Journeys: 1st Snowshoe Adventure

I had never been snowshoeing, but was interested in cutting my teeth now that I was out west and enjoying recent snowfall. I stopped by REI and rented a pair of MSR EVO Ascent snowshoes. I liked that the snowshoes had an optional tail for deep powder. I wanted to hike around Mount Blackmore in Hyalite Canyon south of Bozeman, but the avalanche conditions were bad enough that I needed to change plans. Having hiked at Bridger Bowl a few times I decided I would snowshoe there since I had seen the conditions first hand.

It was a great sunny day and I eagerly started up the slopes from the Bridger lodge. I could tell a huge difference between hiking in my snowboard boots versus the snowshoes almost immediately. I was moving quickly up the green bunny slope, then kept good speed up the steeper blue slope at the Bridger lift. The snowshoes were faster than me. I could move so quickly on the snow that I had to slow down and catch my breath for the first time.

Surprisingly, I only made it to the Bridger lift mid station seven minutes faster than with my snowboard boots. I looked up the black diamond slope in front of me and trudged straight up the steepest part, pushing the snowshoes to their fullest potential. The snowshoes performed well, but in the deeper powder I had to stomp my feet down a few times before taking a step. Otherwise I would slip and did not want to cartwheel backwards down the slope. I continued up, moving slowly, but efficiently. I reached the bottom of the t-bar lift. I had not been this high before and the view was great, but I was eager to get to the top and play on the ridge. Slow and steep hiking finally brought me to the top of the t-bar lift and the ridge. The 360 degree view of the valley and other mountain ranges was spectacular. I hiked around on the ridge for another hour, taking pictures and planning destinations for future trips.

Snowshoeing on Bridger ridge.
Self Portrait.

After an hour I started to get cold in the howling wind and started down the mountain. I quickly found out that descending with snowshoes was much harder than ascending. I was a mess. Slipping and sliding down the steep slope. Near the top of the ridge it was not too difficult sliding down deep powder, but I as I descended I ran into frozen snow pack and had trouble staying upright. Walking straight down the slope seemed dangerous for my ankles and knees, so I started zigzagging. It was slow going, but I was focused on keeping my balance. Occasionally the frozen snow would break through and I would slip and fall, but no serious injuries resulted. I did take a doozy lower down when I stepped into deep powder and the snowhoe caught on a small tree. My next step forward sent me sprawling forward, my foot still caught in the tree. Frustrated, I collected my self and marched on. I had made it back down to the blue (easier) slope and was able to move faster, but still felt like I could have gone faster if I had just taken the snowshoes off.

At the bottom of the Bridger lift I ran into a dude named Mark and his buddy. They were skiers building a jump for some late afternoon action. I jumped in and helped them move snow and asked if I could take a few pictures. They were down with the pictures and thankful for the help. 45 minutes later we were finished and Mark got busy sticking backflips and 360s.

Bridger Backflip.
Photograph by Chas. B.

All in all it was a great day. I look forward to hitting some more remote snowshoe trails, hopefully near the Spanish Peaks.

Journeys: Bridger Hike II

Sunday, fun day. The Cats lost to Griz big time yesterday greatly changing the playoff picture. Oh well, guess we will have to go hiking today.

Paul and I got to Bridger close to 1 PM and it was plenty warm out as expected. I had stripped down to just one Capilene layer and my jacket and ended up being too warm again. It was a really nice day and the sky was clear compared to Friday when it had been cloudy and visibility low. Paul and I started our hike slow and steady stopping for a break at the bottom of the Bridger lift. Paul's friend Cyrus caught us on his skinned up skis at the lift and we chatted for a while. Paul and I made a plan that I would hike to the top of the Bridger lift and he would hike to the mid station and wait for me to come down. We set off again and started up the steep blue section under the Bridger lift. This time it was much easier because it had been slightly groomed and there was not as much powder to fight through. I made it to the mid station and got busy with and even steeper black diamond section. Fortunately, there was already a boot pack trail leading up the slope and I did not have to blaze my own through the powder. Up and up I went. At the top of the steep slope I came to a groomed road and followed it through one switch back to the top of the Bridger lift. I took some pictures and rested.

