Snowboarding in Japan

With my own riding in the Midwest over, it's time to travel to other places for some snowboarding. And if that doesn't pan out, at least think about snowboarding somewhere else.

That somewhere else lately has been Japan. No, I've never been there, but it offers riders plenty of opportunities. Lots of resorts. Lots of snow. And lots of options.

So where do you start reading about what's out there? One place is Snow Japan. It's a hobby site that has grown a lot over the years, with forums, maps and other features I have yet to explore.

Pull Up a Chair in the Parking Lot

If you're on a ski vacation in a town that offers a bus service to the slopes, you put your gear on in the hotel room. But what if you drive?

You'll have to drive in street shoes, most likely, and swap them out for boots once you arrive. You could carry your boots to the chalet and change there. You might be able to change while sitting inside your vehicle, if there's enough space.

Or you could put an old folding chair in the trunk.



Then you've got a stable platform for sitting on, and changing into your boots. During mud season, you might wish to set the chair on a piece of cardboard.

A Cool Tool: SkiBonk and Google Maps

GraysOnTrays.com has a directory of North American ski and snowboard resorts. It lists most if not all places with a web presence, sometimes giving a snapshot from Google Earth so that you can see where the places are in relationship to each other.

But here's a tool that may be even better: the Ski Bonk directory. (Here's a look at Colorado.) It uses Google Maps to give you a map of a given state, with icons representing some lift-served terrain. It even gives, for each area, snow conditions and the number of lifts open. Click on the icon to get even more goodies, such as trail maps and a weather forecast.

The About page says the service is "a mashup of SnoCountry, OnTheSnow, Weather Underground, the National Weather Service, and several other data feeds to provide a graphical view of worldwide skiing conditions on a google map."

The service appears to use your Internet address to provide the default map, but you can type in the name of a state, city, or even a ski area. (Be sure to put the name of the resort in the appropriate box, or you'll get invalid results.)



Try it out!

FlightAware for the Snowboarding Traveler

You're in an airport, waiting a connecting flight to your final destination, which is an airport near a major ski and snowboard destination. It could be Aspen. It could be Jackson Hole. It could be Reno. Wherever it is, you'd like to know if flights are getting into and out of that last airport. What do you do?



If you've got a web-enabled device such as a laptop computer with you, head to the flight-tracking web site FlightAware. This site has several features, including one that lets you see recent traffic into and out of any airport.

For example, check out the most recent record for Aspen or Reno.

If you're a private pilot (or just an aviation geek), you can also get other information such as a Google Earth image, information about FBOs, and a weather history for the last several hours.

Saving Money on the Slopes: The Pita Lunch

Face it, snowboarding can be expensive, especially if you travel to a destination resort.

So what can you do to save a few bucks? One thing you could do is make your own lunch.

Peanut butter is a good standby.



You could pack a small jar in your luggage, or buy one at your destination. Slather some on crackers (such as Triskets or Wheat Thins) and put them in a sandwich bag, and you've got bite-sized energy sources that you can eat while on the lift. (In this case, use creamy; it's hard to get two crackers to stick together if you use crunch.)

If you make a sandwich and put it in a pocket of your jacket, it can be smashed pretty quickly. A better alternative is the pita pocket, which is a stiffer form of bread.

If peanut butter isn't your idea of a great lunch, use dinner leftovers. Most restaurant meals are supercalorific, even for snowboarders. Save some of your meal and stuff it in the pita when you get back to the hotel or lodge. Take the pita out with you the next day.

Even if the pita approach doesn't entirely replace your on-mountain lunch, it should reduce the amount of food you'll need to buy at inflated prices.

The Ultimate in Powder

No doubt about it, skiing and snowboarding can be expensive. Perhaps the most expensive way to find snow for sliding is to take helicopter trips into the backcountry in pursuit of powder.

I just received an e-mail for one such trip. An eight-day excursion in British Columbia costs $8,000, reduced from $9,800. It sounds delightful, though perhaps the accommodations are more upscale than I need. All that snow should be enough.

