A Look at Minnesota and the North Shore

Go to a convention and you'll probably come home with a bag of swag: Product samples, t-shirts with vendor logos, mouse pads, what have you. My recent convention to Lutsen, Minn. for the annual meeting of the North American Snowsports Journalists Association was no different.

Whoever put the swag bag together did a good job of assembling a collection of items that not only have some homestyle flavor that reflects on the host state. All (with one exception) came from companies in Minnesota, and most items were made there as well.

The samples included:

* A "Market Tote" from GraniteGear, a company that sells bags and various containers for hiking, canoeing, and other outdoor activities. The Tote is a polyester replacement for a grocery bag, meant to keep plastic and paper bags out of landfills.

I like it well enough, but at $14 per, it's not something I would buy myself. It's supposedly a green product, but being green requires either spending a lot of green to buy more one tote (I seldom come back from the grocery story with only one bag of food) or making several trips a week to the store, which is a waste not only of time but of fuel. The company says it donates a portion of its profits to combat global warming. I suspect that its target market are the people who fret about their "carbon footprint." I wonder how much of a carbon footprint was created to ship the bag from Vietnam (where it was made) to the U.S.?

* A thick folder of brochures and such containing tourism information from five different organizations based on or near the North Shore. The North Shore, which appears at the northeast triangle of Minnesota if you look at a state map, is one of the state's natural treasures. It features forests, mountains, and of course Lake Superior. In the winter, it has opportunities for downhill and cross-country skiing, dog mushing, snowmobile riding, snowshoeing, ice fishing and other activities.

* A box of chocolates made by Gunflint Mercantile (no web site available), which was a welcome addition to the bag. A few of the chocolates served as a fine snack my first day in town.

* A beanie from Wintergreen Northernwear, which makes and sells all sorts of clothing suitable for arctic (and not-so-arctic) activities. It's sharp-looking hat with embroidered artwork, made in northeastern Minnesota. Since it's made by Americans and not, say, workers in Vietnam, it's rather spendy (retail value: $40), meaning that you could buy a comparable hat elsewhere, and put $10 or $20 to use elsewhere. But since it was in the bag of samples, I'll gladly add it to my inventory of winter hats. It works just fine, though it's a bit tight.

* A copy of the Cook County News Herald. Not Cook County, Illinois (population 5,200,000), but Cook County, Minnesota (population 5,200, more or less). The edition was from the week before the convention.

So why was it in the bag? Perhaps it's due to the front page story that offered a preview of our meeting, a week out. Nice touch. The article had this quote from Lutsen Mountains marketing manager Jim Vick: "A Denver writer would have a hard time selling a ski vacation story to his editor. But Cook County has so much more to offer [and it does]. A winter vacation story is different."

True enough, on all three counts.

* A small (50ml) bottle of syrup from Wild Country Maple Syrup. It's produced by a family operation in Lutsen. I'm looking forward to trying it out on pancakes, though at a retail price of $4.75, I may go back to Aunt Jemima. The comparison is somewhat unfair, as the sample comes in a fancy glass bottle, and AJ comes in a plastic jug. But even when you purchase Wild Country in a large plastic container, there's no contest in price: AJ: 20 cents at once; Wild Country: 54 cents. Is Wild Country that much better? Perhaps. But again, I might prefer to buy something cheaper and apply the difference elsewhere. There are some items where I'll gladly go upscale. Syrup? Probably not. But you may draw a different conclusion.

* Four sticks of wax from Fast Wax. I ought to wax my board myself, but I don't. It's a hassle, I'm resisting laying out the money for a good iron and the assorted equipment, and I don't need any more stuff cluttering my garage. If I waxed the board as often as I should, it would probably make sense to do it myself. As it is, I take my board to a shop a couple times a season and let them do it.

This is the second meeting at which I've received some wax. Now if I get an iron sometime, maybe I'll learn how to do it myself.

* A small package of lotion of Warm Skin. The company says its product has been "Torture-tested in such diverse climates as the North and South Poles, the Grand Canyon, and Mt. Everest." Supposedly it is as useful in summer as it is in winter. But since my skin dries out so much in the winter, I'll keep this product in storage until next snowboarding season.

The brochure that accompanied the package offered a challenge: Put this on one side of your face but not the other. Go skiing or riding and then see how you feel at the end of the day. This is one product sample that I'm going to try, and perhaps buy more of.

* Some notecards from three different artists on Minnesota's North Shore, including Rick Allen. A couple seasons ago, his work was used as promotional materials for Lutsen Mountains. Click on the link and look for two prints titled "Lutsen," and another called "Moose Mountain. I like its retro look, and I'm willing to overlook the fact it contains no snowboarders.

* A few items from the Indian Land Tenure Association. One is a newsletter about the organization, which works to promote land ownership among American Indians (a fascinating topic; click through to read more). Another item is a package of wild rice, a quintessential Minnesota food. To be truthful, I've never cooked wild rice, so I'm looking forward to trying it. One caution: It's not "minute" rice. More like "hour" rice.

* A related product, a Tankabar energy bar made of buffalo and cranberry. It's produced by a company based on the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation, in South Dakota. It's the only non-Minnesota company represented in the swag bag, but it's in the neighborhood. Looking through the company web site, I learned that there are over 400,000 bison in North America.

How about that? Go on a snowboarding trip and pick up a little bit of knowledge on biology, a different culture, and food.

How does the bar taste? I don't know. I'll try it soon.

* A copy of Lake Superior magazine, a regional "lifestyle" magazine focused on, as you can guess, the people in Michigan, Minnesota, and Ontario who live near Lake Superior--and anyone who is fascinated by it.

All in all, it's a good collection of products that represent or offer insight into this part of the country.

NASJA 2: Density of Snowmobile Registration

I'm still playing around with statistics related to snowmobile ownership. Here's another stat:

States with the least room for snowmobiles
1. New Hampshire
2. Michigan
3. Wisconsin
4. Vermont
5. Minnesota

According to this ranking, snowmobiling is more "dense" in New Hampshire than in any other state. That is, it puts a large number of snowmobiles in a relatively small space.

If you adjust for population density, the most "intense" snowmobile states are:
1. Massachusetts
2. New York
3. Michigan
4. New Hampshire
5. Wisconsin

I'm not sure if this last ranking makes any sense, but there you are. It's fair to say that there's a very strong interest in snowmobiling in New Hampshire and Michigan, with a few other states lagging behind.