Crazy Mountains from Bridger.
Photograph by Chas. B.

The sun dipping behind the ridge at Bridger.
Photograph by Chas. B.

Self portrait at the top of the Bridger lift.

Below was a steep powder section and I decided to drop into it. Big mistake. This high up the snow had not filled in enough to keep me away from all of the rocks and I pin balled my way down the slope. In one particularly bad tumble I bounced my knee off a rock and had to stop and walk the pain off. Back up, I dropped down to the road that I had hiked up and headed for the mid station below. There I found Paul and Cyrus waiting for me and we made the rest of the run to the parking lot together.

Another good hike in the books. Now, I just need to get some skis and skins!

Journeys: Bozeman Bound

Lewis and I made plans to hike the Bridger Bowl ski area today with our new friend Tony. Tony and I would both hike up underneath the Bridger lift then board back down. Meanwhile, Lewis would hike and sled one of the bunny slopes near the lodge to his heart's content.

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.

Journeys: Bozeman Bound

Yes, we arrived in Bozeman las night, but for Lewis the journey is not finished. Lewis does not fly home to West Virginia until Saturday, so now our mission is to show Lewis what Montana is all about. Initially, we wanted to visit the Galt Ranch near White Sulphur Springs, MT, but the owners did not return our phone calls. So, we drove into the Gallatin Canyon and up to Big Sky and Moonlight Basin. With plenty of snow on the ground, the canyon and the resorts definitely had a rugged Montana appearance.

Lewis enjoys the Gallatin River.
Photograph by Chas. B.

Lewis checks out the Moonlight Basin trail map.
Photograph by Chuck Bolte.

Lewis hanging around the Moonlight Basin lodge.
Photograph by Chuck Bolte.

Lewis' big horn.
Photograph by Lewis Bolte.

After meeting the friendly staff at Moonlight Basin, we drove off the mountain as the sky opened up rained snow down upon us. At the bottom of the mountain, we checked on snowmobile rental availability and came up empty. A snowmobile tour would have been great for Lewis, but his visit fell just in between seasons. No Galt Ranch. No snowmobile tours. What to do tomorrow?

Hike.

Journeys: Bozeman Bound

We woke toasty and warm in the cab of the truck. It was cold out, but the sun was just right for pictures in front of Devil's Tower.

Brothers and Tower.
Photograph by Chas. B.

Lewis holds the Tower.
Photograph by Chuck Bolte.

Lewis' Wymoing Trophy.
Photograph by Chuck Bolte.

We drove and drove. We approached the Big Horn Mountains of Wyoming, sighting them from 70 miles away. We turned north and crossed the border into Montana. It was good to see some snow and I looked forward to getting to Bozeman. Just four more hours to cap the long trip.

Finally there...4 more hours to Bozeman.
Photograph by Lewis Bolte.

We made it to Billings and gassed up. One more fuel stop in Livingston and we would be there. I was eager and pushed the truck through the wind. My leg hurt from holding the gas pedal down for so long, but it took it being on the floor just to hold 65 mph. We rolled into Livingston just long enough to fill up and were only 20 miles away from Bozeman. We pressed on, crossing the Bridger Mountains and dropping down through Bozeman Pass.

Finally we were there.

Journeys: Bozeman Bound

I woke up at 7 AM. The windows of the redneck RV were frosted, but my sleeping bag cocoon was warm. We brushed our teeth and set off for Minnesota. A short hour later we were across the border and filled up on gas. We started west on I-90 and were greeted with a ferocious wind. A wind that would keep up all the way to Bozeman and drop the miles per gallon to 8. South Dakota was an expensive state for the trip, but scenic. The flat boredom dissipated as we entered the high plains. The sky got bigger and ranch land rolled out in all directions as far as the eye could see.

Somewhere in South Dakota.
Photograph by Chuck Bolte.

We were making good time despite the wind and I decided to add some stops to the later part of the trip. I did some quick research on my phone and found out that we could visit Mount Rushmore even in the dark since it would be lit up for two hours after sunset. Mount Rushmore would be our first stop. After Mount Rushmore, we would finish the night by driving to Devil's Tower, WY and camping. That way when we woke up in the morning we would be able to visit Devil's Tower in the sunlight before making the final push to Bozeman.