A New Map

Someone recently left a comment on another blog post. The entry has a spammish feel to it in that it encourages readers to click through to a vendor's web site "with good deals," or words to that effect.

But I let it go because it actually has some useful information. Christy Sports has a "snow reports" feature. OK, so many sites do. But what I like about this feature is that it offers clickable Google Maps for each state that you pick. Ever wonder where Vail is in relationship to Aspen? Click on the Colorado map and drill down to the pin marks on the map.

By the way, the Grays On Trays site has its own directory of ski areas (snow reports not available). You can use it to get an overview of a state through JPG files taken from Google Earth images. The upside is that it actually names each resort. The downside is that unlike the Christie site, it doesn't have a road map. The Christie side has the reverse weakness: the road map is there but you need to click on each pin to find out what resort it represents.

Winter Down Under Not Quite Underway

Winter is getting underway in the southern hemisphere. On the Snow shows that resorts in Australia are developing a base, though if you click through to resort-specific information, you'll find that precious little terrain is actually open. Expect things to be underway within two weeks.

Somebody in New Zealand recommended Mt Ruapehu, on North Island. I don't know if it's any good--it's not in the On the Snow database, though oddly enough, there's a story about it on the site's front page for the country.

The site for Ruapehu is down at the moment, but take a look at the videos. There's nothing unusual there. But one of them, in which the camera trails snowboarders down an open field of snow, is encouraging. Here in the northern hemisphere with a tight travel budget, it's the best I'm going to get for a while.

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 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.

A Cold Day in Snowboard Instruction

Back-to-back-to-back! What a day of giving lessons.

I've got a long drive to my teaching "mountain," but with the iPod, it isn't so bad. In fact, it's a time that I can use to catch up on some radio programs I have missed. I still wish that the place was closer to home, but I really enjoy the people there.

Sometime after I arrived, I saw David, another instructor. We ended up parking next to each other. He led our new instructor's clinic last year. He’s one of the older “young” guys, and he has a young child, which I like. A little more relate-to-able than some of other instructors. I told him about the trip to Aspen and how I had enjoyed teaching my sister-in-law how to ride. He had two boards with him, and one had Flow bindings from about five years ago. I mentioned my strong belief in that design, and he said that he thought it was good for beginners.

I clocked in at 9:30 and wandered around a bit waiting for the 9:50 “bell.” (We met at a picnic shelter with a bell inside it.) I saw Brenda, another instructor. She's somewhat older than me. I've shadowed her in a few lessons, and we easily talk with each other. I hung out with her until 10 and then, as she was gathering her students, I went off for some solo riding for 45-50 minutes.

I spent a week in Aspen, and I was reminded again that I am back in the Midwest. Just as I’m warming up on my slide down the hill, the trail comes to a end. I’ll say this in in the favor of my home place, though: the snow was nicely groomed, and you could still see the seams in places.

Oddly enough, I found one place where I didn't like snow being groomed: on one of the "road" trails. Normally it’s an enjoyable trip. The road gives me that feeling of a kid running through the woods. But this morning the seams slowed me down. So I went back to some steeper slopes.

At 10:45 I showed up at the bell to see if there were any students for me. Oh yes there were. Four. Four! Three adults and a youngster. One guy was late teens/early 20s. Then there was another guy, with his 12-year old daughter, and a friend of his visiting from out of town. Oddly enough, the young man had the most difficult time of the four. He was particularly troubled by the bindings. I don't know why he had trouble, but he just couldn't get the boots to click. (They are step-ins.) After a while it became obvious that there were differing levels of ability in the group. I hate it when that happens, but it’s inevitable. The 12-year old was doing so-so, as was the out-of-town guest. The dad (a skier) did really well.

The lesson ran long. Mine always do; I like to give the students a lot to work on. After we broke up, I had enough time to go to the car, get some food, and return to the bell with a few minutes to spare before the next appointed meeting.

