line of said race, if that makes sense. Having said all that, life works in such a way that not all projects or all days go as planned--there are too many disappointments to count. It requires constant effort to achieve these small, minor, perhaps insignificant successes, though that effort is what makes each worth doing. Finding pleasure in the small wins may in the end translate to an overarching feeling of success at the end.
-- Graham Hiemstra, Senior Editor, Cool Hunting

“For the most part, my business ego has already been stroked. I’ve started a company, built the brand, and get enough inquiries about buying the company that I can gauge some value and worth to what I’ve done for the last decade or so. So success at this point is really about the next generation … getting my kids to adulthood. To a place where they can start making their own choices, good and bad, but not sacrificing any part of the great outdoor lifestyle that we enjoy now.”

— Pete Hixson, CEO Pistil Designs

As a career mountain guide I've taken over a thousand people on various wilderness adventures, helping folks to achieve their personal goals, whether it be reaching a summit or the completion of a long trek. And I've seen that ultimately the common thread among people is not the fleeting act of, say, standing at the summit that is the actual reward, but rather that their accomplishment signals the completion of a process that includes dreaming big, working hard, and earning all of the life lessons and experience that comes along with the token goal. So I view success as the conclusion of a very personal adventure; an adventure that manifests within many levels, and where we can come away having bettered ourselves and perhaps paved the way for others to follow.

— Colby Brokvist, GM/Senior Backcountry Guide, Southern Yosemite Mountain Guides

I’m in the Bahamas... Is that success?

— Porter Fox, Editor & Publisher, Nowhere Travel Journal

The God of Skiing

2014-12-19T13:13:00.001-05:00

Peter Kray is a ski writer.

He was a blue-jacketed JH instructor when I met him. And now? He's been a trade editor (Ski Press), a magazine freelancer (Men's Journal, Mountain Gazette, plenty of others) and an online playa-cum-artiste (GearInstitute.com).

But he has also wanted to write a novel about skiing for a long time. A very long time. And now it's done.

With ink so fresh you should probably slap it, "The God of Skiing" rolled out to friends and friendly reviewers last week (hint: just in time for Christmas).

Is it a coincidence that the self-published, square-bound tome fits nicely in a stocking hung by the chimney with care? Probably.

Is it a coincidence that the book fits perfectly, like it was designed for it, in the breast pocket of a CB ski jacket Definitely not.

"The God of Skiing" is a book written for passionate skiers by a passionate skier. The author says its a novel, but it's also a memoir of growing up in the straight-ski era ... From Colorado, to the East, and back to the West. The prose varies between impossibly tight and all-the-room-in-the-world spaciousness: a pace that reminds you of skiing on a big mountain, alternating between rocky chutes and unending powder fields. Or of song lyrics penned in a precious journal, accidentally left behind in a Leadville saloon.

How did you get your start writing? My recollection was that you won that Subaru raffle in JH, flipped it for the cash, then scored a small Wyoming writing grant.

My dad got me started writing. He would always read to us (me and my brother) when we were little -- Hamlet, Last of the Mohicans, Treasure Island, and Call of the Wild. Adventure stuff. Then I would start to try and make up my own stories when he wasn't reading to us.

I sold that Subaru for $10,000 and bought a new pair of skis, was very popular at the Mangy Moose for a few nights, then just wasted the rest of the cash. I think that was the last year the ski team held the raffle. They didn't want to see another ski bum win a new car like that.

People write about gear and places to ski all the time... But writing about actually skiing? Who does that?

Exactly. Who does do that?

I really wrote the book I wanted to read. Ski literature is a pretty thin field, and I figured I owed the sport a book. I'm hoping it inspires a couple of my other ski writer friends to write their own. If Porter Fox, Matt Hansen, Andy Bigford, Devon O'Neil or Adam Howard write a ski novel, I'll be the first to buy it.

Who are your top five best skiers of all time?

Bode Miller, Franz Klammer, Doug Coombs, Lindsey Vonn, and Hermann "the Hermannator!" Maier himself. Next five? Anyone with the last name Zell, Shane McConkey, Scot Schmidt, Ted Ligety and Kjetil Andre Aamodt.

I bet you have at least three vintage Kastle posters hanging. True story?

I used to have an original Jackson Hole Mountain Resort Cirque trail marker, but I think Bill Phipps or Bill Daley ended up with it. On the wall in my office are three framed Mountain Gazette covers, Doug Coombs from the POWDER Magazine memorial cover, Bode Miller racing at Soelden, Gram Parsons, and a picture Jonathan Selkowitz took of a brown bear bending a roadside snow depth marker looking like he's about to pole vault.

Who are your top five best ski writers of all time?

Ernest Hemingway (the last chapter in A Moveable Feast), James Salter (script for Downhill Racer), Romain Gary (The Ski Bum), Dick Barrymore (script for Last of the Ski Bums), and any ski travel piece by Porter Fox.

Where'd you ski as a kid? Winter Park?

Dad was a volunteer patroller at Vail with all his buddies, so we skied there for years. And after that on the ski train to Winter Park. In the winter I don't ever remember being asked, "What do you want to do this weekend?" It was just expected that we would be on the slopes.

Mole, chili relleno, or chorizo burrito?

It's weird, but Salt Lake City has better mole than we do in Santa Fe. So The Red Iguana gets the call in SLC. But here, it's Silver Coin margaritas and chile relleno RED (not green) at Maria's.

Who do you think is the best skier to ever wear a Denver Broncos uniform?

That's like asking what my favorite beer is. I'd say whichever one of them is on the slope. I'm pretty sure they all have a 'no-ski' clause in their contracts, but I remember John Elway doing an ad on the slopes once from the back of a limo with snowcat tracks, so I'll go with The Duke, of course.

Whaddaya want for Christmas?

More snow. The Broncos to win the Super Bowl. And more ski books.

LINK: "The God of Skiing," by Peter Kray

Garlic, farts and all

2014-11-19T18:45:00.002-05:00

“Are beginners and infrequent skiers … being priced out of the sport?”

— "The Boom and the Bust”

Powder Magazine, December 2014

Somewhere, Paul McCollister is smiling. He’s dead, of course, but nothing would satisfy the snarky, uber-capitalist founder of the Jackson Hole Ski Area more than to know that the dirtbag skiing faithful has finally come around to his way of thinking.

Paul was a visionary and original partner of perhaps the greatest American ski experience, but he was also a hard-ass and kind of a dick … as the tale goes, he coined the memorable phrase “I don’t want any of those garlic-breathed farting hippies on my tram".

Paul recognized early on that expert skiers got more for their money than a beginner, and it sort of pissed him off. As a reporter in Jackson in the 1990s, I remember at one point he posed the idea that a paying customer should be able to push the dirtbags out of the way by reserving a seat on the Thunder chair at, say, 10 am on a powder day, and the idea made people’s heads explode.

But heading into the winter of 2015? I think Paul’s idea is probably just a season or two away … everywhere.

Above all else, Paul was a pretty smart guy. He knew that money talks in skiing, and that it was only going to talk louder as time went on.

But money talks everywhere. And skiing will always be one of those havens where a turn speaks louder than a tiara.