Not long after sunset we pulled into Rapid City, SD and were only 20 miles from Mount Rushmore. It was a steep haul to Mount Rushmore and the town at the base of the mountain, Keystone, reminded me of Pigeon Forge, TN.

Mount Rushmore. Cold.
Photograph by Chuck Bolte.

We did not go into the park, because it looked like we had to pay $11, so we took photos from the road and turned back to Rapid City. Soon we were in Wyoming. It was dark, snowy, and cold. We exited I-90 at Sundance and were on our way to Devil's Tower. As we approached we could just barely make out the silhouette of the monolith off in the distance. We pulled into the scenic overlook area and made our beds. I took the redneck RV again and Lewis remained in the cab.

Five hours into the night it was too cold in the bed of the truck. The windows were iced over and my cold feet were keeping me awake. I guess my thirty degree bag, liner, and blanket were not enough for 20 degree Wyoming. I will have to invest in a good winter bag ASAP. I moved to the cab of the truck and ran the engine with the heater on until 7 AM.

Journeys: Bozeman Bound

We pulled out of Spencer with no fanfare at 9:30 AM. My plan was to drive as far as Iowa City, IA some 660 miles from Spencer. I hoped the 12 x 6 Uhaul trailer I was pulling would not slow us down too much. The trip across West Virginia and Ohio was mostly uneventful. We would drive until there was a quarter of a tank of gas left then fill up. We dealt with some traffic around the Indianapolis beltway, but were soon out of it. We drove, slow and steady, through a fierce storm front sweeping across the heartland of the nation and fortunately did not see any tornados. The sun set in Illinois and we hurtled down the interstate. Somehow we were in Iowa. Everything since Ohio had been flat and uneventful and Iowa was no different. We passed through Iowa City and I still had plenty of energy so we pushed on. Near Nashua, IA I got sleepy and we pulled into the Nashua welcome center for some rest. I slept in the redneck RV and Lewis slept upright in the cab of the truck. It was a chilly, but comfortable night.

Journeys: Bozeman Bound

The morning air was cool and crisp. Steve was up before me and had built a small fire to help the Earth warm up, but the sun soon took over the job. By 9 AM it was surprisingly t-shirt and shorts weather so we quickly broke camp and headed back to the base of Stone Mountain. We repeated our ferrying of Steve and the packs to the handicap parking lot then I jogged up from the trailhead parking lot. We were on the Entrance Crack at 10 AM and I knew we had plenty of time to climb the Great Arch and make it back down before 5:30 PM, even at our hampered pace. I also knew, as I was struggling up the Entrance Crack, that I was climbing much worse than yesterday. The tendonitis in my left arm was flaring up again and my calves were sore. Steve came up the Entrance Crack and we walked over to the base of the Great Arch. My assessment of a rough day ahead came true. I struggled to get in rhythm on the first pitch and probably took twice as long to lead it as the day before. For some reason I felt like my feet were going to slip right off the rock every time I put them down. Steve eased his way up the first pitch then I started the second. I finally found some rhythm and made a confident run out over the last 30 feet of the pitch. Steve eased his way up to the top of the second pitch. I started on the third pitch and struggled in places where the crack petered out, losing my rhythm. I finally reached the easier climbing at the top where the dihedral becomes a flake and cruised to the anchors. Steve eased his way up to the top of the third pitch.

Steve enjoying the view on The Great Arch.
Photograph by Chuck Bolte.

I made Steve pose for a hero photo with his oxygen tank and then we made three raps down to the Tree Ledge, then a final rap down to the ground. Steve was in good spirits and was thankful for the experience. Admittedly, it was great to see him out again doing something he had been passionate about for so many years. I was glad to be there to help him along. We were at the truck by 4:30 PM. Steve wondered if we had set a record for the slowest party on the Great Arch. We toyed with the idea of camping on the way home, but ended up pushing through to Roane County, rolling in at 10:15 PM. Exhausted I crashed on the floor of the cabin, finally free of the sea of granite.

Oxygen tank hero pose.
Photograph by Chuck Bolte.