More Comparisons
Comparing specific states can lead to some interesting questions. In the following comparisons, the first number for a state is its population; the second is the number of snowmobiles registered with the state.

Minnesota; 5.2 million, 240,000
Wisconsin: 5.6 million, 220,000
Colorado: 4.9 million, 34,042

These states have roughly the same number of people, but Colorado lags far behind in snowmobile ownership. Why?

The obvious answer is: The skiing is so much better there than in the flat Midwest! Everyone's going skiing in Colorado.

But then let's do another comparison.

Colorado: 4.9 million, 34,042
Utah: 2.8 million, 30,781

Idaho: 1.5 million, 48,413
Montana: 0.9 million, 36,757

Snowmobiling is much more popular in Idaho and Montana than in Colorado and Utah.

Why?

My first thought was "well, you have great skiing in Colorado and Utah." Why would you go on a snowmobile when you can ski or snowboard?" But Idaho is no slouch in the ski area business; neither is Montana.

Perhaps skiing and snowboarding are less attractive in Montana and Idaho because it's colder there? The cold would affect snowmobiling as well.

NASJA Day 2: Snowmobile Ownership

I've already written about my morning on the second day of the NASJA convention, when I tried my hand at mushing a dog sled team. (For the record, I didn't say "mush!")

In the afternoon I opted for an activity that was more familiar, and which required less effort on my part: snowmobiling.

I will have some comments on the short expedition lately, but for now, here are some interesting facts about snowmobiling in the U.S.


Which state has the most number of registered snowmobiles?
No, it's not Alaska, though that's not a bad guess. It's Michigan, with 350,000 sleds registered for use. I'm guessing that's due in part to the motorized culture of the state, its large population, and its status as a relatively wealthy state. The presence of lake effect snow helps out a lot, too.

Other states surpassing the 100,000 mark are Minnesota (240,000), Wisconsin (220,000) and New York (128,000).

In which states is the snowmobile culture more common?
A good way to measure that is to compare the number of registered snowmobiles to the size of the population. And that's where Alaska comes out on top. There is one snowmobile for every 12 people. That's not surprising. The state has a small population, is rural and sparsely populated (making the snowmobile a form of transportation, not just recreation), and it's covered with snow for a good part of the year.

The next four states are Maine, Vermont, Minnesota, and New Hampshire. Michigan, while holding the top spot for number of snowmobiles, is only ninth in per-capital ownership. I was surprised that Wisconsin ranks a bit lower (6th) than Minnesota (4th).

I'm not sure how important Manchester is to the New Hampshire population, but I suspect that Minnesota is the top "urban" state in the country. Roughly 60 percent of the state's population lives in the seven-county metropolitan area anchored by the cities of Saint Paul and Minneapolis.

(Source of statistics: U.S. Census Bureau and Snowmobile.org)

NASJA Day 2: A Snowboarder Goes to the Dogs

During my previous two trips to the NASJA national convention, I skipped the optional, off-the-mountain activities. I expected that I wouldn't be returning to the particular venues (Crested Butte and three New Hampshire resorts) anytime soon, and I preferred to experience as much of the mountain as possible.

But when the group of ski/snowboard writers and photographers decided to hold this year's meeting in Lutsen, Minnesota, I knew that I had to try some of the optional activities. After all, I've been snowboarding at Lutsen Mountains already, so I'm familiar with the four mountains and what they offer. I can also return, rather easily, to the area, for snowboarding.

But how likely is it that I will take in ice climbing, skiing down a river, or commanding my own team of sled dogs? Not very likely. I'd prefer some hand-holding to do those things--get someone else to handle the details. The convention was a good opportunity to get that help. All I would have to do is show up at the bus at the right time.

So I visited a dog-mushing operation. The funny thing is, I'm not a dog person. Not at all. (For one thing, I'm allergic to some breeds. It's in the hair.) But dog mushing is a winter sport that takes place in the snow, and the organization is called North American SNOWSPORTS Journalists Association, so I thought it was worth a try.

IT'S NOT ABOUT ME ...
Six of us (three journalists, three PR officials) visited Arleigh Jorgenson, whose web site, appropriately enough, is DogMushing.com. We were there to talk about dog mushing, and perhaps drive some sleds.

At first, I wasn't sure whether I would be the captain or the cargo in a sled. Jorgenson and his crew were ready to take three sleds of journalists on a loop, with crew members driving additional sleds. Three of the convention-goers ended up driving their own sleds, a fourth rode as a passenger with a guide, snapping hundreds of photos, and two stayed behind at the camp, talking with Jorgenson about the world of mushing.

But before we took off on our 45-minute trip, we stood in the dog compound, talking about some preliminaries. It was obvious that Jorgenson loves his dogs and what he does. "It's not about me," he told us. He focused our attention on the dogs. You could see them, and their kennels, for quite a distance.



Each of us had our own instructor. Mine introduced me to both the sled and the dogs. The sleds are about 8 foot long and about 3 feet wide. They have a bar, about waist high, that you hold onto. There are also two stubby platforms, about the width of ski, on the left and right side of the sled, just behind the bar. These platforms raise you a few inches off the ground, and they're what you stand on, unless you're standing on the brake.

(You can seen an idealized version of a sled, from behind, here.)

There are two brakes on the sled. One is a small piece of rubber matting. Put a foot (or two) on it, and you slow down the sled. The other brake is a spring-loaded metal bar, with spikes that stick into the ground. Step on that bar and you'll bring the dogs to a stop in no time.

... IT'S ABOUT THE DOGS
After learning about the sled, my instructor retrieved the dogs for my team, introducing them to me one dog at a time. I had two lead dogs and three trailing ones. The leaders were tethered together, side by side. The rest were tethered, end-to-end, until one last line ran to the front of the sled.



The instructor, a woman who has probably guided many customers on extended trips into the wilderness, showed me how each dog is harnessed. Part of the harness goes over the dog's head, and other portions go over each of the dog's front legs. She then invited me to place the harness on the lead dog. I was a bit leery, since remembering how to fold the harness over itself requires some spatial reasoning, which is not my strong suit.

But there was one part of the exercise that was familiar. "This feels like dressing a toddler," I said.

"It is a lot like dressing a child," she said.

To emphasize that point, she harnessed up another dog, telling the dog "foot" before lifting up its left front paw. She then harnessed up the rest of the dogs. Other employees were doing the same for the other two journalists.