Good skiing. Brag-worthy skiing. Skiing that you lie about. Skiing that you dream about. Skiing that's hard to get to, and when you get there it’s hard to get to the goods first. Yes, that skiing is getting more expensive. It should be. And worrying about it is like worrying that the awesome taco place that you told everybody about for the last 10 years now has a line around the corner.

Yeah, there should be a line. Cause that fish taco is fucking amazing.

Skiing is, and always will be, about fantasy. Small mountain skiers dream of the big hill. Big line skiers dream of going even bigger. And those who worry about people not skiing anymore are people who don't ski in-bounds on Saturdays. Let’s face it, the reality is that there’s never been a better time for people to stop skiing. (Take a deep breath. I know you’re with me. Just dream about it for a half-second and tell me with a straight face that it doesn’t turn you on).

Honestly, it’s impossible to imagine more options for dirtbag skiing than there are now. College passes, 20-something passes, boomer passes, uphill skiing, plastic shit-board skiing, tow-in skiing, stair skiing, urban skiing, taco skiing (I just made that up) … Skis will never be better. Skiing will never be easier. Heliskiing will never be more available. Cat skiing will never be more ubiquitous. Bootpacking will never be easier. Powder turns will never be easier to make. ‘Showgirls’ will never be made again. Things are good, dude. Chill out. Look at the bodies. Look at the lines. Look at that untracked powder line over there in the willows just past the gully. Looks awesome.

If you’re willing to actually work for it instead of just throwing money at it, there’s always a way. Because when you go skiing, you go to remember who you can be, who you used to be, and who you want to be.

Garlic, farts, and all.

Wilderness vs. Technology, circa 1995

2014-11-05T10:27:00.001-05:00

Living in Seattle in the fall of 1995, I heard a story from a climbing guide buddy about a recent almost-rescue in North Cascades National Park. A group of climbers had ended up stranded and hunkered down on the east ridge of Forbidden Peak, and to remedy the situation, they did something that had never been done before. They made the first ever cellular phone call that launched a search in the Park.

Despite the sophistication of the communication device, the "rescue" ended up being a bit of a cluster. Basic advice was given by the rangers. Weather got worse. No location was established. Communication was lost. A search party headed out and found the group. The group denied ever actually asking to be rescued.

It was a big deal at the time, to me anyway. Cell phones were things that you saw in the movies, or in the coffeeshops surrounding the Microsoft campus. Not skiing.

So I penned a piece for the PNW's neighborhood backcountry rag, free snow, that put the idea of wilderness versus technology out there.

Waking up this morning to see the news of $34 million worth of high-speed optics being planned for Yellowstone and Grand Teton National Park (LINK), and seeing live action Facebook posts from friends currently enjoying the selfie-friendly backdrops of Yosemite, I dug out that old issue.

Close to nearly two decades old, words in print still really hit home. Here are a few lines culled from the piece:

You would think nothing of driving to the mountains and back in a day, and the cost of that would be a full year’s food budget for an Ethiopian. Say you take a trip to Nepal; with all the costs there you’re looking at the GNP for a whole village. If that’s not decadent, I don’t know what is. But our technology helps us live cleaner, more efficiently. The important thing is, we’re urban people, most of us have jobs and goals, and we use the concept of wilderness to “recreate.” It’s important to have that, and I think technology helps us get that.

Rainer Burgdorfer

Writer, Author, Skier

1995

A lot of the things are and will be be happening. We can’t just drag our feet and say we can’t address this. Like the GPS device – it’s out there now, and it’s already being used to do trail work. It’s all along a continuum, there’s no stopping any of us from taking the path of least resistance.You can look back with a sigh and how things were in the old days, and you can appreciate that. All we can do is just try and appreciate what peole in an earlier day went through, and had the enegery and interest to do, compared to what we do today. Right now, things are a whole lot easier and not many people realize that.

Kelly Bush

Park Ranger, North Cascades national park

1995

People are expecting more from a wilderness experience. It used to be a wilderness experience to go to Mt. Rainier from Seattle. Now, if you're not doing Liberty Ridge, you're not there.

Paul Baugher, director

Northwest Avalanche Institute

1995

I was looking at a new magazine, Rocky Mountain Magazine. It’s sort of an Outside-type publication. I was looking at the ads that were in it – Jeep Cherokee, Magellan GPS systems, scotch. Who are the consumers of the wilderness now? Are they looking for a wilderness experience to go with their scotch and their Jeep Cherokee? It’s almost got to the point where it’s elistist in a way – the technology, but also the whole concept of wilderness. You think of the extreme case, Aspen, where an average home sells for $1.4 million for the opportunity to live in this neat place where normal people can’t afford to live anymore.

Eric Simonson

Senior Guide, RMI & NAI Instructor

1995

We take a lot of raft trips in southern Utah, where the only way out is 60 miles downriver. In that situation, having a cellular phone would be nice in terms of an emergency, but it’s not something I’d let other peole know was there. Part of the wilderness aspect is the danger and psychological aspect of being out there. If I was a commercial operation, and had to look at liability concerns, the money and having 40 people on the trip, I’d bring one. Keep it in an ammo can or something. If it was just me and my friends though, I’d much rather bring along a nurse.

Ken Keeley

General Manager, Voile

1995

We’re in a society where more is better. The more trinkets you have for your backcountry trips keeps old men like me in business, and keeps more makers making more gear to ease the backcountry experience. But is the backcountry supposed to be hard? Or is it supposed to be easy?

Clair Yost

Yostmark Mountain Equipment

1995

Eat More Kelp

2014-03-31T10:53:00.002-04:00

A few weeks ago, I made my first visit to the Natural Products Expo West show in Anaheim, Calif. Surrounded by virtually anything that anybody could ever buy in a Whole Foods-type store -- from organic dogfood to every conceivable chia-seed product you can imagine -- it was impossible not to share the eco-sensory overload on social media.

One of those posts prompted an old friend to reach out about his newest enterprise ... a kelp farming operation in Portland, Maine called Ocean Approved (www.oceanapproved.com)

Farming their kelp in Casco Bay and already cranking out 80,000 pounds of kelp a year, Ocean Approved sounds like a tasty triple-bottom line operation. I'm pretty sure I ate some on a salad at American Flatbread. It might have been on the pizza, too. Tasted great.

Tollef Olson is the founder of Ocean Approved, and spent some of his valuable time to visit with the wildly influential readership of WickedOutdoorsy.

In three words or less, what does kelp taste like?

Mild, slightly crunchy.

In five years when this is huge, where am I going to find kelp at my local grocery store? In the produce section next to the lettuce? Or in a refrigerator case next to the olives and salsa? Or somewhere else?

In the freezer case with the other frozen seafood specialty items. Its a fresh frozen product. Use enough for one meal (a little goes a long way) and put the rest back in the freezer. A no waste veggie!

How much does a pound (or whatever) of kelp cost to a shopper?

10 bucks a pound, give or take some coins.

Is there anyplace on earth where kelp is on the daily menu already?

Tons of places! Our kelp is in hospitals, private school cafeterias, college dining halls, and restaurants like Flatbread right here in Portland.

Who would be the best celebrity endorsement for kelp? Bono, Michelle Obama or Lindsay Vonn?

Michelle Obama on the nutrition side probably. She is rumored to already be on the kelp bandwagon. Bono on the sustainability side

What's the super-fast explanation of why kelp is important for the ocean environment?