I'm at the bell, talking with two of the younger instructors when the ski school director calls my name. I've got four more students: a guy and his teenaged son, and two other people. (As I write this now, names from the two lessons are merging and I can’t remember the two other people.) As with the first group, some students did better than others, and I spend a lot of time shuttling between a more advanced student, to the person having a lot of trouble with the very basics, to the person who gets some things but not others. Do I like private lessons! It's so much easier to concentrate on one student.

Time's up--beyond up, really--and we scatter. I return to my car for another snack, and head back to the bell. Should I ask to be let free, or should I volunteer for another lesson?

Go see if there’s a need for another lesson, I think. It’s not like I’m missing out on some best-in-world terrain if I spend some more time on the bunny hill.

The director says "You haven't ridden a lot. Are you ready for another lesson?" He says that he's got two more adults for a lesson. Seeing that they're adults--a demographic I don't get to teach that often--I say "sure." After all, I'm here to get experience teaching, right?

This class consists of a young guy and his girlfriend. As I start the lesson, I go back to the basics, talking about the shape of the board, how to fall, and so forth. As I tick off these points, I wonder if I have made them to the other two classes. Back-to-back-to-back can be demanding, I am learning.

The guy does fairly well once we get going. The girl is always one step behind. It’s back to the split attention mode again. Give him one drill, give her another. I feel sorry for her; I’d like so much to see her “get it,” and I wonder if there’s something else I can do to help. My mind goes blank, except for the thought that everyone progresses at different speeds.

My work suddenly becomes easier, though for the wrong reasons. The girl takes an awkward fall and lands on her wrist. She suspects a sprain and says that she’s going in. Both of the students had been on rollerblades, and she says that she has broken her wrist before, so she knows what a badly hurt wrist feels like. It isn’t broken, but she needs to stop.

I spend another 50 minutes with the guy. The light is starting to fade, which is difficult for anyone, but especially a beginner. He has some successes, and a lot of wipeouts. Still, he doesn’t seem to mind. I encourage him that a maniacal attitude is good; that’s how I learned how to ride.

After the lesson, I think about catching some riding on my own. But the window of opportunity for riding the bumps has gone. They’re too icy now. So too, I suspect, is the giant headwall. It would have made a fun challenge early in the day, but now it would just be a nasty get-through-it experience. I decide to pack it in.

I go back to my car and swap my snowboard boots for some worn out, floppy shoes that I use for driving. Usually I take a big plastic bin o’ gear from the car to the lodge and change: off with the impact shorts, off with the knee pads, on with the shorts that I wear over my long underwear. But today I’m just cold and want to get going.

So who should I meet in the parking lot? David. The same guy I started the day with. We talk about the lessons we gave. Since I’m a freelance worker in my day job, this is about the only time that I get to talk shop with someone who does the same kind of work that I do.

I’ve been outside in the 20 degree cold (with a few indoor breaks) for nearly 8 hours. More than half that time I’ve been walking around talking with people, observing students, and otherwise not even on my board, let alone riding. But it’s been a good day in the snowboarding world anyway.

Exploring New Terrain

Snowboarding works best when there is a mix of familiar and unfamiliar terrain. Recently I visited Aspen/Snowmass, and got to ride both familiar and unfamiliar terrain.

The familiar terrain included Buttermilk. Though it's home of the X Games, my riding is not quite X-like. The superpipe was not yet open to the public, and neither was the slopestyle course. That didn't matter, though. I did make some turns in a small halfpipe that was not too far from the superpipe.

What I like the most about Buttermilk is the close-in nature of some of the slopes on the west side. They're easy green runs (with a few interesting blue spots mixed in), but many are lined with trees, making for a pleasant gallery of natural beauty.

Another day I went to Snowmass. That was a mix of familiar with unfamiliar. Elk Camp and the Big Burn are both suitable for intermediate cruisers, fairly-to-completely open. It was good to be back with old friends.

But I also enjoyed visiting new terrain, including the Campground region of Snowmass. I won't say that it was any better than the rest of Snowmass, but trying out new slopes was like opening a new present.

Finally, I had all sorts of new presents at Aspen mountain (Ajax). I'm not sure that I need to go back to it, but I am glad that I visited it.