Here is, by the way, a dog from my sled, waiting for the rest of his team.



One thing that surprises many people about mushing is that the dogs are fairly small, roughly 35 pounds. But to borrow a cliche from boxing, they are pound for pound, among the strongest dogs out there.

They're also pretty loud, though I found the noise wasn't as loud as I was led to believe. The short video clip below gives you an idea.



Before we started, one of the guides told us the commands for turning left and right as well as for stopping. He also demonstrated the typical starting command. When he did, all the dogs within hearing distance started barking. They were ready to run!

I never did use any of the commands. I knew that I would get the commands for left and right confused, and I relied on the professionals in the convoy to get us all going.

AND THEY'RE OFF


Soon enough, we were ready to ride. I had been told to ride the brake for two to three minutes until we left the staging area. I rode it for ten, I would guess.

My primary concern, throughout most of the ride, was to HOLD ON! I was driven by three fears: one, that I would look foolish if I lost control; two, that the dogs would somehow end up in South Dakota if I let go; and three, that I would get hurt by being propelled into a tree.

I had brought my helmet in the van with me, thinking I might use it later in the day for a different expedition. I opted to leave it in the van. "After all," I thought, "who wears a helmet for a dogsled ride?"

It didn't take long before I wished that I had it with me. Though we were going no faster than 8 miles an hour, the hardpacked snow and the fairly close trees (within 10 feet of our path) made it feel more like 20.

The trees came into view most often when we made turns, of which there were many. It took me a while to learn how to deal with them. At first I tried braking, but sometimes I would mistime it, causing the sled to brush a tree at slow speed.

Then I had a more dramatic encounter with a tree. It felt as if the sled -- and more importantly I -- was destined to crash into a tree on the right side of the trail. My fear of the dogs heading to South Dakota notwithstanding, I let go of the sled and tumbled a few feet toward the tree.

"Great," I thought. "I've snowboarded on double black diamonds in Colorado and I'm going to die of head injuries from a dogsled ride."

OK, I didn't think it through that much, but it was definitely an "Oh Sh*t!" moment. I came out of it fine, though perhaps chagrined that I had not handled the situation better. The dogs stopped soon enough, and waited for me to get back on the sled.

It was my most spectacular crash of the morning, though not my only one. Another time I hit a bump and was thrown off the back of the sled. The guide behind me offered some tips, and (after a third incident) seemed slightly annoyed that I wasn't doing better. "Go get your dogs!," he implored after they and I had separated.

Throughout the trip I dodged branches from the close-in trees. Thankfully they were small branches. Still, it would have been nice to have a helmet with me--perhaps one with a full face mask.

In time, I got better at driving the dogs, or as a guide might say, being part of the team. For example, I started using my weight (shifting it around) as much as the brakes to control the sled as it went around turns. I even let the dogs run full-throttle at times, though sometimes I had to help them out by pushing off one foot as we went up small hills. That's no knock on the dogs, mind you. After one crash the guide said "Do you think you have too much power?" I told him yes, and he took away one of my dogs and put it with his team. I'll admit it: Five dogs was too many for me. I finished the loop with only four dogs, which Jorgenson's site says is what is typically suitable for ... children. Oh well. We're all children when we learn something the first time.

WHAT A WORKOUT
One thing that surprised me about the outing was how much a workout it was. My hands were sweating so much (and not only from fear) that I ended up ditching my gloves and putting them inside the passenger compartment of the sled. At various points in the trip I thought "I'm not going to be able to finish this," but I kept on.

If I had to pick an analogy between what I experienced mushing and another sport, I'd compare it to water skiing. A powerful force pulls you forward, you want to hang on, and you need to know how to handle the turns properly. And you should be prepared to have sore arms for three days afterward.

There is also some similarity with skiing and to a lesser extent, snowboarding. Keeping your knees flexed is important: Ride with your legs ramrod straight, and any little bump will throw you off.

There's also (or at least there was in my case) constant shifting of your weight from one foot to the other, with one foot higher off the ground than the other. In skiing, it's the changing terrain that causes this; in mushing, it's the braking.

If you're on downhill skis and your legs aren't in great condition, you may find yourself starting turns simply to relieve the cramps in the downhill leg. It felt something like that on the dogsled, as I kept rebalancing my weight: Left foot on the brake. Right foot on the brake. Both feet on the brake. No feet on the brake.

As with skiing or snowboarding, the quality of the snow makes a difference. I suspect that having fluffy snow underfoot during my ride would have made me feel more in control. It would also have meant not dealing with frozen, rutted snow along the side of the dog trail. The ruts were almost as unnerving as the trees.

THE VERDICT
I'm glad that I tried it. I don't know that I will try again. Perhaps. Mushing isn't, like snowboarding, a mass market sport. Buy boots, boards, and bindings, and the casual snowboarder will be set for at least two seasons. Put the equipment in the car, drive to the hill, ride, go back home and put it away.

Dogs, on the other hand, require constant maintenance.

It's hard to compare expenses, but consider that a half-day experience of driving your own team will set you back $220, which gets your halfway or more towards a season pass at some ski areas. To be fair, you have to factor in the cost of snowboarding gear, so the comparison is inexact. Still, the price of mushing can add up.

Still, if you're an outdoors enthusiast, and especially a winter sports enthusiast, you should take a team of dogs out, with a guide, if you have the opportunity. It will give you a chance to test your endurance, work on your balancing skills, look at winter in a new way, and appreciate the energy of dogs who were born to run.

Others Speak on NASJA Convention at Lutsen

Being a Midwesterner, I've wondered how my fellow journalists would respond to their trip to Lutsen Mountain. Here are excerpts of what I found so far:

Lutsen Mountains … a Midwest gem
Dan Cassidy
Maine Today

One thing you won’t get at Lutsen is altitude sickness. No, that won’t happen here. However, you’ll ski more relaxed. The lifts are a little on the slow side. They’re the older two seats with a pole in the middle that travels a little slower than the more modern quads. It gives you time to relax, enjoy the scenery and get to know your neighbor.

From Moose Mountain Summit Chalet, you can enjoy a wonderful meal, sit outside on the wrap around deck and enjoy the vistas of Lake Superior. On a recent evening while attending our North American Snowsports Journalists Association (NASJA) reception and banquet, I took a walk outside just to watch the sunset and look over the Lake in the distance, and noticed five white tail deer walking across the trails below. Deer sighting are common all over the resort.