It sequesters carbon and releases oxygen into the water. It fights ocean acidification. Our kelp farms form "structure" for all types of marine organisms. It also is a winter crop so it helps those people who rely on the ocean for jobs - winter is typically a very lean time for those who work the ocean.

So there's the environmental angle of saving the oceans, the food angle of feeding a growing population, and the pure business angle of getting ahead of the curve on something truly new and innovative ... But which of those three is the biggest strength of this kelp endeavor?

Three things. Good for us - nutrition. Good for planet - sustainable. Good for economy - new source of jobs for US labor. Biggest is probably that you are growing a crop that doesn't need fresh water, fertilizer, or tillable soil.

How big is the kelp "industry"?

Difficult to measure. On the global scale estimates are between $4-6 Billion per year.

Are there different "grades" of kelp, like levels of quality in maple syrup?

Not officially, but our kelp raised in the cold clean waters of Maine grows in one of the cleanest environments available and is then cleaned, blanched, and then flash frozen, as opposed to a dried kelp grown in a less ideal environment that is then "reconstituted" with preservatives and yellow and blue artificial color.

Who is currently buying Ocean Approved's harvest of 80,000 pounds of kelp a year?

All different folks. I mentioned a bunch before- Flatbread, Phillips Exeter, Bowdoin, and many distributors - PFG, Native Maine, Farm Fresh in Rhode Island

How much kelp is in your refrigerator right now?

My freezer is pretty full right now - 15 lbs? Some slaw and some rounds.

How does your wife feel about this whole kelp thing?

My wife thinks its a howl. We had a party where we attempted to construct the perfect sandwich using kelp. I think we came close. We named it the Ernie Banks - "so good you want to eat two!" The kids even eat it. I gotta get you some.

Does climate change need a Michael Sam moment?

2014-02-17T17:15:00.000-05:00

I'm not gonna lie. I adore Porter Fox and aspire to be more like him every single day, but I don't want to read "Deep" -- the story of how climate change is killing snow and ending winter.

I'm old enough to have seen the writing on the wall for the last four decades: the shrinking snowpacks, the 33 degree thundersnowstorms, the emotional roller coaster of climate whiplash, and the blissful ignorance of everybody standing around watching things melt. So I sort of feel like I should get a pass on this one.

I don't want to read Elizabeth Kolbert's "Sixth Extinction" either (though I did read Al Gore's review of it, NYT LINK). It's a book about how carbon emissions are fueling (word choice intended) mass extinctions, with up to 50% of thew world's species doomed for the history books in the coming century.

Out my backdoor in Vermont, bats have gone from a regular sight in summer (my first year here in 2004 I caught one on a fly rod back cast) to practically invisible. Bees are storied to be next up on the hit list. So once again, I feel like reading about something that I"m already seeing is just gonna send me into a gin-spin.

But I didn't get a pass on proofreading my daughter's climate change paper the other night.

She's in eighth grade, smart as a whip, and a strong writer. I was supposedly just reading the paper for grammar and punctuation, but the content kicked me right in the gut.

Our children, with their bright eyes and their undying trust in the world of adults, already know what's coming. It's not hypothetical to them. Nor is it political. It's their future.

It struck me that my daughter's paper followed the same general format as Mr. Fox, Ms. Kolbert, and Mr. Gore. They all lay out the case, prove it with a litany of beautifully written examples, and then wrap it up with a Lorax-ian call to get our shit together, or else.

Michael Sam, on the other hand, is a top-rated NFL draft pick from the University of Missouri. Last week, he made massive headlines by announcing that he is openly gay. He'd had enough of hiding, enough of worrying about what might happen, and instead decided to take control of his future ... all of it. Mr. Sam was rewarded by massive media coverage as well as incredible support from his alma mater and their fan base. I bet it feels good.

To a certain extent, Mr. Sam's announcement didn't come out of the blue ... it's been in the works for decades (or longer), as activists and individuals have taken their own stands, at their own times, saying simply that enough is enough.

On the other hand, it's hard to think of an announcement that made bigger headlines for something that the vast majority of people already knew and accepted (i.e., that being gay has zero to do with the ability to play football).

At this point, climate change is known and accepted as well. It's here and it's queer. Get used to it.

But as the torch of proof moves from the best scientists of our age to the best writers of our generation, you've gotta wonder when the greens will get their Michael Sam? The one that stands up and says "enough is enough" in a way that can get the attention and the support of a majority of Main Street America?

I certainly have enjoyed watching Mr. Fox's book get swept up in the draft of Winter Olympic media coverage, get a slot on the editorial page of the NY Times, make it on with Diane Rehm, and even get used as a prop on the floor of the House of Representatives. And I'll be rooting for Ms. Kolbert's book to make a similar -- if not greater -- impact.

The one I'll cheer the most, however, is the one that puts all the dots together. The one that gets a Michael Sam moment.

David McLain has balls

2014-01-08T13:51:00.002-05:00

If you're a National Geographic reader, you've probably seen the work of David McLain. If you're an Outdoor Retailer kind of person, you've probably seen David's work through Merge Creative in the visual language of Horny Toad. And if you're a Mainer, you've probably seen David kicking around the outdoor skating rink in Yarmouth.

A normal looking guy with a seriously abnormal frequent flier account, David's most recent project is "Bounce: How the ball taught the world to play," a massive project that included traveling around the world to document some of the world's oldest games.

One of those stops was the Kirkwall Ba' in the Orkney Islands of Scotland ... a game with no uniforms, no rules, and total carnage. Starting in the center of the village (where windows and shops are boarded up, duh), farmers scrum against fishermen in a game that makes rugby look pretty tame. One side wants to throw the ball over the hill, one side wants to throw the ball in the ocean, and apparently the beer flows like bandaids at the end.

Your body of editorial work is increasingly filled with ideas that sound simple, but clearly are not. Allergies, happiness, secrets of long life, and the history of the ball ... is using imagery to make people give everyday things a second thought incredibly challenging? Or incredibly easy?

DM: Lots of interesting things that affect us profoundly are too obvious to be apparent. Stopping to take a look at them every now and again can be really fascinating.

There is a phantom like quality behind the clear communication of ideas though. Essentially the better you do it, the more invisible you become.

It’s like reading a New Yorker article where you are so engrossed in the story you forget that someone spent a year of their life researching and writing it and someone else with a lifetime of experience edited it so it flowed seamlessly and made sense. Professionals make the complicated appear simple.

Whose idea was 'Bounce'? And how long has the project been going on?

DM: Jerome Thelia and I are long time business partners in Merge, a boutique video production company. John Fox, a mutual friend of ours had just written a book called The Ball: Discovering the Object of The Game and when we read an early version of the manuscript we fell in love with the idea.

It was so visually rich and intellectually challenging. That was over two years ago now and we are just coming down the home stretch after having logged tens of thousands of miles and hundreds of hours of footage all over the world.

When you told your family that you were going to film the Kirkwall Ba, what did they say?

DM: Well, the Ba game is only played on Christmas day and New Years day so naturally they said “we’re coming” and they did. We travelled all around Scotland as a family and wound up having an incredibly memorable Christmas together in Kirkwall. My son Finn, who was 11 at the time, was almost run over by the mob during the Ba game and lost his shoe trying to get away. He made it back to the apartment we were renting and his shoe was sitting right on our doorstep. Everyone in town knew us by that point so whoever found his shoe knew it was his and where to return it.