One appealing element of snowboarding is that, if you wish there's always something new. Mix in something new with something old, and you have quite a past time.

Vail Trip: Day 3

I had one day left for Vail. Actually, a half day. So I made the best of it by getting out to the mountain early. The lifts were scheduled to open at 8:30 a.m., and I was at #16 a little after 8 o'clock. This was going to be a great day.

It had snowed the night before. How much, I'm not sure. Perhaps 6 inches. It beat most days in the Midwest, so I wasn't going to complain if it was 6 rather than 16.

I saw two young guys (perhaps college age, or slightly younger) standing just outside the lift gates. I figured that if they were waiting, the lifties were not taking paying customers yet, even as a few skiers and riders made their way to the chairs. What these people had in common were red jackets, and more importantly, membership in the ski patrol. Responsibility does have its privileges.

Eventually one "civilian" entered the gates, and scooted up to the ribbon signaling that the lift was still closed to the general public. A family followed, and I followed after them. Soon the corral was filled with eager skiers and riders. A liftie let us in a few minutes before 8:30, and for the only time this day, I shared the lift with someone.

One of the young guys was from the suburbs of Chicago. Poor fellow. While I must make do with a few 300-foot hills around home, he doesn't even have that. His closest place for sliding is "Raging Buffalo," a terrain park-only facility.

Spying a halfpipe off in the distance, I asked my companion if he had been in the pipe. He said no, that he was going to explore the rest of the mountain while he had the chance. Good choice, I told him.

My first run of the day was down Hunky Dory, a well-groomed trail.





It was a fun trip, and I enjoyed having smooth corduroy all to myself. I could have stayed there all day, but even the Midwest can have groomers. But it does not have the back bowls. The sun was shining and it was time to go.

THE BACK BOWLS, WITH VISION
In order to catch my afternoon flight, I had to be back at the base of the front side by noon. That left about three hours to make some runs in the back bowls, and take a quick trip to Blue Sky Basin.

I dropped into Sunup Bowl. What a difference a day makes. I had made one run there the day before, and it wasn't that great. But this day, with the blue sky and tons of new snow, was different.

It started out with some views of other ridges, and of a new blanket of snow at the top of my path.






Living in the Midwest, I don't get many opportunities to ride on powder. So the layer that we enjoyed this day was particularly delicious. I periodically stopped my descent long enough to look up at my tracks.



It's easy to get sloppy with your technique in powder, since the snow offers an actual cushion to work with. Fall down? No big deal. Laugh!

Think that the slope might be too steep for your comfort? Point that board down the hill anyway; the extra snow will slow you down, and transform making turns into something simple.

The snow was not totally perfect; I could still feel crusty lumps underneath, at least towards the top of the bowl. But there's no denying the attraction of riding in the bowl. Soon, hundreds of tracks were laid down.







I made two or perhaps three trips through the Sun Up bowl before deciding that it was time to head out to the China Bowl and then the Blue Sky Basin. The China Bowl had a very different look, that is, a more pleasant one, this time around.



I took a steeper approach down than the day before, and discovered why those orange-tipped poles are worth your attention. I was sliding over towards one set of poles, and it appeared that I was not going to be able to carry my momentum beyond them. Had I maintained my path, I would have gone through them.

But instead of doing that, I did one of those awkward snowboard moves that involves getting on your hands and knees and hopping around. Then I rode backwards (switch) to a point where I could descend without going through the gate formed by the poles.

Good thing, too, for when I got around and underneath the poles, I saw that they were marking a small cliff!

As I have said before, existing the China Bowl requires taking some cats. But here's one good thing: my legs weren't hurting as much as the day before.

HIKING WITH A BABY?
My effort to get on the lift serving the BSB was rewarded by some good views of the back bowls.



The lift took me to Belle's Camp, which is the one of the peaks in in the basin. There isn't much to it: a lift house, a restroom, and a warming hut. It does offer a good view off in the distance, beyond the ski area.