Indeed. One of my fellow convention-goers told me of spotting a dead deer in the woods.

Cassidy has several other blog entries on his trip, including one on a 150-mile snowmobile journey to the Canadian border and back, which occurred before the convention.

He also wrote of a trip to the nearby town of Grand Marais, writing

"Having just spent a week snowmobiling, skiing and touring along the western shore of Minnesota’s Lake Superior, I had the feeling of a touch of home. The shoreline and forests from Lutsen to Grand Marais resembled the coast and woods of Maine’s villages and towns."

Minnesota's Lake Superior? As a native Michigander, I'd have to take issue with that. More of the lake is in Michigan's jurisdiction than that of the other units of government that border the lake, Wisconsin, Minnesota, and Ontario. But I would agree that the North Shore of Minnesota and the Maine coast have a similar feel.

You’re Going Where…On Purpose?!
Neal Estano
Albany Times-Union

Duluth is a small city of about 85,000 hardy residence. Sitting on the western tip of Lake Superior it gets some of the harshest weather in the lower 48. Duluth's nickname is "The Air-Conditioned City" because of cooling effect of Lake Superior who’s water temperature struggles to reach the 50 degree mark.

Duluth is about a 90-minute drive from Lutsen, and the nearest "big" city.

Estano also wrote "A Pleasant Surprise in the North Country" on March 24. He said, in part,

With just under 1000 vertical feet Lutsen is not a big mountain but they do a lot with what they have. As my fellow NASJA member and friend Phil Johnson of Clifton Park said: "There's not a lot of vertical…but there a heck of a lot of horizontal".

Estano also has some photos of convention-goers climbing up a frozen waterfall.

Weekly Skiing Column
Bob Cox
Torrance (Calif.) Daily Breeze

Lutsen Mountain, Minn., is not one of the major stops or even one of the best-known ski areas in America. Yet that's where [World Cup champion Lindsey] Vonn started her career, following in the footsteps of another great Minnesota racer, Cindy Nelson.

The resort was founded by Nelson's family, and is hard by the shores of Lake Superior. It is located about 100 miles north of Duluth, which puts it close to the Canadian border.

To get a perspective on racers coming from Lutsen, consider that the mountain has a vertical drop of only 975 feet. To create an FIS-approved race course, the mountain had to build a start platform 25 feet above the peak, to achieve a vertical drop of 1,000 feet.

We started our NASTAR race about 50 feet below the bottom of the platform.

Oh deer. A nature and snowmobile lesson in Lutsen
Martin Griff
The Times of Trenton

Griff has several articles about two different trips he made to Lutsen. The link above takes you to a short article about a snowmobile trip (not the 150-mile trek that Cassidy wrote about), and a good photo of death, animal-style, on the trail.

NASJA Day 2: Off-the-hill

While I'm spending a few days in Lutsen, Minnesota, with a bunch of ski writers and ski industry people, today I participated in two activities that have little to do with lift-served skiing or snowboarding.

In the morning, I went to a dog-mushing expedition. In the afternoon, I participated in a 25-mile snowmobile ride.

I'll have more about each activity later.

NASJA DAY 2: Walking, Riding, Skiing

When I was out on the mountains yesterday, several skiers said to me, as we were going through the flats, "That's why I'm not on a snowboard."

Yesterday I wrote about how snowboarders need to plan their routes carefully, to avoid extended flats. Yet I forgot to mention one other elements of the flats: Encountering one isn't going to ruin your day.

Depending on your fitness level and experience with various types of equipment, you may find it easier to deal with flats on a snowboard than on skis. Here's why: If, despite your best efforts, you're on a snowboard and you come to a stop, you can simply get off the board and carry it. The board is pretty light, and you can walk in most snowboard boots.

If you run out of speed on skis, walking for more than, say, 20 feet is rather difficult. And depending on the slope of terrain, polling is no picnic, either. The combination of skis and boots is rather heavy. More than once yesterday, I saw a skier huff and puff his way towards the lift after running out of speed.

I don't want to overstate the frequency of flats here. But they are something to be aware of.

NASJA DAY 1: Wealth and Recreation

Here on the Minnesota north shore, I've been told that three decades ago you couldn't give away property. But now it's pricey real estate.

So I asked my hostess for the evening, what changed? It's not as though the physical qualities of the land have changed much.

There were several factors that could be at work:
- Increased population in the state (more potential buyers)
- Increased marketing efforts draw attention to the area
- Increased household income (reaches a threshold after which people consider second homes)
- Increased interest in all things related to outdoor recreation

What else? Remember, a "variable" has to "vary" over time.

NASJA DAY 1: Snowboarders Plan Ahead at Lutsen

Today I spent the day on the four mountains at Lutsen Mountains. It was a blast, but it reminded me that when you're on a snowboard, you sometimes have to plan ahead. After all, most ski areas have, well, portions of their terrain that are best suited for skis.

We started out descending from the Caribou Highlands (where many people picked up their skis) to the Bridge lift, which took us up to the top of Eagle Mountain. Eagle, like most places at Lutsen, has views of Lake Superior, a jewel of the Midwest. We made a long run down to the trail named Moose Access, which ends up at the Bull Chair of Moose Mountain.

Moose Access is a long, occasionally winding road that demands the snowboarder to maintain a hefty speed for most of the way if he wishes to avoid unstrapping and walking the last 100 yards. Most beginning snowboarders will have trouble keeping up sufficient speed, since keeping the board flat, or nearly so, is essential, but also frightening. (When your board is flat, it's easier to "catch an edge," resulting in a painful crash.) The road also has some small rollers, which adds to the challenge. As it was, I had to skate up a slight incline the last 20 feet or so.

Moose Mountain has a variety of trails: Caribou and Timberwolf are wide-open, let-er-rip boulevards. Several runs have mogul fields. When the snow allows, there are a number of areas suitable for tree skiing. And the Summit Chalet offers an outside deck for taking in the lake. And if you like your skiing or snowboarding steep, take a look at "The Plunge," which is off Ridgeline. On second thought, don't look. You may not like what you see-or don't. I tried looking down the hill, and could see only the first 50 feet or so. Then the terrain disappeared. Our guide said that it has a northeast exposure, so it doesn't get much sun, making it not only steep, but fast. I decided to ride elsewhere.