What kind of gear did you use to shoot the Ba?

DM: The entire film is being shot 5K on a RED Epic camera which is a pretty sophisticated tool. Lots of major Hollywood features are shot with this camera.

After the Ba ends, is there a celebration? Or are people simply too exhausted?

DM: I’ve heard it said that in Scotland Beer is the staple carbohydrate and it’s basically true. After the game each side goes to their favored bar and drinks and sings until 1am or so. Then, the winner of the Ba (one guy) has to throw a party for the entire team at their home so the afterhours party moves there. It’s an experts only double black diamond party situation.

Is there any sort of Frank Deford-ian sportswriting grace evident during the Ba, or is it total chaos to be in a 350-person scrum?

DM: Well, there are no rules. Literally. It appears like total Chaos and is actually quite horrifying to shoot (akin to covering a riot). That said, the guys have literally been playing their entire life (there is a kids Ba game before the adult one) and know how to look out for one another in the sense of making sure no one dies.

I guess the Defordian grace comes out of the fact that grown men who are farmers, fishermen and truck drivers live to play this game twice a year. They are not spectators but active participants in a very ancient game which the ruling elite have been trying to squash (quite successfully) since the middle ages. They do this for the love of the game and tradition and pride and nothing else.

If you ask one of these guys what would happen to the game if the winner got money or they hired “professionals” or they got corporate sponsorship they either look at you like they are going to beat the crap out of you for even thinking this way or politely say it would never happy implying that the game lies outside of commerce, commercialism,or profit.

What other segments did you film/shoot for Bounce? Which were your favorites?

DM: We’ve been to Italy, England, Mexico, The Democratic Republic of Congo, Rio De Janeiro, Brazil, Canada, Belgium, and probably 10 or so different states in the US. They were all fascinating for different reasons and you can see a bit what we covered at each location here: http://bouncethemovietravels.blogspot.com/

How did working on 'Bounce' change your opinion about the games people play?

DM: The urge to play predates language, culture, and even humanity. Most mammals and many non-mammals play. This is strange from an evolutionary point of view because why would we engage in an activity that has no purpose, expends unnecessary calories, and even puts us at danger. What benefit does fun, laughter, and unbridled joy bring to us as a species? Its one of the core ideas we explore in the fim and has made me realize that pure play (an activity without purpose or goals) if fundamental to our existence and development as human beings.

When are you coming to Vermont?

DM: I’m embarrassed to say the last time I was there was to shoot a story on Jay Peak for Skiing magazine about 15 years ago. Looks like a trip over there is long overdue.

LINKS:
Bounce: The Movie
Bounce: Facebook

Can skiers scare the world straight? "DEEP" launches on Kickstarter to find out

2013-10-18T10:33:00.002-04:00

Porter Fox is a busy guy. These days, he keeps his stuff in Brooklyn and spends his days as the publisher of Nowhere, a literary travel e-zine. But back in the day, he did a stint in the Wyoming newspaper business (Jackson Hole News) before trying his hand at self-publishing with a backcountry newszine ("The Pass"). He eventually found his way to Powder ... and although it was on the diametrically opposite side of the universe from his Maine roots and newsprint background ... it was a perfect fit.

Photo: Dave Reddick

At Powder, Porter sharpened his natural ability to go long without losing his way; weaving thoughtful story arcs into travel pieces that easily could've been mailed-in chronological blather.

This fall, Porter brings his toolbox to his biggest story arc ever: the 8,000-year-old history of skiing, the miracle of snow and how climate change could wipe out both in the next 75 years.

DEEP: The Story of Skiing and the Future of Snow lays out some sobering data, like how the rate of winter warming in the U.S. has tripled since 1970, how half of Northeastern ski resorts will close in the next 30 years due to rising temperatures, and how more than a billion people depend on snowmelt for their everyday water supply.

There's no big publishing house behind this effort ... no major marketing or distribution plan ... just a bunch of skiers who feel like this is a story that's worth being told. If you agree, head on over to Kickstarter and give the thing a kick. (LINK: DEEP on Kickstarter).

IS DEEP A CAUTIONARY TALE OR AN EARLY OBITUARY?

I would say it's closer to a cautionary tale. Big changes are coming to the mountains in the next 30-70 years, including diminishing snowpacks, increased avalanche danger, intense storms and other changes that will alter how we travel in the high peaks. If greenhouse gas emissions continue to rise, then we will likely see the end of skiing as we know it by 2100, if not before. If we can decarbonize and lower emissions significantly, it's possible to keep winters similar to how they are today. With 97% of climatologists in agreement that humans are warming the Earth, it is also true that we can slow that warming.

ONCE UPON A TIME, YOU DID A WRITING SESSION UP AT BREADLOAF. WHAT DID YOU WRITE WHILE YOU WERE THERE?

I went to Breadloaf to study creative writing. I worked with Josip Novakovich on a few short stories I was editing. He was great and it was a terrific experience, inspiring on all fronts.

I READ IN THE NY TIMES LAST WEEK THAT IN 50 YEARS THE COLDEST WINTERS WILL BE AS WARM AS OUR HOTTEST SUMMERS TODAY. IS THAT WHAT YOUR BOOK SAYS TOO?

I think the line was "By about mid-century, the coldest year will be warmer than the hottest year in the past." Either way, DEEP covers a range of predictions, because that's all we have. The lower end of the range (2C) is manageable, the upper end (4-6C) is scary and will be catastrophic to the world and the human race. Though computer models can't make exact predictions 50 years out, the range that they are predicting is getting more accurate. So it's good to know what the upper and lower ends of warming mean, because either could happen.

IS THERE ANYTHING IN THE BOOK THAT'S GOING TO MAKE ME LAUGH?

Exxon CEO Rex Tillerson's comments on climate change are pretty funny.

DID YOU SET OUT TO WRITE "DEEP" ... OR DID "DEEP" FIND YOU?

Half and half. Two skiers from Jackson Hole approached me with the idea. When I read about the state of snow and ice in the world, I adapted the storyline to what it is in the book.

ARE YOU TELLING THE SKI WORLD A STORY THAT THEY DON'T WANT TO HEAR? OR ARE YOU TRYING TO TELL THE REST OF THE WORLD SOMETHING THAT SKIERS ALREADY KNOW?

I think I'm telling a story people simply don't know about. I didn't, and I've worked at a ski magazine for 14 years.

DO YOU EVER FEEL LIKE YOUR GENERATION HAS BEEN GIVEN A BIG FAT SHIT SANDWICH OF CLIMATE PROBLEMS TO DEAL WITH?

I think every generation has its fight. My grandfather fought in the Battle of the Bulge in WWII. Many parents today fought in Vietnam, Iraq or Afghanistan. Our generation has been incredibly lucky, and somewhat spoiled. This is our fight and a chance to make our mark. Not just to protect our way of life, but to make it even better, more equitable and more sustainable.

IF YOU COULD SEND AN AUTOGRAPHED COPY OF THE BOOK TO THE WORLD'S BIGGEST CLIMATE CHANGE DENIER, WHAT WOULD YOU WRITE ON THE INSIDE COVER?

Stock up on canned food.

