Hiking then boarding (a.k.a. "earning your turns...bra") was something I was always interested in, but never took part in during my short winter trips out west over the years. As we drove the 16 miles from Bozeman to Bridger my excitement grew as I realized that really had moved to Bozeman and that I really was in a true winter playground. Some of the surreal was starting to wear off and reality was starting to sink in. It was an awesome reality!
We pulled into the Bridger parking lot and geared up. We had expected there to be more of a crowd since we had gotten snow the night before, but the crowd was thin. It was 25 degrees and cloudy, cold by my standards, so I wore three layers underneath my outer jacket. A quarter mile later I would sweating buckets and panting like a dog. Hiking turns every human into a mini nuclear power plant of heat. Fewer layers next time.
At the top of that first quarter mile or so we dropped Lewis off and watched him sled down the hill gaining so much speed that he would have to bail out then get back on. It looked like he was having fun, so Tony and I marched on, headed for the top of the Bridger lift.
Ready to sled shred.Photograph by Chuck Bolte.
We were hiking a green run then met a blue at the bottom of the Bridger lift. The blue was steeper, but very manageable. We followed snowcat tracks up the steepest part of the slope to avoid having to blaze trail in deep powder. Tony's first layer was drenched, so we stopped for a break and he peeled it off. We were both overdressed. We pushed on. Tony started to fall behind, so I pulled up at the Bridger lift mid station to take a break and wait for him. Once he arrived, we quickly decided that the mid station would be our high point for the day. We had already been hiking for 90 minutes and figured Lewis was probably starting to get bored at the base of the mountain.
Tony repping MSU at the mid station.Photograph by Chuck Bolte.
We strapped in and started down. The powder was deep and fluffy and back leg immediately started to ache trying to lean back and float on the powder. My old Burton was fighting me at every turn, but it did not matter. I had hiked. I was riding powder. Life was good.
At the bottom we met up with Lewis, who I had apparently passed on the way down, but never saw. We loaded up and drove back to Bozeman content, but Lewis was not finished. On Oak Street we passed a dog park with a small hill in it and Lewis wanted to keep sledding. We pulled in and jumped out and Lewis went right to work building a little kicker.
Bailing.Photograph by Chas. B.
Lewis got froggy and decided to try and ride across a series of hay bales. I would call it a hay bale manual pad. Surprisingly, he was pretty successful with his idea and ended up riding across three hay bales, but this picture of just two was a good one.
Two hay bale manual.Photograph by Chuck Bolte.
Tomorrow is Lewis' last day and we have nothing planned other than to drop him off at the airport. Afterwards I will rest and watch the Montana State University Bobcats take on the University of Montana Grizzlies in the region's fiercest football rivalry.
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