Moose is also the home to the only FIS-sanctioned GS venue in the Midwest, but for mere mortals, NASTAR is also available. I was going to take two runs as part of a friendly competition that we have within NASJA. But there were so many people and so little time that I bailed out after one run.

To leave Moose Mountain, you can take Lutsen's gondola, which is the only one in the Midwest. Unfortunately, it's rather slow, so I opted for "Moose Return." Like Moose Access, it's a road covered with snow. My impression is that towards the end it is flatter than Moose Access, which means that many snowboards (most?) will have to skate quite a ways or, as I did, simply get out of the bindings and walk.

I did scrub off some speed about halfway through the return trip, as the road makes a large S-turn that I found unnerving, especially in the shadows and on hardpacked snow.

My next stop (requiring a return trip to Eagle to catch the appropriate lift) was Ullr Mountain, the learning area. Snowboarders will find a full five of the seven named runs troublesome. That's because they funnel into one long, flat road that towards the end requires keeping up a fair amount of speed to return to the lift. They also face a slight incline just before the lift area, and has to pass through an area that is at the least visually busy, if not in fact. That could be unnerving. Advancing beginners should stick to the Ullr trail.

Plan ahead, if you're a snowboarder visiting Ullr. Do not make Ullr trail your last trip down Ullr mountain. If you do, you may have to walk out of the lift area. I also had to walk quite a ways on my penultimate run of the day, when I found out that the Eagle Mountain chair was not running, and I had to use the Bridge lift.

One good thing on the horizon is that over the summer, Lutsen purchased and installed what had been the "Naked Lady" lift at Snowmass. (There's no word yet on what its name will be.) The towers and terminals are in, but the chairs are not.

After taking three runs down Ullr, I made one more trip

NASJA DAY 1: Capitalism, Continued

Today I had two more experiences that relate capitalism (commerce, business, free enterprise, if you will) and winter sports.

First, I had several conversations about the development of Snowmass, which is perhaps my favorite mountain to ski or ride at. Snowmass is one of four mountains owned and run by the Aspen Ski Company. The SkiCo is, as far as I know, an enterprise that hopes to make a profit. And it's their profits that enable them to continually upgrade lifts and facilities on and off the mountain.

Earlier this morning, however, we heard a talk from a gentleman who conducted a workshop for some people who came early to the NASJA convention. They learned how to make old-fashioned skis. As in skis made out of birch, shaped by hand tools. They replicated designs of hundreds or even thousands of years ago.

Good for them. I'm sure the two or three-day workshop was an enjoyable experience.

But the speaker struck me as being anti-business, anti-profit, anti-market, and in favor of both personal and micro-community self-sufficiency.

I believe he said he lives in a hut (or something like that) he constructed by hand. Good for him.

Most people, however, don't want to live like that. I certainly don't. If my housing was limited to what I could do by my own ingenuity, design, and skill with respect to building construction, I would be consigned to living just a few steps above poverty.

If we observed the ethic of the speaker, we would, I fear, be stuck with experiencing the alpine environment with skis that are more experience or less equality (or both) than what is available today. For example, if you're skiing on ice or hardpack, metal edges are essential. Steel, or whatever is used for ski edges, isn't something that people can create in their back yard. The same for p-tex, the stuff on the base of skis and snowboards that makes them glide. Meanwhile, modern, synthetic wax is better for assuring a smooth glide than anything farmers of yore could make.

In short, pursuing self-sufficiency, or even getting everything within your county of 5,000 people (the population, roughly, of the county in which I am sitting) is a prescription for poverty, limited variety of goods, and stagnation of product design.

It's easy to decry the involvement "big business" in designing skis, snowboards, clothing, and all sorts of things involved in skiing. You can mourn the fact that the "soul" of skiing and riding is violated by the involvement of corporate America in the sport.

Only the human activity of business, with division of labor, profit-seeking corporations, overseas manufacturing, business plans and dull corporate meetings, focus groups, accountants and revenue projections, can provide us what we expect today: A variety of goods; an evolution of product design; improvements in product quality over time; and reasonable costs.

So this snowboarder says ... Long live capitalism.

NASJA Day 0: Capitalism and the Life of Sport

If you listen to some skiing and snowboarding enthusiasts, business sucks the soul out of their sports. But at last night's reception at the annual NASJA meeting, I was reminded that business--the organized, disciplined pursuit of an activity organized with the aim of making a profit--is key to our sports.

For example, I talked with Art Bowles, who, if memory serves, oversaw the installation of the first high-speed detachable quad lift in North America, at Breckenridge. He's at the NASJA meeting to receive an award, and deservedly so. Such lifts make it possible for skiers and riders to get many more laps in during a day.

Did Bowles do this work because of his love for skiers? Not exactly, though I'm sure he loves the sport. He did it because he was employed, and his employer wanted to make a buck by satisfying customers. They decided that getting people up the mountain faster would solve a pressing problem of the day, and lead to a more satisfying skiing experience. And more satisfied customers means repeat business. Co-ops are fine, but they usually lack the capital to pay for the latest and best in goodies (chair lifts, snowmaking equipment, etc.) that we take for granted.

I also spoke with some representatives of Boyne USA, which has been involved of late in some interesting deals with CNL Properties. CNL is a real estate firm that has bought several mountain areas, such as Sugarloaf USA. CNL then gives a lump sum to Boyne, which in turn makes operational improvements to the resorts, and operates them. One company works on developing real estate; another runs the daily business of grooming, food and beverage service, ski patrol, lift tickets and lift operations, and so forth. All very much in line with the division of labor described by Adam Smith.

NASJA Day 0: The Variety of Snow Sports

I'm sitting in my lodge room at the 2009 edition of the NASJA annual meeting. This is my third annual meeting, and I'm looking forward to, as always, learning something new about snow sports and snow sports journalism.

What are "snow sports?" Obviously, activities that happen in the snow. Downhill skiing is the most obvious example. But there's more than way to enjoy the snow. There's also cross-country skiing and the mix between cross-country and downhill, telemark skiing.

My particular favorite is snowboarding, but I'm planning on taking in three other activities as well: dog mushing, snowmobile riding, and snow shoeing. Each of these activities has their highlight and limits. I'm looking forward to exploring each of these activities--as well as get in some snowboarding.

