The email popped into my inbox last week – “Press Trip Invite”. Love reading these. They come with an attached itinerary that makes Club Med looked like a snooze. I will read all about the place and daydream about the excursion. Then I decline.

Don’t get me wrong. Press trips are a travel writer’s bread and butter. Magazines and newspapers rarely pay expenses (websites, never) and if I’m going to pay to visit a place I’m on vacation like everyone else; not working. With press trips, we are invited on an all-expense paid mini-vacay so we can (honestly) report back on the experience (be it good or bad). There really is no faster way to get the word out about a place than to invite a group of experienced journalists to see for themselves. It’s cheaper for a company than advertising and, if you plan right, you can target a myriad of audiences from seniors and families to extreme athletes. And for us media people, a press trip is like a mini writers conference. I have yet to walk away from one without a story assignment. I went on a Lake Powell luxury houseboat excursion and wrote for two years for Trail Blazer Magazine- an RV print pub. But usually I stay home in the winter. The snow and skiing is always better in Utah and, invariably, if you do travel you get to hear reports of footage dumping in the Wasatch and many happy faceshots while you cruise groomers as the guides point to places that are great fun “when there’s snow.”

But this particular email was different. It had only one activity listed: SNOWCAT SKIING. Duh. I may be blond but I’m no dummy. I’ve had only one icky snowcat skiing experience (fat ski testing outside of Crested Butte, Colo., for SKI Magazine) and it was still something to boast to the grandkids about. We had pockets of windblown but for the most part everything was break-away crust and corral reef; near death-defying in places but ski athletes like Kristen Ulmer and Chris Anthony made shitty snow look sweet. It was fun, challenging, exciting and educational to be part of that team. I wasn’t missing anything back home.

photo courtesy Grand Targhee Cat Skiing

Here was the gist of the Three Forks Ranch email:

An ultra-exclusive, luxury ranch property celebrates its first-ever season of snowcat power skiing. We want to invite you on an all-inclusive (that’s airfare, too) press visit February 27 – 29.

I’ll give you 3 reasons why this place makes for a great story:

1. There are only 15 guest rooms total, so there’s a max of 30 guests who could possibly be on the mountain, at the spa, in the dining room, etc while you’re there.
2. There are no lift lines, because private guides transport skiers to the top of Three Forks Mountain – a pristine peak blanketed by an annual snowfall of 400-450 inches – via snowcats.
3. Everything is included in your stay, and I mean everything… world-class cuisine, room, all the luxe spa treatments you heart desires, skiing, snowmobiling, sleigh riding, and anything else you can imagine doing on 200,000 private acres.

And then there was this video.

I busted out my High Sierra wheeled ski bag collecting dust in my attic, packed my Dynastar Paradises, the Leki poles with the fat baskets, a backpack for my camera, one ski outfit and baselayers that I could don the minute we hit the Ranch, a knit dress for dinner (after all it is a ‘luxury’ lodge and men are required to wear a collared shirt), Sorel Tofinos for sledding, Athleta tankini for the hottub and Hi-Tec Mocs for fast airport security and trekking to the spa, and I was good to go. The Langes, laptop, iPod, Canon, and Wowee speaker go in the wheelie carry-on and… DAMN I forgot my avalanche beacon. Just because you’re at a deluxe lodge does not mean you can’t die in the backcountry. Snowcat skiing is backcountry skiing. But I’m pretty sure they’ll have spares for us.

Oh, and for those of you who have no idea what snowcatting is, you need to. It’s like helicopter skiing without ever leaving the ground. You may not get as much vertical as you do in a chopper but the runs are untracked and wide open. The cat can roll in any weather and you get to warm up inside as you truck up to your next run. It’s also a lot less expensive than helicopter skiing.

So there you have it. My plane to Steamboat is about to board. Gotta run!

I wasn’t planning to ski. After three full days of romping around the chutes, couloirs and bumps of Jackson, I could feel the residual umph in my hip flexors and thighs. Damn Facebook. More than one person was posting about Baldy’s Main Chute being open. And it was sunny and warm. How could I ignore that carrot?

I dropped Sage at school and raced over to Alta. People think if you live in Park City, a drive to Little Cottonwood involves vacation days but it’s not true. It’s 40 minutes to click in. Plus, you have cell reception the whole way down Parley’s and most of LCC so you can get work done during your commute. The flat light was beginning to replace the sun by the time I loaded the Sugarloaf chair. When I got to the gate at the Snowbird checkpoint, it was all but gone; not a bad thing when you’re about to start a journey of connect-the- postholes straight up a spine.