It must have been the mountain air and the altitude, but during my time in Vail I never gave up an opportunity to use a restroom. The one at Belle's Camp is a modern-looking building, but the toilet is a hole in the ground. Perhaps that's why there was a sign in the stall that advised against putting small dogs (!) and diapers (!) down the hole. Anyone up for three hikes of 3,000 feet, up, down, and then back up again, with a baby strapped in?



I figured that I had only one trip down this "backcountry experience" before I had to make my way back to town. I took Cloud 9 all the way down. It was, unfortunately, a road / cat for most of the way. Chalk it up, again, to being unfamiliar with the area. I should have taken Big Rock, as I did once the day before. Still, it's hard to complain about any day spent on the slopes.



Since it was late in the season, Lift #21 (Orient Express) back to the bowls was not open. That caused me some confusion as I approached the end of my Cloud 9 trip. I feared that somehow I had faithfully followed the signs towards the ... wrong lift, that I would have to make another trip back up #37 to Belle's Camp. It looked like the time I had to get ready for the trip to the airport would be VERY short. An unshowered snowboarder on a small plane? Not a good idea. Missing the flight altogether? Even worse. Fortunately, my fears were misplaced, and I caught Lift #36 (Teacup Express) back to the top of the China Bowl.

It would have been tempting to sneak in another two runs from that point. Instead, I decided to end with an endurance test, down Riva Run, which at 4.5 miles, is the longest trail around. I missed the top of Riva (again!) and instead got in an unexpected mogul field on Zot (black), which is just above the cliff bands that I saw from Lift #4 (Mountaintop). I did catch the bottom half of Riva after taking a cat (Transmontane). It wasn't the most enjoyable trip down, but I had made it.

As it turns out, once I had showered and had packed up everything, I had 30 minutes to spare before my van came. Should have made another run!

Or maybe not.

BOTTOM LINE
If you have the chance to visit Vail, especially in the late season when the crowds are nil, do it. Take a buddy if you can; ride alone if you must. Like Mammoth and Snowmass, it's huge, and it offers a variety of conditions for all skiers and riders. If you're at least an intemediate rider, drop into the bowls, especially on powder days. If you're comfortable on catwalks, extend your trip into the Blue Sky Basin.

Buy tickets online, in advance, to save some dough. Pack a lunch as much as possible to save on meals that are expensive, even by mountain standards.

Most of all, get ready for some good times.

Vail Trip: Day 2

So this was my big day at Vail. Too bad the weather didn't cooperate.

It started out with overcast skies from the moment I looked outside the condo:



It's not that I had a bad day; it just would have been better had it not snowed so much.

I took lift 16 up to 4, and then rode the Timberline cat (not as bad as I had feared) down to the base of 14. That was the path to get into the China Bowl. The cat was fun in its own way; with all the nearby trees covered with snow, I felt like belting out "Winter Wonderland."



I restrained myself, but it would not have mattered; there was hardly anyone around to listen.

After a stop at the Two Elks restaurant, I dropped into the China bowl by taking another cat that is just below.



It was hard to see anything. I could see far enough, but there was a haze over everything. I slipped off the cat onto the ground below, which would eventually go lead me to a small cliff. Fortunately the loud crunchy sound of the off-cat snow alerted me to the need to get back on track.

As I was cautiously making my way down the cat, to a point where I could drop in, an older guy on skis came up behind me. We talked briefly, and I decided that it would be good to have him around as a point of reference.

As it turns out he wasn't looking for a mountain companion--when we got to the next lift, he quickly took off without waiting for me--but having someone else around as we both went into the bowl was comforting.

The bowl was unlike anything I have ridden before, but I would have to wait until the next day to appreciate that--that is, when I could ride with some sunshine. If you've never been skiing in such an environment, picture the guys from the "Bonanza" television show atop their horses, looking down into a valley that seems to go for miles and miles. It's something like that. But covered with snow for all sorts of sliding.

Though there are no trails as such in the bowl, I did take the Poppyfields route (blue) down towards the Blue Sky Basin. I had only a vague sense of where I was going.