North American Skiers, Riders, to Converge in Minnesota

I'm a member of the North American Snowsports Journalists Association, which holds an annual meeting in, as you might expect, a snowy place. These meetings are great occasions for meeting with other people who share a passion for sliding on the snow and writing about it. Though it's obviously open to snowboarders, I would say that 95 percent of its members are primarily skiers, though some both ski and ride.

The annual meetings have been held in Sun Valley, Crested Butte, and Vail, among other places. But they've never been held in the Midwest. This year, that's going to change: NASJA is coming to the Midwest.

Midwestern skiing and riding? Pfft!

If that's your attitude, I understand. I live here, and the 300, 400 or 600 vertical feet we play on may not even qualify as a bunny hill in other regions.

But we Midwesterners definitely make our contributions to skiing and riding. Roughly 20 percent of the "skier visits" within the U.S. ski industry are to places in the Midwest, and the region regularly produces top-notch riders and skiers who compete at the highest levels.

When you consider terrain and off-mountain options, the best Midwestern spot may be at Lutsen, Minnesota, where NASJA will hold its 2009 meeting.

Fellow NASJA member Martin Griff visited Lutsen in late 2007, and wrote a few blog entries about it. He wrote, in part, "The runs are short by Rocky Mountain, Adirondack or New England standards, but several runs have steep drops and there are options for long, easy cruising between mountains."

Lutsen's marketing director, Jim Vick, hopes that journalists will enjoy the skiing and riding, to be sure. But "it's not just the skiing," that should interest the convention-goers, he says, "it's the winter lifestyle in northern Minnesota."

And that lifestyle means embracing the winter for all its worth. The writers who attend the meeting can participate in several other activities before the main event starts. One option is a three-day dog-mushing expedition into the wilderness, complete with two nights of camping. Another, for those who favor indoor lodging, is a three-day snowmobile trip. Finally, a more sedate option is to take a class in making your own Nordic skis.

NASJA 16: My NASTAR Experience (B)

Yesterday I explained how I got in a NASTAR race on a snowboard. But how did it go?

At the base of the mountain I had to ask where the NASTAR event was. "Take the Red Lady lift, and go off to your right," I was told. I did, and as I got to the area, called "Smith Hill," I certainly felt a little unusual.

The course itself was fenced off on either side, and the starting area was enclosed as well. A queue of fellow snowsports journalists, about 18 or so, were lined up just outside the area, waiting for their turn.

A snowboard is a great device for sliding down a mountain, but it's not so great for staying in one place. People were queued up not in a flat area but on a slope. I could stand in one heel side or toe side. Standing heel side for a prolonged time is difficult, but really, standing in line in either stance was difficult, since my board would have to be perpendicular to everyone else's skis.

I released the binding on my back soot, and awkwardly descended to the waiting area, step by step. Sometimes the board would slip out from under me, and I had to work to get it back under my control.

In time I got to the starting gate. There were two starting gates, side by side. Skiers have no difficulty getting into position. On a snowboard, you may, as I did, have to get both bindings set at the gate. Fortunately it wasn't the case that you just slide up to the gate and go in the next instant.

The starter asked the name of the skier at the adjacent gate, and yelled that out to the record keeper. Then she did the same for me. During this time I was able to secure my back-foot-binding, and move myself into position. I would start out passing through two low posts, and I grabbed both of those to hold myself in place until the starter told us to go.

The courses are fairly close, and I certainly did not want to take out any skier. One, that would hurt. Two, that would harm skier-snowboarder relations, and I felt like I had to be on my best behavior. Given these concerns, I planned to leave the gate slowly, to give the skier time to get down the course before I did. Not that this was necessary; I would have lagged almost anyone in the event.

I had never participated in such an event, so I had no idea how closely spaced the gates would be. That played well into the "take it slow" plan; I took my time in figuring things out.

The first three gates were fairly closely spaced, so I was careful to make it past each one. No use getting disqualified so early. As my run was in the first hour of the event (and of the day), the course was in pretty good shape, or so I thought. Not too scraped off, not too icy, not too rutted.

After a few gates, the course opened up a bit, with the gates getting further apart. It was easier to navigate them, so I could go faster. "Just make each gate," I kept thinking. "No need to be a hero." That opportunity was long gone, of course, as was the skier on the other course.

When I got towards the end, I lost some speed. Bummer! And on the flat, too!

Having lived through that, I thought that it was time to take another shot. After all, it was a best-of-two format.

As I rode off to the bottom of the mountain to catch the next lift (you're thinking I was going to walk back up?), I felt pretty good about the event. No harm, no foul. No missed gates, no hit gates. I had no idea what my score was, however. For some reason--maybe it was just too high to say publicly?--there was no announcement on the loudspeakers. No mind, I made it through.

For the second run, I thought "Time to take it faster. I know how the gates are spaced, I did fine before, now use some speed."

The second run required the adjacent course. I thought that I ran faster, and sure enough, I did, though only by a second, or less. As I came to the finish line, I realized that I was again slowing down, not carrying my speed, and that I had forgotten many of the little mind tricks that I have
for speeding up my riding.

No use for that then, however. We each got two shots, and I had used mine up. It wasn't a bad start, though. I certainly don't have a racing setup. I've got an all-mountain freeride board, and I use a duck stance, for starters. But I'm willing to give it a try again next season.

NASJA 15: My NASTAR Experience (A)

A snowboarder on a ski racing course? Yep.

One common feature of the annual meeting of the National Association of Snowsports Journalists Association (NASJA) is a NASTAR event. NASTAR, which stands for the National Standards Race, is a means by which skiers (and participants are largely skiers) can assess their abilities to race.

The operations of NASTAR are all fairly complicated (see the Rules/Info page for more), but roughly speaking, an Olympic ski racer is timed on a course, and everyone else's score is referenced against his time.

There are also adjustments for a racer's sex and age, resulting, as in golf, in a handicap. Unlike a trip through a NASCAR course, which runs for hours, the trip down a NASTAR course will take 30 seconds. And that's if you're very slow. If you participate in NASTAR on a regular basis, you can track your progress over time, as the handicapping system allows you to compare your racing on Mount X in one year with your racing on Mount Y in the next year.

Each person at the annual meeting was given the opportunity to sign up for the race the day before. We were to be assigned to teams of 10 or so, which added another dimension to the event. Not only was each participant going to be stacked up with his prior performance (or in my case, setting a benchmark for future events), he would also be contributing to a team effort.