I unfurled my Goat, strapped my skis to my back and off I went. It was 11 a.m. The sign at the gate said “Main Chute Only; if you ski anything else we’ll close the whole thing. Know where you’re going.” I thought I did.

At noon I was still trying to make my way to the summit. Two people passed me and three snowboarders were slowly catching up. I appreciated the fact that I wasn’t trying to get up with skis in my hands as I needed them to help me crawl at one point. The wind swirled around me, thankfully cooling my head through my helmet vents. Once on the ridge I could relax. I wasn’t quite to 11,000 feet but the drama was over. I had plenty of room on either side in case I needed to step out of the path and catch my breath. Thanks to a crappy season and lack of skiercise so far I was definitely struggling. But I made it. I dropped my skis and looked around. No one. The one guy ahead of me faded over the ridge. I waited. I skied Main Chute once last year but I hiked it from Snowbird in May. My perspective was off. I wanted to make sure I didn’t drop into the wrong chute and summon the wrath of every Alta patron. Soon an Alta ski instructor approached. A friendly one who gave me specific instructions, down to the mention of where I would want to enter the shot (far skier’s left). I clicked in, waved bye and deliberately worked my way to the entrance.

Where was everyone? Maybe because it was so skied up from yesterday they didn’t need to hit it again? Usually Main Chute is a cluster. The leeward wind exposure makes it a snow trap and one of the first of Baldy’s fingers to sport a relatively rock-free descent. It doesn’t open often so when it does, the march of eager backcountry skiers looks like ants heading for scraps at a picnic. On my lap, it was deserted.

I dropped in. Large, soft mounds of chalky packed powder, not quite close enough or big enough to be full-blown moguls, kept me working for each turn. My legs burned instantly. I had 750 feet of vert ahead. A few chocolate chips poked out but the run is wide and they were easy to navigate. I kept waiting for snow drifts to scoot by from skiers on the 40-degree pitch above but the only sloughs around me came from me. I thought about what I had learned at Jackson. Counter is your friend, plant your pole far down the hill, chin up so you can see ahead, etc. Despite getting sloppy toward the end, I proudly exited onto the apron of Ballroom. My only regret was not finding a friend to go with me. I could have used a huge High Five at that point.

It’s not every day we get to ski the Baldy Chutes and with the forecasted storm it looks like we’ll all be waiting to get back up there. I headed for the Collins parking lot with a self-satisfied buzz. Neeners!

Driving up to Teton Village should hold dread. You see the Teton Mountains and the imposing face of the ski resort as you approach. I bet beginners pucker just looking at that area. Jackson Hole is not only huge but steep and loaded with vertical lines. Nearly 4200 vertical of thighroasting feet but unlike at Snowbird, once you get up to the top you never have to go back down to the tram if you don’t want to and you will still rack some serious vert. Sublette, Thunder and the new Marmot lifts get you pretty close to Rendezvous Bowl.

The plan was to meet the gang from PSIA Intermountain in Nick Wilson’s cafeteria, all ride the tram, warm up in Rendezvous Bowl, and split up in Cheyenne Bowl ride and ride chairs for the rest of the day.

Four DECL coaches greeted us and handed out lift tickets as we entered the café. If I wasn’t already an instructor, I’d seriously consider joining PSIA just for the value. A full day of coaching and lift ticket to Jackson for $60 (retail value on the ticket alone is $94 and a group lesson is close to $200!). Jackson is definitely not known for its value. Afterall, they have to pay for that shiny new tram somehow. Kids group lessons are close to $200 and don’t include a lift ticket, lunch averages $15 for a samdwhich and drink (no fries) and they charge $15 for the nearest parking lot; otherwise it’s $5 for the Ranch Lot and shuttle to the Tram building. But let’s face it, if I’m going to spend $100 on a lift ticket I’d rather it be to Jackson than Deer Valley. But that’s just me. I haven’t gotten old or lazy enough to whine for groomers. A DV Steeps Camp would be an oxymoron.

The Split

Twenty two campers from mostly Utah anxiously booted and helmeted up as we waited for battle plans. We’d soon split into four groups of five. There would be the ‘hard-chargers’ who would ski top to bottom all day long, the ‘slowpokes’ who would need extra love and attention and then two middle groups who would get a mixture of the others. One of those, led by Karen, turned into a ladies group. I thought I was going in that group until hit the bottom, looked back up and saw all of them still skiing down. They were strong skiers but sloooow.

Last year, I charged. My clinician decided pain was the name of the game and we stopped once for the bathroom and once for lunch from 9:30 a.m. to 3:45 p.m. This year, with the weaksauce early season I’ve had, I just didn’t feel up to non-stoppers but that didn’t mean I wanted to stand around waiting and talking.

Hello, Bruce Keller!