The bowls are great for powder days, but this was more "dust on crust," or a few inches of snow on top of harder stuff that you would scrape against. It wasn't the greatest snow, but it was my day to be in the bowls, so I stayed the course.

Getting to the bottom of the China Bowl is only part of the challenge of going to Blue Sky basin. There is also, you guessed it, another catwalk, one that winds back upon itself and requires crossing two bridges.

Getting to the basin is not, then, for the beginner. Then again, you don't have to be an "expert," if by expert you think of halfpipe tricks, or riding through chutes or jumping off cliffs. Simply being able to do a speed-check on a constantly declining cat is the most important quality after negotiating the China Bowl.

There is one thing that is helpful, however: Having calves of iron. There are many ways to ride on a long catwalk; I spent much of my time standing slightly on tiptoes.

Now I had been working out several times a week, including doing calf raises and dips. But getting to the basin gave a workout that I had never experienced in the gym. I wanted to stop at different times, but resisted, since coming to a complete stop would have killed any speed and made things more difficult.

Blue Sky Basin is advertised as a lift-served backcountry experience. It's sorta kinda like that. Not that I have backcountry experience, but the "trailness" of the place is not like you would get on the front side of Vail, and it's much less open than the bowls, which you can often see from BSB.



The light was adequate for a while, but pretty soon, the cloud cover increased and snow started falling. Then it started getting heavier, and hard snow started to pelt my jacket.

These were not the best conditions in which to ride the basin. First of all, I had never been there before. Second, the not-a-bowl but not-a-trail nature of the place made it hard to know where I was going. I had never been there before, and feared getting into a line that lead to some rocks, or simply, confusion. Add to that the fact that I was alone on a acreage that saw few people. What if I fell into a tree well? When would someone pull my frozen body out of the snow? All these factors combined to keep me in a conservative approach.

It took me a while to figure out where to go, and even then, I was disoriented. For example, I intended my first trip to be through "Grand Review," but it took me a while to find out where that was. Once I got out of the more unpleasant terrain, however, the ride was great.

Another trip down I tried to follow a different line, "The Star." At this point, the light was getting worse, and I never did see a sign telling me where I was. Unsure, I spent the good part of 15 minutes working my way down the mountain by going underneath the chairlift, on a tight and gnarly path.

I later joined up with a family, for a brief time. Parents, teenaged kids, and little kids. I asked the parents if I could tag along with them. They said sure, but we don't know where we are going, either. I followed them, then lead them, and then lost them. We made it through a more difficult part of the basin, I think. At least it felt that way, as I tried to follow the teenaged son through a field of small, tightly spaced trees.

After fighting the flat light and falling snow, I decided to bail out for the front side of Vail. So I made my way back to lift 36, and up to Whisky Jack, a reasonably pleasant blue run on the front side. I followed that up with the green runs in the same area (Two Elks), such as Sourdough, Tin Pants, and Flapjack. The easy cruisers were a different kind of pleasure than the rough and tough conditions I had been through. As my father-in-law would say, when the snow is falling, head for the groomed tree runs.

I ended the day with a wide sweeping trip to the base, going from (I think I have it right) west to east. I started on Expresso (lift 4) and made my way over on Eagle's Nest Ridge. This part of the day would have been a great time to have a riding companion who knew which line to take. "No, don't go there, go here; it will make things much easier a few minutes from now." At least once I had to unbuckle and climb back up hill to get to the trail I actually wanted to be on.

The final run took me over to the Lionshead area, down Simba. I kept it all blue, avoiding the black diamond shorter steeper pitches. I had had a long day (no complaining here!), and there was no need to push things.

NIGHT
Despite having spent much more time on the mountain, I was in better shape at the end of this day than the day before.

I also had some fine views, which had been absent during the day.

Vail Trip: Day 1

This year I've really enjoyed new late-season riding. And when you're riding in Vail's record-setting year, it's easy to enjoy the late season.

For the second ski area in North America (only Whistler Blackcomb is bigger), the scope of Vail is surprisingly easy to grasp, at least superficially. You will hear that it is possible to spend an entire season there and still find new caches of snow, and that's probably right. In my own case, I was able to sample the front side, two of the back bowls, and portions of the Blue Sky Basin.