Killing time

2013-06-07T10:35:00.002-04:00

Next Friday, it will be six months since the Sandy Hook Elementary School shooting.

In that same half year, close to 5,000 people in the United States were killed by guns; Congress and various talking heads spent thousands of hours grandstanding on all sides of a gun bill before burying it at sea, and State governments – like the one led by Vermont Governor Peter Shumlin -- joined the kicking-the-can-down-the-road party by saying his hands were tied against meaningful gun legislation unless the Feds did something first.

Even our gridlock has gridlock, and the gun conversation has added another cup of sand into the grinding gears.

On the bright side, both sides have shown an incredible talent for yelling down empty hallways and looking down their nose at people whose gas tanks are on the wrong side of the car.

Personally, I like a lot of what Dan Baum has to say. I first read his thoughts in a lengthy WSJ piece published right after the Newtown tragedy, and just read a follow up "debate" in the NYT from last month. Thought provoking and idea rich … you should check him out.

WSJ: Why our gun debate is off target

NYT: What gun lovers think

Dan’s thoughts span a big range, from voluntary actions by gun retailers to setting the table for a Firearm Responsibility Act which would make gun owners criminally liable for unsecured weapons. But mainly he’s trying to stake out a rational tree of trust where all sides are welcome, and ideas can actually be discussed.

There are close to 300 million guns in the United States. Even if another gun was never made or sold, we still need to figure out how to live together.

Everything else is just killing time.

The day after Earth Day

2013-04-30T10:27:00.000-04:00

TUCSON, ARIZONA -- The Desert doesn’t seem to care about Earth Day. In fact, it seems to enjoy the fact that it’s winning.

The Desert owns a quarter of the earth’s surface already, but the Desert isn’t satisfied. The Desert is pushing back forests, drying up grasslands, and changing tenants at a historic rate.

As the Desert heats up four times faster than the global average, the Desert is not-so-quietly celebrating the fact that it has clearly gained the upper hand against the cold, green world.

And why not? The Desert has us on its side, after all.

If you’re the glass half empty crowd … and I know you are ... you like to whisper that the upward creep of the Desert is loud proof that we’re all screwed. You think that rampant consumerism is too far out of the barn to be reined in, especially since shopping as a sport has spread worldwide. You think that our governments are unwilling, impotent and overrated in their ability to do anything about climate change. You think that our culture is the equivalent of a watered down Diet Coke – artificial and strange, and getting weaker by the day. And you think that our population has successfully devolved into a species that thinks food comes from Sam’s Club, and water comes from Poland Springs.

But if you’re the glass half full crowd … and I know you are … you also have a weird buzzing between your ears. If the Earth were truly painted into a corner, why would we still be talking about it? If we have all given up, why would it make our stomach turn every time we read another page of bad environmental news?

Often enough, but not often enough, you meet people in your daily adventures, and they look you in the eye. They listen. They think. They smile. There is kindness and intelligence out there, despite the headlines that say otherwise.

Ironically, you believe that the curse of more people is also the solution. More brains means more ideas. More ideas means more chances for things to work out the right way. The positive way.

And one of those ways might even come from the Desert.

Along with all the Desert's heating will come a new wetness, too. The sure increase in global rainfall will surely impact at least some of the growing Desert.

What we don't know is how wet this new Desert will get. What we do know is that rain plus desert equals vegetation, and a greening up of the desert climate would put at least one finger on the right side of the scale ... starting the process of carbon sequestration: a sucking of carbon back out of the atmosphere an inserting it into a place that can actually use it.

I’m not saying that we should stick our head in the sand, literally, and count on the Desert as the only solution.

I’m just saying that if the Desert can believe in us, maybe we can believe in ourselves too.

LINK: Global Deserts Outlook, United Nations Environmental Program

When friends die on Facebook

2013-01-01T20:34:00.002-05:00

Peter Devin was an Outdoor Retailer Show Director, a Fly Fishing Retailer Show Director, a former client of mine, an outdoor industry colleague, and a friend.

Not a Christmas Card friend, nor a Wednesday night beer drinking friend, nor even a golfing foursome friend, but a Facebook friend. He lived a couple thousand miles away in Newport Beach, California, and outside of "industry" events that we were both attending, the only social interaction we had with each other was through social media.

Peter died yesterday of Amyotropic Lateral Sclerosis, commonly known as Lou Gehrig's disease. When he first told me about it his diagnosis a few years ago about at the Outdoor Retailer Winter Market show, I knew it was horrible news. But it wasn't until that night in my hotel room, when I read the full Wikipedia post on the disease and its brutal effects, that I cried.

The degenerative nature of ALS takes years to take its full toll. And thanks to Facebook, we watched it all.

When Peter and I talked about the ALS that first time (3 years ago?), his voice was already significantly altered as difficulty speaking and swallowing is part of the drill with ALS. But on Facebook, his voice was gentle, real and continual. He wrote about awesome bucket list things like caddying for pros at the Masters, traveling with his family to Italy and fly fishing all sorts of killer waters. He frequently posted incredible smiling photos of himself with family and friends. While he certainly had the license to do some gratuitous over-posting, Peter was actually pretty restrained about the frequency of his updates.

Over time, those status update smiles got thinner and more angular as his neck muscles faded and his head started to tilt. A wheelchair began to be a constant companion in those photos, and then eventually it changed to a hospital bed.

I'm not sure exactly when the authorship switched on his Facebook page, but at some point it obviously did. It's pretty easy to figure out when the posts change to updates about hospital stays, near misses, and eventually a notice of his death and memorial service.

I didn't like anything about Peter's battle with ALS, but I was fond of seeing his posts. Even the "trivial" ones about things like college football had a certain poignancy to them. Not because they were meticulously crafted or framed with a colored filter, but because they were real thoughts from a real person who was steadily approaching the end of the line.

Facebook can be dumb, vapid, and wildly self-indulgent. At times in the last 12 months, I've become increasingly concerned that the overcrafted, over-safe, and over-shallow nature of personal posts are the first hints of a social media death spiral.

But when things actually do matter, Facebook is a brilliant tool for the job. I'm thankful for that, and I'm thankful to have had at least a small glimpse into Peter's world for the last three years.

Rest in peace, Peter.

That yellow band: does it stay or does it go?

2012-08-24T10:26:00.002-04:00

It started about two years ago, during the aftermath of a sales meeting far far far away. I was wearing a yellow rubber band, as I have for the most part of the last 6 years, and I got called on it. "Livestrong, man ... Live STRONG."

It wasn't said in an encouraging way. Not like it used to be. Instead, it was accusative. It was the way Newman talks to Jerry. Or Archie to Meathead. An extremely pointed comment, wet with sarcasm, implication and collusion.

As I live and work on the periphery of the cycling world, it's probably natural to assume that the yellow bracelet on my wrist is a rah-rah-Lance thing. There are certainly plenty of folks who sport the Livestrong band for that reason, and I've had numerous conversations over the years with people who see mine and immediately jump into a bicycling conversation ("... so, you're a cyclist?"..."looking forward to the Tour?").

But the band for me ... and for many, many others ... is a cancer thing. It's a subtle, almost invisible reminder of the things you've been through, or the things other people have been through. It's an everyday reminder to not sweat the small stuff. A quiet encouragement to squeeze in that run after all. A tiny cheerleader that says "go for it."