Bruce has been at Jackson for 18 years. To say he knows the mountain is an understatement. He’s a trainer to other instructors, a backcountry guide, a heliski gude in Alaska and a river guide in the summer. He’s led Steeps Camps groups for 12 years and he’s filled with anecdotes, pointers and constructive yet positive feedback.

The conditions at Jackson this week were better than Utah’s but that’s not really saying much. Neither state has broken the 100″ inch base benchmark and it’s mid-February. At Jackson, we had moguls everywhere. Fortunately the caliber of skier at Jackson means the moguls are at least skiable instead of those weird hacked off mini cliffs you find at DV when it hasn’t snowed in a while. We had soft purchase on those rolling mounds. There were decent-sized bumps in the tree shots from Expert Chutes to Bivouac but at least the mountain was 100 percent open including the backcountry gates.

It didn’t take long to feel the burn. I’m usually in ski shape by February but with so little motivation to get on it this season, I wasn’t. The Steeps Camps, therefore, served a multitude of purposes- get me in shape, get me skiing off-piste, get me skiing off-piste well, and get me out of Utah where lack-of-snow depression was setting in. We bee-lined for Sublette chair and our first ‘theme’ of the day. Bruce asked us, “What’s the most important angle in steep skiing?” The answer isn’t hips, or ankles or knees. The angle is us being perpendicular to the slope. That’s the angle you need to keep moving down the hill. In just about any ski school class you’ll take, you’ll encounter an instructor who eschews counter. That’s where you’re shoulders and pelvis face downhill while your lower body is across the hill (or at four or eight o’clock, as Bruce describes). Ski steeps at Jackson (or anywhere) and counter is king.

Don’t Be A Poodle

Another fave phrase of Bruce’s- Don’t be a poodle. I add, “Be a pitbull”.

Debb Demonstrating Counter

Another big topic of discussion was directional control versus speed control. Sometimes it’s more important to make minor adjustments to the shape of your turn as you make your way through a technical section and worry about speed control when the run opens up (becomes wide enough for a bigger turn to dump your speed). All that talk of “finishing a turn” you hear from ski instructors? Screw it in the steeps. ‘Finish’ a turn and you stop your flow. One thing you don’t want to be in a 55 or 60-degree slope is ‘stuck’. We watched a guy launch into Corbet’s Couloir and straight run it for about 100 feet before slowly arcing to regain control. He then changed direction and did another lazy GS turn. He didn’t stop until the flats. No poodles in sight.

Third Time’s The Charm

We never did make it into Corbet’s ourselves but we got a chance to practice the next ‘theory’. Every well-executed run requires three passes. On the first, you scope it. The second, you ski it and the third, you flash it. We rode Thunder to Elephant Tree, skied soft Wyoming snow up to our boot cuffs through tight pines, cut across to Paint Brush for more trees and into Toilet Bowl for a funnel that focused on an exposed rock quarry. The trick was to set up with a high-side turn before entering the gut where the rocks were. Since we had ‘scoped’ on the first run, we knew exactly where we had to be to avoid them. Unfortunately, we had a hard time ‘flashing’ on the third run as the day became a total whiteout with the storm that had moved into the area. Next pointer from Bruce- plant your pole as far down the hill as possible. You’ll be able to tell what’s below you as well as move in that direction. We couldn’t see sh*t but we kept moving. Damn this clinic rocks.

By 3:45 p.m. our little band of old timers (we have a 70-year-old Snowbird instructor ripping it up with us!) was forced to pack it in. What a day. I felt like we went from zero to 70 in a blink but that’s what a steeps camp does. There’s no room for poodles as Bruce would say. We celebrated the end of Day 1 with jalapeno margaritas at the Merry Piglets and I tucked myself in by 10 p.m. As I drifted off, I wondered if I’d be sore in the morning.

They didn’t want to tell us or we would freak out. That’s my guess. “This is going to be a challenging stretch of water,” Pleeza says. We had a hydrology class in the morning after breakfast and it actually taught me a lot about what to look for on the water and how to handle the current and rocks. Or so I thought.

When we got to the put in, we left our boats and walked over to the first section of rapids. The skies were cold and gray and the water churned below. The river arced to the left, then right and out of sight. We talked about WORMS- Water, Obstacles, Route, and I can’t remember what ‘M and ‘S’ stand for – things to consider when looking at the river. OK, so most of it went right over my head. It was Crabs’ play-by-play orders after my first toss that made sense.