Journeys: Bozeman Bound

Steve and I left Spencer around 7 AM, slightly later than we wanted to. We drove four easy hours through scenic parts of WV, VA, and NC enjoying the views and the conversation. We pulled into the trailhead parking lot at Stone Mountain, NC and prepared a light trad rack for our climb. Steve configured his oxygen tank system (Steve needs oxygen for strenuous activity) then I ferried him and our packs up to the handicapped parking lot, which was much closer to the base of the mountain. I drove back to the trailhead parking lot then jogged back up to the handicapped parking lot. Steve had already started his march to the base of the mountain and I caught him just as he entered the tree line that guards the approach. The November sun flickered through the last stand of brilliant fall foliage, warming us up for the climb.

We found the base of the Entrance Cracks and ran into two local rappel enthusiasts, one of which was a paramedic. Steve joked with the paramedic about his condition and showed off his oxygen tank that he was going to climb with. I am not sure the poor guy knew how to take it all, but he offered his radio should anything go wrong. We roped up and I sent off on the most intimidating 5.4 I have ever touched. I purposely left my chalk bag in my pack at the base of the climb and immediately regretted it after a few minutes of struggling. Stone Mountain was hot in November and I was sweating...profusely. I down climbed to a stance where I could pull up my chalk bag on the trail rope then re-attacked the off-width crux of the pitch. Body jam, scoot. Body jam, scoot. There was a more fluid way to friction up the face to the right of the crack, but I was mentally badgered into the safety of the crack because of the run out. One more body jam and scoot brought me to a slight shelf on the right face. I left the crack here then frictioned up the face to a large tree where I anchored to belay Steve. There were bolted anchors up and to the left, but I felt that it was more important that I could see Steve while he climbed since he would not be able to speak once he started breathing hard.

Steve followed, touching rock for the first time in years after being diagnosed with pulmonary fibrosis. He did exceptionally well considering his condition and it was good to see him climbing again. Once we were both up on the tree ledge, we walked over to the base of a classic route name The Great Arch. From the bottom of the route I could look out and see Stone Mountain in all of its "sea of granite" glory. I was truly amazed how anyone could have climbed the blank face of the mountain and drilled bolts while on lead. I realized that I had a lot of work to do if I was ever going to be comfortable on the Big Stone.

Steve resting before the crux of the Entrance Cracks.
Photograph by Chuck Bolte.

Fortunately The Great Arch is not quite as blank as the rest of the mountain. A three pitch splitter dihedral is the left limit of the climb and a great place for grubby climbing paws. I tightened my shoes and started the beautiful and classic route. The beginning of the route curves out then back in following the dihedral. I place a yellow cam then cranked to a tree, which I slung with a runner. Above the sling I found a bomber hex placement then cranked the rest of the way up to the anchors, placing another cam along the way. I felt like I was starting to meld with the mountain and it felt good. Steve started up climbing well, but having to take breaks to catch his breath. He did look smooth and his footwork was excellent. His experience despite his medical condition showed. Steve made it to the anchors of the first pitch and it was 4 PM. Strict park policy demands that climbers be off the rock and out of the parking lot by 5:30 PM. We knew it was time to turn back, two pitches short of the summit. We would have more time tomorrow to re-attempt the route.

Steve on the first pitch of The Great Arch.
Photograph by Chuck Bolte.

We easily made it back to the truck before 5:30 PM. Temperatures were quickly dropping as the sun went down. We made a bee line for the campground and picked a campsite away from the trees and under the stars. We made up our beds in my redneck RV then stoked up a roaring fire and cooked dinner. August was the last time I had camped or climbed outside. It had been far too long.

Journeys: Bozeman Bound

After much deliberation I decided to leave my life on the east coast and move to Bozeman, MT. I packed up all of my stuff a few days ago, left home in Baltimore, and drove a few hours west to the family farm in Spencer, WV. I will relax in Spencer until November 14th then leave for Bozeman. By "relax" I mean that I will split firewood until my back breaks. My brother, Lewis, will make the drive to MT with me then fly back to WV the following Saturday. I am very excited, yet the whole experience is surreal. I look forward to a new adventure in a new place.

This Monday and Tuesday I will take a climbing trip to NC with Steve to climb around on Stone Mountain.

Now...the firewood.

Can you see the bull's head?
Photograph by Chas. B.