As quantifiable as Lance's impact has been on cycling (increased ratings, increased sponsorship dollars in cycling, road bike sales, etc), it's nearly impossible to measure his true impact in the cancer world. Yes, the Livestrong Foundation has made -- and given away -- a lot of money. But in the chemotherapy wards and the oncology waiting rooms, there are a lot of people -- like myself -- who encounter a stack of his books on nearly every table and end up reading it with a different kind of filter. A filter that honestly won't ever bother to watch him on Vs., or give a rat's ass whether he ever won one, two or twenty Tour titles. A filter that sees the world as truly not being about the bike. A filter that helps to make peace with the cancer process.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not a Lance groupie. The fact that he's being stripped of Tour titles and banned from cycling doesn't mean squat to me. And while the allegations against the Livestrong organization have certainly gotten my attention, that part of things really seems like a witch hunt.

Selfishly, at this point, it's about me. It's not about the bike, and it never has been. But this somewhat private, just-noticeable-enough token has become much more conspicuous today.

At times I've tried other mental reminders ... things around my neck, different types of wristlets ... but they get lost, or they don't seem to work quite as well on my aging brain as a flash of yellow under that suit sleeve, or they just feel too heavy, too obvious, too wrong. And the cycling conversations aren't horrible, it's just that any guy with shaved legs and a half a Michelob Ultra in his bloodstream seems really eager to cross a major freeway to lecture me about doping.

As of this morning, the yellow band is still on. It feels more right than wrong, more personal than public, more me than him.

But the day after tomorrow? It'd be cheating to say for sure.

E = PV(A-B)

2012-08-17T07:22:00.001-04:00

As egg sandwiches go, so goeth the community.

A surge in construction or a an increase in tourism traffic? Unbridled optimism or quantitatively eased pessimism? Check that egg croissant.

While the current egg sandwich volume in Vermont's Mad River Valley is not currently available, we can effort to extrapolate the health of the egg sandwich marketplace (and the related health of the community) through evaluation of median egg sandwich quality as well as independent scoring of pinnacle performers.

To determine valley-wide economic health ("E"), by this metric, consider:

E = PV(A-B), in that

E = Community economic health

P = Best egg sandwich score

V = Number of pre-made sandwiches available at 7 am on Friday at VG+IGS

A = Average breakfast sandwich score

B = Benchhmark score (50 , see below.)

To evaluate and determine the optimal egg sandwich in the Mad River Valley, we will conduct an unbiased ongoing rating effort, spread throughout the fall. Several variables have been set, including:

Geography: For the sake of this discussion, we are including Waitsfield, Warren, Fayston and Moretown. Ski areas definitely count (otherwise Fayston would be a punchline here. Again).

Benchmark: The standard upon which other sandwiches shall be measured is a home-made fried-egg served with a piece of bacon on a buttered Thomas english muffin. In addition to flavor and content, the size of this sandwich is a relevant benchmark as well: egg sandwiches considered in this evaluation should be as manageable/portable as the benchmark, otherwise deductions will occur. The benchmark sandwich shall be considered to have a standard score of 50 (out of 100).

Fresh-made vs. Grab-and-go: To ensure the fairest and most accurate rankings, we are dividing sandwiches into two primary categories. "Fresh-made" refers to sandwiches that are assembled upon order. "Grab-and-go" refers to sandwiches that have been pre-assembled, and may be grabbed and eaten immediately.

Required elements: One egg. Two pieces of bread.

Additional elements: All will be considered, but only as part of a standard menu offering. For example, a non-traditional substitution -- while tasty -- makes the entry invalid.

Cost: Entries will not be limited based on price. However the price-value relationship of the egg sandwich will certainly be factored into the final score.

On independence

2012-06-29T07:13:00.002-04:00

They say you’re not really trying unless you’re falling down. So I must be trying really hard.

I’ve fallen out of canoes, over handlebars, off chairlifts. I’ve crashed into lift poles, sailing masts and housefronts.

I’ve tumbled a few feet, going ass over knobby tire into cactus-filled creek beds. I’ve swam a few dozen yards in a thundering swirl of slabby snow. And on one notable occasion, I’ve tomahawked several hundred meters down an icy northern face that sure looked a lot kinder and gentler before I dropped in. Just ask around. This is the short list.

I’m not proud of my outdoor mistakes. But I’m not embarrassed either. They’ve all been educational … or maybe “correctional” is a better word … leaving marks both mild and occasionally quite deep.

It can be a sober thought to admit you’re on your own, that your actions are what got you here, and that whatever comes next is exactly what you deserve.

But that’s independence.

Some people figure it out early. Some, like me, are definite latecomers. And some, unfortunately, don’t even know that the party is going on at all.

With a home full of kids these days, the idea of teaching independence is a thought that’s come up quite a bit lately. There’s zero doubt in my mind that my kids want it, crave it, and need it. But is it teachable at all? Isn’t cultivating independence the same as growing a weed in a flower garden, or raising a coyote with milk?

Increasingly, I’m convinced that the only real path to independence is on that actual trail into the woods outside the back door. Take a few steps together, enjoy a few successes, endure a few challenges, and then let them take the first fork by themselves. The rest is up to them.

Personally, I wasn’t raised in a household of transceivers and backcountry first-aid kits. The teaching mistakes I made as a kid were addressed with time outs and two-stroke penalties. As much as I appreciate my upbringing and still enjoy those games today, I’ve never wondered how I’m going to make it home alive from the 18^th green.

As a dad, I definitely don’t want my kids to make the same mistakes I’ve made.

I want them to make their own.

Hat tip: Videos here were found on in Adventure Journal's "Moments of Regret"

We're all East Coast skiers now

2012-03-05T11:39:00.005-05:00

Other than the poles and the clothing and the pickup trucks, the thing on skis in the West and the thing on skis in the East really shouldn't be called the same thing.

Example: going "skiing" to somebody at the foot of Little Cottonwood Canyon can frequently mean a totally, entirely different thing than the same word uttered by a weekend passholder living in Waterville, Maine.

If we could just hold a meeting and pass a motion or two, a tidy little name change would help us all avoid any misunderstandings as well as the inevitable comparison between the two, which on certain days can be as fruitless as debating bicycles vs tuna fish, or as pointless as comparing breasts (...I mean, you could, but why bother?).

I was raised in Colorado, but I grew up in Wyoming. Deep Rocky Mountain snow is a very good friend of mine, and my couch is always open for an extended stay if he wants to crash the place.

The Eastern experience, on the other hand, has an allure that's simultaneously ridiculous and incredibly potent. The season starts the moment the first flake hits the ground and ends when the final patch of white is gone. All conditions are skiable conditions, from harder-than-God's-forehead boilerplate, to wet sandpaper granular, to short-radius extreme variable -- in which every turn contains every conceivable condition (powder, windslab, ice) and emotion (Ecstacy, fear, sadness, grief, elation, pride. Repeat).

An Eastern powder day is any day when snow has fallen overnight. Rain is actually pretty fun. And if it gets a little green and brown out there, just remember to turn on the grass, and point it over rocks.