I had not thought of participating. After all, I have always thought of racing as a "ski thing." Skiers race. Snowboarders, if they do something other than cruise, hit the terrain park or the halfpipe.

But I got talked into it. One, the organizer of the event is someone I know, a person whose enthusiasm is infectious. Two, this trip was all about learning, doing new things, and exploring the broader world of snow sports. A timed race fit right in.

I had three objectives going into the event: don't get hurt, don't fall, and don't miss any gates. Happily, I met all three objectives.

More on that later.

NASJA 14: Crested Butte Peak

How about an introduction to Crested Butte, the mountain?

One of the better views of the highest point of Crested Butte comes from the top of the West Wall lift. That lift is on the west side of the ski area, but it's not on top of any wall. Look towards the top of this peak, however, and then you'll have something approaching a wall!

NASJA 13: A Few Words About Historic Crested Butte

One evening, our rather large group broke up into several smaller groups in search of dinner in historic Crested Butte. My group had dinner at The Last Steep, a low-key contemporary restaurant offering some Cajun touches. (For what it's worth, I got the special of the night, a pulled-pork burrito. It was good.)

There are actually three (at least) Crested Buttes. One is the mountain. The second is "Mt. Crested Butte." That's where the business operations of the resort are located, as well as most of the housing, including a lot of condos. Then there is Crested Butte, the old settlement. It's got a different feel from your typical base village.





Notice the old western-style store fronts.



It would have been nice to see more of the town, but with so much riding to do (and meetings to attend), I did not spend much time there. Perhaps another trip.

NASJA 12: Parlez-Vous Francais?

One thing you might get on a mountain rather than, say, at a baseball game, is an encounter with a visitor from outside the U.S.

The other day, I shared my first chair ride up Crested Butte with husband and wife. The man spoke to me, and said something about it being a good day. I said something in return, and he replied with a phrase that didn't sound like that of a native speaker. I think it was something akin to using the present tense to talk about an event that had already happened.

Then the man turned to the woman, and the two of them started talking in quiet voices. I couldn't hear most of what they said, but the sound was familiar.

So when he turned back in my direction, I said to the man in the best French I could muster "Etes-vous Quebecois?" ("Are you from Quebec?")

I had the right language (French) but the wrong country (Switzerland). For the next five minutes we carried on a conversation. Though it had been many years since I had spoken French, I could understand most of what he was saying. That was good, because, as he told me, "I do not speak much English."

The most difficult part for me was speaking in French. Perhaps I should have spoken in English, and him, in French. Most people can understand a language much better than they can speak it.

In decades past, winter sports (primarily skiing) held a certain appeal due to the mixing of cultures and languages. If you visit a destination resort in the U.S., you might still find that. So be prepared to dust off your college language classes!

NASJA 11: Snowboarding With Poles

Snowboarding with poles? What could be sillier than that? After all, in snowboarding, you rock back and forth between heel and toe, while on skis you rock from one side of the foot to the other.

I have read, on occasion, a recommendation for novices to try snowboarding with poles. But while at Crested Butte, I saw something I had never seen before: someone navigating an expert pitch while on a snowboard, and using skis.

Riding up the Paradise lift, you'll see some steep glades to your east. They're double diamonds. And who did I see coming through those glades, but a snowboarder with ski poles. It was an odd sight.

What gives? Perhaps the poles were for flatter sections--after all, you don't come out of terrain like that at a great speed. Perhaps they somehow assisted in making tight turns, though at the moment I can't figure out how that would happen.

Any thoughts? Leave a comment.

NASJA 10: I'm Sick of Altitude

You've got to take the bad with the good.

While higher elevations make for lots of snow and good riding, they can also lead to altitude sickness. Normally my bouts are limited to sketchy sleep, though during a recent stay in Aspen I was just fine.

Crested Butte, however, is another 1,500 feet higher, making the possibility of altitude sickness more likely, and the symptoms more severe. Right now it's mostly tiredness.

As the Centers for Disease Control say, being in good condition is no protection against altitude sickness.

More on the subject later.

NASJA 9: Disco Fever

Here at the NASJA annual meeting, we're not all about exploring terrain and talking about the ski business. We also have a party or two. Tonight's theme: disco fever.

The disco ball is above the dance floor, the Bee Gees and Donna Summer are blasting through the sound system, and most everyone is wearing retro clothing from a costume shop.

But true to my early-to-bed philosophy (see: NASJA 8), I won't be long for the party.

NASJA 8: Alcohol, Late Nights, and Skiing

At dinner the other night we got into a discussion of "ski hard, party hard."

I don't understand how people can ski or ride all day, especially at high elevations, stay up late at night drinking booze (which compounds the problems of dehydration), and then getting up early the next day for another trip to the mountain. But some people can do it.

One school of thought is that you can do the long-day, long-night routine if you start skiing or riding at an early age. Perhaps. But whatever the truth is, don't ski or ride intoxicated. It's dangerous enough to yourself, which would be fine if that's as far as it went. But usually it will increase your likelihood of endangering others.

NASJA 7: T-Bar!

I've never liked surface lifts, whether I was on skis or on a snowboard. And for a snowboarder, face it, surface lifts were designed with skiers in mind.

But can a snowboarder make peace with surface lifts?

I struggled a long time to master tow ropes, but that's as far as I got in using surface lifts. Until now.

I spent the day touring the mountain, from edge to edge, with some other participants in the conference. By mid-afternoon, someone suggested we head up to an area that required using a t-bar. I was hesitant, but decided to take the effort.

First we went up the High Lift, and then, the North Face lift. Both lifts served diamond or double diamond terrain.

I did manage to make it up the two lifts. Here are some things that worked for me along the way. They may work for you. Though a t-bar can take two people uphill, it's best for you to go up solo.

1. Slide into place, on one side or the other of where the line will be. Your uphill foot should be in the binding; your downhill foot should not be in its binding. Note that you will also have an uphill hand and a downhill hand.

2. When the bar comes around, put your uphill hand on the line. With your downhill hand, push the bar into place. This means placing a butt cheek against the bar.

3. As you go up, you may be tempted to let your uphill arm do all the work, by grasping the line. That's a mistake; you'll tire out very quickly. Successfully using a t-bar requires letting the line do the work, through the bar, not you doing the work through holding the line in a death grip with your uphill arm.