On the very first rapid, the one we scouted, the one I confidently hit, I leaned right, hugging the rock, just as Captain O explained to our ‘class’ this morning. Trouble was Clicks had zipped up on my left and bumped the bottom of my boat sending me upside down. In an instant my boat was right and my head was out of the water. Konvict was right behind Clicks and had Hand of Goded me. That means he reached over and flipped my boat upright. And it did feel like the hand of God had reached down and rescued me. After that, there was Crabs next to me; keeping me safe, explaining what I was seeing down river and how to interpret it for the path I wanted to run. Little good it did me. The next rapid sent me swimming. A wave had hit me sideways and I failed to square up (get the nose of my boat at a 90 degree angle to the wave) in time. I was upside down pulling a total brainfart. I know how to roll just not when it matters. So I pulled my spray skirt and swam out from under my boat. My redemption was climbing back into the kayak while it was still in the water. Captain O and Crabs were holding it between them so I crawled in. Pretty slick but no one seemed to notice. We had a lot of swimmers today.

I stayed dry the rest of the day. No more flips. Actually, I stayed dry all day thanks to the NRS suit the company sent my way. So very thankful. If the water was any colder we’d be skating instead of boating. They sent me a pair of their Maverick Gloves as well. Even if I didn’t boat like a champ, I looked and felt like one. Despite the clouds the scenery along the river painted that wilderness picture you’d expect. Occasionally we’d hit a section where the highway buzzed overhead but for the most part we paddled deep canyons with steep forested hills and rock walls stretching up as high as Marriotts.

At one point we were chilling in an eddy on river left when I spotted mountain goats on the outcroppings above the river. I called to the campers to look up. Sometimes you get so focused on the waves and ripples you forget to look around. We stayed a little bit longer after that.

The staffers didn’t tell us about the river because they didn’t want to frighten us. Good thing. The river kicked our butts anyway but we all made it through safely, exhausted and full of smiles.

After cold cuts again by the river we headed into the park for ‘alternative craft’ day. I shared the SUV with Spoonburg, Symbol, Konvict and Gomez and the laughter was non-stop. Whether it was comedy on the radio or comedy from Spoonburg, the jokes were flying. Konvict’s driving too added to the squeals. When Spoonburg spotted a black bear and her cub, we pulled a super fast U turn, cutting off a truck that was thinking about doing the same thing. Boy was the driver pissed. But we were first in line to snap photos of the bears.

We parked at Logan Peak Visitors Center, hiked a ways up the glacier and hauled ass back down on sleds. I stayed in the car last year and waited. This year, I participated. Something about the group this year was different. I felt welcome and encouraged. Last year at FD1 there were cliques where I felt I didn’t fit in. This time around we were all part of the same clique. It was a riot. Plus, I appreciated the extra leg workout. Sitting in a boat all day doesn’t do much for your quads.

By the campfire tonight I got the Spam hat. Each night the campers pass awards around- the Spam hat for the biggest goofball of the day (which I think should have gone to Konvict but it has to go to a camper), The Captain America Hat (for on land achievement), the silver vest (for on water achievement), and the Nemo Hat (for the biggest swimmer of the day). I was proud to be known as the clown. Apparently I was going nuts on the sled I shared with Clicks. He was the one who passed it to me. The evening ended on a high-note for me. The day did too.

Well we’ve hit the river twice so far and the vibe couldn’t be more different from last year. Yesterday we put into Lake MacDonald and reinforced the skills we had learned- paddle techniques, wet exits even rolling. Pretty much everyone nailed at least one roll- even me. We played two quick games of Sharks and Minnows, had lunch of coldcuts and fruit then it was back into the boats to paddle down the creek. It was a mellow afternoon and a good thing too. I hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before. The gentle rock of my boat on the water nearly sent me to sleep at one point.

It was a sweet day watching everyone get back on the water. For most it’s been a year, for others, a couple. Some campers were doing FD for a third time. It was Tails’ 6^th camp this year alone. When he’s done this summer, the blind camper will have 14 FD camps under his belt.

We had just popped out of the suburbans. Time to unload and dress!

 

My boat. They call me Scoop. Everyone at camp gets a nickname from the moment they arrive. In FD 1 we didn’t know real names until we were back at home and the email list was distributed. This time we take it amongst ourselves to learn everyone’s real name on Day 1.

My new womens Immersion drysuit fom NRS. Looking forward to testing it this week. It’s a Medium (I’m 120, 5’6″). Feels a bit big but the staffers say it’s the right size for me.

‘Burping’ the suit to get all of the air out. It’s kind of cool feeling like a giant ballon that’s deflating.

Time for the wet suit where you roll over and pull your sprayskirt. This technique will be used a lot by me this week.

But I did get my Eskimo roll!

B

Brad Ludden, the man who started it all is on the far left. Without his desire to share the river with cancer survivors none of us would be here this week.