The crucible of Eastern conditions doesn't just build a different skiing skill set, it also builds a different set of brain chemicals. Living through the emotional rollercoaster of a New England winter can be exhausting. The Eastern Snow Gods are some seriously moody bastards. But those who've lived under their yoke for more than a few cycles have a different type of appreciation for skiing. I'm not saying that they're better or more passionate or more appreciative than any Western-bred skier ... just that their stoke is unarguably, irrefutably, undeniably encased and protected in bulletproof, blue ice.

And unfortunately, that's what it's going to take to be a skier in the next few decades. Midwinter rain events are increasingly common west of the Mississippi and above treeline. Late season starts and early spring arrivals are just another thing that skiers will need to deal on.

Skiing the slush, skiing the rain, skiing the dirt. It's all just skiing after all.

Time to cue the country music.

Country roads, not covered with snow

2012-02-03T16:18:00.008-05:00

We're not quite to a suicide watch in ski country, but we have begun to listen to an awful lot of country music.

Just ask around. Seriously.

From Squaw Valley to Sugarloaf, Pandoras are set on Toby Keith and ITunes libraries are spewing out Jerry Jeff.

My insurance guy, my graphic designer, my co-workers, the breakfast deli this morning ... Everybody is on the country-western train.

The more I think about it, the more it makes perfect sense. For 90% of the lower 48, winter storms are playing hard to get. Frisky little cold fronts brush up against our legs, then run for the door. The man on the radio keeps telling us that big snows are just around the corner, and then he moves the corner.

It's a winter of 'just missed' opportunities, barstool therapy and shared melancholy. And even though it isn't necessarily cured by a big dose of twang and pedal steel, it definitely feels like the right soundtrack.

I've even started poking around regional ski blogs, reading them out loud with a Toby Keith twist, just to see if I can find a little more proof of this year's country western close encounter.

If you’ve been hanging on
and hoping that the season turns around
and we end up having an average
snowfall year, it may be time to start letting go…

If you find a better one, definitely let me know.

Endless November, skiing, and the new normal

2012-01-10T05:40:00.011-05:00

** January conditions in Squaw Valley, CA.

The phone is blinking, right now, with that reporter from the City. Yeah, that one. The very same reporter you’ve been trying to ply and squeeze and caress and gestate into some positive ink for more than a year.

But they’re not calling about fluff and white stuff … they want to talk about the rocks and the brown. In fact, they want to film the brown.

They want to bring a camera crew up to your mountain and get some footage of your record-setting craptastic conditions. They want to know how the depressing conditions have depressed skier visitation. And they want someone to go on camera to explain it all … how your ski hill snugly fits into the national story of the weirdest, worst start to a ski season since monoskis and moustaches were normal.

Ignoring that blinking light is not an option, unfortunately.

Editorially speaking, weather is popular. Weather is personal. Weather is relatable, reliable, high-quality water-cooler conversation fodder.

And that reporter is going to keep calling. Not because this story is going to be an award winner, nor because they went to J-school with fantasies of doing standups in empty parking lots, but because their editors are riding them, hard. Get a camera up there, get a quote, and get it done.

The story won’t pin anything to climate change, of course, as there’s no actual proof (just “science”) that the earth is warmed by the sun and not by a giant furnace stoked by evil gremlins at the earth’s core. But they will keep your number on speed dial for when winter goes haywire again in 2014, 2016, 2019 and 2020.

So even if you manage a Jedi mind trick this January, you’re going to be staring down at this very same blinking light, very soon in your very annoyed future.

There is an upside, of course. And not just because there’s a microphone on. This moment could be the opportunity you’ve been waiting for. This could be the chance to reframe the whole damn thing as step one of the transition to a new normal. And that new normal is a place where "ski" and "outdoor" join forces.

"Ski" is great of course. It’s about snow and wind and cold, and transporting souls from the warmth of purring fireplaces to a Martian landscape where they can speed around fueled by gravity and nothing else. “Ski” is exhilarating, transformative, and makes my heart rate jump just typing about it. The downside of “ski,” of course, is the stupid weather.

“Outdoor," on the other hand, is a portal. “Outdoor” is climbing and kayaking and hiking, but it’s also biking and flying and fishing and zorbing and … yeah … skiing. “Outdoor” isn’t limited by weather, it’s enabled by it. Because when January gives you October, you still go outside. And once you get outside, you realize that it's the place you've wanted to be all along.

A lot of American destinations have already begun this transition, of course, with subtle branding tweaks to drop “ski” from their name altogether, replacing it with euphemisms like “mountain resort.” They’ve made some token operational changes as well, allowing things like snowshoeing in the winter, and lift-accessed mountain biking in the summer. But they’re still firmly rooted in the “ski” mindset, looking for ways to draw bodies and to contain those bodies in a few clearly labeled boxes.

An “outdoor” resort would also lure people in, of course, but it would tempt them with the allure of access instead of an implicit guarantee of situationally perfect conditions. Opening a portion of a mountain to uphill traffic only, year-round, for example, would be a simple way to kick things off. Let these “outdoor” people come, give them access, and let them figure out how to use it.

The easiest place to look for proof of the “outdoor” appeal is right in front of you. Your crusty locals are a remarkable resource. These are the people who are so passionate about mountain access that they live across the street from fill-in-the-blank resort’s Dumpsters. Many of them don’t hold a season pass of any kind, and some of them barely ride a chairlift at all anymore. But I guarantee you that they're heading outdoors, every second that they can.

In a down winter, the creativity of local adventuring is all the marketing research you’ll ever need to do. These people are professional fun hogs, and are the driving force of opportunity-driven outdoor adventuring. LINK.

The truth, of course, is that "ski" is already pretty far down the path of transitioning to "outdoor." More initiatives are being put in place. More summer work opportunities are emerging. And a few more bodies are coming on a regular basis. The biggest challenge isn’t getting ski areas to think like outdoor areas … it’s getting the people to recognize it.

Consider for a moment the tradition of America's biggest mountain-driven “outdoor” season … New England's fall foliage blowout. Each autumn, swarms of people flood the region with the obsessive calendar-driven regularity of an OCD salmon run. People eyeball the weather. And then they decide what to do, be it camp or fish or paddle or bike.

That, in a maple-covered nutshell, is the fundamental difference between "ski" and "outdoors," and between the constraints of the current moment and the opportunities of the next.

In yesterday’s world, we were waiting for the weather. In tomorrow’s, the weather is waiting for us.

Hurricane Irene: It's not over until she says it's over

2011-11-28T09:17:00.006-05:00

The big kicker for me was hearing that the Alchemist would not re-open (LINK).

Unarguably the most successful, always-crowded, always-happening brew pub in arms reach of the Irene flood zone, the Alchemist was hit hard. An iconic establishment on an extremely high-visibility corner, the Alchemist was also a beacon of inspiration in the aftermath of the flood, posting huge “We WILL be back” and "God Bless Waterbury" signs in their window behind an even bigger Dumpster full of soggy drywall and limp insulation. (... A wonderful photo gallery of the damage and recovery efforts at the Alchemist can be found HERE).

A few weeks ago, the owners learned that their basement – home to their offices, their food storage and their on-site brewing facility -- would not be covered by their insurance. So, they made the tough to call to shut things down and move on.

Of course, you can’t blame them. But you can wonder about what’s going on in the less thriving establishments who were also thrashed and impacted by Irene. It's not advanced math. You start with a business that wasn't exactly crushing it anyway, add one part natural disaster, and stir.