4. You may find a tendency for the bar to slip away from you. That's not good news. To counteract this tendency, rest your downhill hand on the opposite side of the bar (where someone else would be standing), and periodically shove the bar closer to you.

5. As you ascend, maintain a slight bend in your knees. That way you can absorb small changes in the terrain.

6. Will your back foot slip off the board if it's not in a binding? Probably. The most important thing is to not panic. The second thing is to not over correct. Simply put your foot back on the board; don't stomp.

7. Note that the terrain may become more steep as you get towards the end of the ride. Stick with it and you'll be rewarded with new terrain.

NASJA 6: Onsite Lodging Vital

Critics of the modern resort industry, who range from old-school rugged types to new-age anti-capitalists, with ordinary folk in-between, find fault with the growth of second home ownership at ski areas. "Vailification" as it is often called, involves people spending sums of money on vacation homes that are beyond the reach of most people.

I've felt some effects from this trend. When I go to Aspen, I stay not at the Little Nell or the St. Regis or the Hotel Jerome or other such high-end hotels. Of course, even the cheaper sleeps in that town are expensive.

Twice in the last 5 years, the hotel at which we have stayed has gone condo, and not even condo, but fractional ownership. Think time share, on a large budget, as in $1,000 per square foot. And that's for partial ownership, mind you.

In a morning session, the owner of Crested Butte resort defended the growth of upscale ownership. There's no time to review his comments now, but they are worth hearing. The most interesting point: real estate buyers subsidize the mountain experience for everyone else.

That makes sense. After all, ownership carries extra responsibilities, financial and otherwise. And if the resort owner can make money by selling and selling real estate, that fronts money that can be used to upgrade operations (lifts, grooming equipment).

Then again, it all depends on the structure of the organization. I recall reading the annual report of Intrawest, the resort giant. It divides its business into real estate, hospitality (managing real estate) and mountain operations (lift tickets, ski school, meals, and so forth). Each division, if I recall correctly, was expected to turn a profit.

In any case, there's no use railing against the purchase of mountain homes. There will always be a group of people with the money to spend on them, and others willing to sell them.

NASJA 5: Employee Housing Programs

At dinner last night I spoke with someone about an employee housing program in Pitkin County, Colorado. Pitkin County is home to Aspen, so as you might expect, it's an expensive place to live.

Employees at the Aspen Ski Co live as far away as Rifle. According to Mapquest, that 68 mile trip takes an hour and 30 minutes. And that's in good conditions.

Housing for (some) employees is semi-socialized. There's a housing authority to which developers must contribute cash, or set aside units if they wish to create new housing. Residents who have full-time jobs for four years (in the same job, I think) are eligible to purchase a unit. Participation is limited by income level.

People can buy units from the authority at a market discount, but in turn can realize only a 3 percent per year gain on their purchase. How is that limit enforced? The deed to the property is restricted; the homeowner can only sell the property back to the authority.

I'll have to chew on this idea for a while, and get more information. At the least you've got to give the folks in Pitkin County credit for taking some initiative.

NASJA 4: Where do all the Employees Live?

Mountain resorts, much like beachfront property, becomes more expensive as the population and the economy grow. Why? "They don't make them anymore." A rising national income affords more people the option of buying resort property. Increased demand and a fairly static supply sends prices in one direction: up.

Generally, people who go skiing and snowboarding at destination resorts have above-average incomes. And people who work at destination resorts--lift operators, retail clerks, hotel employeess--don't have above-average incomes.

So where do they live? Sometimes elsewhere. To take one extreme example, the Aspen Ski Company released a marketing video this year that has profiles of a dozen or so people who live and work in the region.

One fellow, who works in a restaurant, rides a bus from somewhere "downvalley," for about an hour each way. I believe that he is from Mexico, which means that even at $8 an hour (or whatever he makes), putting up with that commute, on a bus, is a winning proposition.

In the case of Crested Butte, I suspect that the problem is not so severe. The base of the resort is actually in the relatively new of Mt. Crested Butte. It's got lots of condos. Crested Butte, the longstanding down, is a few miles away. I don't know if it's any cheaper there, though some non-spectacular houses could be seen.

Perhaps some people commute from Gunnison. As I've said before, it looks like a low-rent district.

How can resorts fill low-wage jobs in a high-cost area? There are several possibilities. One, they subsidize housing. Two, they offer an entry to opportunities to immigrants, who are willing to put up with more deprivation than the average American. And finally, they offer non-monetary compensation in the form of recreational opportunities.

Meet the ski bum.

NASJA 3: Gunnison

If you fly to Crested Butte, you'll probably be flying into Gunnison. By comparison with Crested Butte, it looks to be a tired town. Sure, the main street has two or three blocks that look neat, and out of a TV western: tall, flat storefronts with a sloping, overhanging roof.

But go beyond that, and you see a lot of poverty, or at least non-wealth. During the 30 minute drive up to Mt. Crested Butte, I saw at least two settlements of mobile homes that had seen better days.

A fellow participant in the conference told me that Gunnison had been "dolled up" in recent years. He must be talking about the two or three blocks that I saw.

NASJA 2: Flights into Gunnison v. Aspen

To get to Crested Butte, I flew into Gunnison, a small town about a 30 minute drive away. The flight was a reminder of how the mountains vary from place to place, and season to season.

I have some experience with flights into Aspen, and it's a hazardous place. It requires flying into a canyon. By contrast, Gunnison appeared to offer a more wide open approach. And by coming in from Dallas, we didn't have to fly over the continental divide. Both facts could mean, and I am only speculating here, that flights into Gunnison are less troublesome than flights into Aspen. Perhaps the same is true of other mountain towns. If you have any thoughts on this, Send me and e-mail.

NASJA #1: How Many Snowboarding Journalists?

I'm at Crested Butte this week for the annual meeting of the North American Snowsports Journalists Association, which is "a professional group of more than 300 writers, authors, photographers, filmmakers and broadcasters who report ski- and snowboard-related news, information and features throughout the United States, Canada and Mexico, via the various media."

NASJA started out as the United States Ski Writers Association. The name change to "North American" reflects the fact that the group's membership extends beyond the USA. And of course "snowsports" is a nod towards that fact that snowboarding is an integral part of winter mountain sports.

Still, in my limited experience in the organization, I have yet to met a fellow snowboarder. Now, I have met several members who have given snowboarding a try, but they've all gone back to skiing.

I wonder how many snowboarders I will meet this week.