There are a few unofficial stats floating around, though. According to one friend involved in regional repair efforts, we have built back only about 25% of the homes and businesses that were destroyed or damaged. Some, like the Alchemist, will clearly be replaced by another business. But many on the bubble will likely never get rebuilt at all.

It’s a tough thing to wrap your head around sometimes, as a few hundred feet can separate a complete trashed and destroyed property from a healthy and vibrant one. Under a blanket of fresh snow, you could easily drive from Burlington to Sugarbush and not notice any damage at all.

For the local businesses, heading into the critical winter tourism season that drives the engine around these parts, it’s a tough message that people are trying to get out there. How do you express the severity of the situation, and the fragility of the business community, while also giving people the confidence that those same businesses are open and ready for business?

Small Vermont towns don't do the national franchise thing. The state capitol is the only one in the nation without a McDonald's. There aren't any Starbucks around here, nor is there a J Crew or an Eddie Bauer that can pay rent through years of economic distress. The restaurants and merchants are almost exclusively one-of-a-kind, purely original enterprises. And they stay afloat almost solely through the support that walks in the front door.

LINK: Mad River Valley Community Fund for hurricane relief

Every time somebody says "atmospheric carbon" ... drink

2011-10-22T06:06:00.011-04:00

On DinarDaddy.com you can go down the rabbit hole into the world of Iraqi currency speculation.

The shtick is pretty simple … Iraqi currency is worth far less than pennies on the dollar at the moment, but revaluation is imminent, as the US Government clearly sees the nation as too important to fail. And if you just bought some Dinar now, you could turn a few thousand into a few million before you can say “shock and awe.”

Now, you can’t buy the Dinar through traditional channels like “banks.” But you can buy it through online Dinar brokers who will fedex you an envelope full of colorful bills. Of course, there is the slight concern of getting expired, worthless Iraqi currencies which closely resemble the current Dinar, as well as outright counterfeit bills, as well as a litany of other potential scams that surround and infect the concept.

“I don’t care,” admitted a slightly inebriated sales rep at a meeting I attended a few weeks back. “I am in. WAY in.”

As I told the Dinar story to a 20-something friend last night, he smiled in the same patient way that my oncologist used to when I asked him about medical marijuana.

“Maybe it’s a generational thing,” he said. “But it just seems to me that investing shouldn’t be about sending money to some faceless place in hopes of some killer return. It should be about putting money into slow growth ideas in your local community, and knowing that even if you don’t make a ton of money, at least you know you’ve done the right thing …. I just wish there was a way to put my 401k into things like this.”

The Ward farm is a new farm, approximately 90 acres, and just down the road from my house. It’s been an open, uncultivated field for the last few decades, but it’s now the site of about a dozen crops … a diverse mix of berries and herbs and nuts that were carefully selected for high market value. Stuff like echninacea and goldenseal. There are also some sheep kicking around the property, as well as some loaner cows that just showed up a few days ago, there to help take the carbon from the air and insert it back into the soil.

And that small idea -- turning atmospheric carbon into soil organic matter, and moving from the 'age of oil to the age of soil' -- was the topic of the night.

The Soil-Carbon Coalition, a traveling road show based out of a renovated yellow school bus, complete with a working piano, was there at the Ward Farm to do some baseline soil testing for a 10-year challenge known as the Soil-Carbon Challenge. The idea is pretty simple: instead of proposing hypothetical solutions to climate change, why not just start doing things right, start measuring them, and start telling people about it.

As I understand it (and forgive me if I hack this up), the soil in the Challenge will be measured for numerous things, but the big kicker is the carbon. Because if we can show that sustainable use of soils can take the carbon out of the air and create usable healthy soil at the same time, we can not only start backing down from the climate change cliff ... but we can address numerous other challenges at the same time.

According to the SCC guys, the current mindset on addressing elevated carbon in the atmosphere is severely limited. Measuring, forecasting, and prescribing climate treatments based solely on fossil fuel usage is much like a doctor treating a specific symptom without ever considering the cause.

They also got a conversation going about how we’d be facing the same problems with carbon and climate change, even if we’d never used a drop of fossil fuels -- thanks to static land use strategies that allow some soils to harden from disuse and others to suffocate from overuse.

If it’s any consolation, I thought it was going to just be a Friday night kegger, too.

Birders see Big Opportunity in "Big Year"

2011-10-16T07:37:00.009-04:00

They call it ‘the movie.’

And when they say it, they breathe it out with a glowing reverence – almost a whisper, actually -- more suited to a scornful demigod (or former girlfriend) who might appear if you accidentally say the name a bit too loud.

When “A River Runs Through It” came out in 1992, it put fishing for trout with a fly on the radar screen of every guy who wished he had a little bit of Brad Pitt in him, as well as every woman who wished for the same.

In addition to doing wonders for Norman MacLean book sales, the "movie" put fly fishing businesses into a soaring trajectory as well.

Briefly, that is. While fly fishing participation soared in the early 90s, the next 15 years featured a slow and steady decline. A river running downhill, so to speak.

They still talk about the “movie” in the fly fishing world. Some wistful, some snarky. And every time another film that features the sport in it comes along, they push a few chips out onto the green felt, hoping that big wheel stops on them once again. (Last year’s “The River Why” was frothed up as the second coming, but apparently even Amber Heard's lovely form wasn’t enough to save it. Link: Review)

This month, another outdoorsy community is clasping hands in anticipation of a bump. Enter the birdwatchers.

“The Big Year” – starring Jack Black, Steve Martin and Owen Wilson – is being heralded by the birding community as the big opportunity they’ve been waiting for. The tale of three hyper competitive bird watchers trying to set a record for the most birds in a single year has seen more advertising support in the last 30 days the entire fly fishing industry spends in a year, combined.

That might help. But plenty of other movies spend buckets of cash to no avail. And the hope here is about more than just supporting gross box office sales, it's about increasing the number of people heading outside for a glimpse of a wild bird ("conversion") and it's about hooking those people on the activity in such a way that they keep coming back year after year ("retention").

At this point, conversion is primary focus. And, blissfully, the birding community isn't just sitting around waiting for the bump to lift them up. They're actually doing something.

This week, Audubon launched “Birding the Net” a month-long Facebook campaign that aspires to draft off "The Big Year" and its massive marketing support ... and hopefully convert a few people to the birding cause.

An inspired and well thought-out program, “Birding the Net” has recruited hundreds of brands -- from USA Today to the New York Times to our friends at Woolrich -- to incorporate a variety of birds into their websites. Live birds, actually, that will fly across the screen as you're reading the news or shopping for a new merino wool sweater.

Every time you see one of those birds flying around your computer monitor, if you click on the bird in time, you’ll “collect it” and a badge will be added to your birding portfolio on Facebook.

Lots of other twists to the campaign exist as well ... like html "birdhouses" that can be added to any site ... as well as a boost of competitiveness in which your roster of birds will be measured against other friends on Facebook. The 'net birders with the most in their portfolio by the end of the month will be entered to win numerous prizes, including a Lindblad trip to the Galapagos. Pretty damn sweet.

The beauty of "Birding the Net" is that it doesn't hinge on "The Big Year" being good, bad or sideways. Instead, it takes the initiative.

And for right now, that's exactly what it's gonna take.

LINK: Audubon's 'Birding the Net' on Facebook