Here's what happened on the first day, a Monday.

Landing at the Eagle Vail airport
I took a small prop plane from Denver to the Eagle County airport. Flying over the mountains in the equivalent of a bus is not for the weak of stomach. Fortunately, my stomach held up well enough, but the ride certainly was turbulent enough.

Once on the shuttle, I noticed that the appetite for direct flights on large plans continues to grow. Our van had to stop for 5 minutes as a fleet of earth-moving equipment paraded across the road, dumping fill for a runway extension for this growing airport.

Once in town, I changed into my gear. It's amazing how long it takes to unpack and put on various forms of protective clothing. But soon enough I was on the mountain.

Everyone knows it's Windy
The day featured a mostly cloudy sky, with winds. I started out in the Lionshead area, and decided to take lift 19, the Eagle Bahn gondola, rather than lift 8 (the Born Free lift) because it would take me further up the mountain. OK, I also thought that a gondola would be more interesting than a chair lift, since I had been in a gondola all of one time in my life.

Lifts 8 and 19 are fairly close together, so it was with some disappointment that I noticed the gondola I was in stopped in mid-journey, several times, while lift 8 continued up the mountain. By its boxy design, the gondola was more likely to be buffeted by winds, forcing operators to slow its operation to a crawl. Bad choice on my part, then.

This was a lesson in how what you don't know can hurt you.

My bad luck continued. I had hoped to ride over to lift 2 (Avanti) and play around in the area known as Mid-Vail, which offers easy access to a number of shorter runs of all colors. But somebody at the top of the gondola told me that lift 2 was closed as well, due to winds.

Catwalks
When I asked a patroller what should I do, he advised me to ride back down a longer trail (Born Free) and then take the Vail Village catwalk over to lift 16 (the Vista Bahn). This introduced me to one thing I did not care for so much: catwalks.

Now, I have come a long way in my riding skills, so the cats no longer strike fear in me as they once did. A cat can even be a nice change of pace, a way to slow down after charging through several runs. But on my first descent from the lift? I did not need that just yet!

Well, my complaints are not too serious. Such is the wonder of living in 21st century America, when the biggest complaint of the day is taking the wrong line down a mountain in an expensive winter sport! The trip down to lift 16 was easy.

PHQ
Once I left chair 16, I took the short ride down to chair 4 (Mountaintop) to, well, the mountain top, or more specifically, PHQ (Patrol Headquarters). In this area, two lifts serving the front side (11 and 4) meet in roughly the same spot.



I took a few runs from each lift, starting with Northwoods (blue) and then adding in Expresso (blue) and Ramshorn (Green), before taking #3 up to the Wildwood area.

Wildwood
I finished that off with a quick trip over to Wildwood, which was at the top of lift 3. This lift would have normally taken me into the Game Creek mini-bowl, but GC was closed for the season, the largest (and perhaps only) area that was officially closed at Vail.

From the top of Wildwood I took another run or two down Hunky Dory (blue) back to lift 3. I took some bump runs, which demonstrates how well this day served up "hero snow." I have tried bumps in the Midwest, but without much success. At home, the bumps are usually icy and the field is narrow, requiring rapid edge changes. This day at Vail, the moguls were soft but not too much so. The field was wide enough that I could traverse and made wide, sweeping loops rather than try to make rapid turns.



For the end of the day, I took Hunky Dory , Meadows (green) and Transmontane (another cat) down to Riva Ridge (blue-black). Riva is the longest run at Vail, but for some reason I was never able to find its start at the top of the mountain. I always ended up riding only a portion of it: two or three miles instead of 4.5. Again, not exactly a crushing blow, but kind of odd.

Download?
I had seen signs suggesting that due to conditions on the lower mountain, customers might wish to download (ride the lift down the mountain) at the end of the day.

Why was that? Perhaps the snow had melted so much that rocks were exposed? I could not see anything like that from the lifts. And I wasn't going to let a little soft snow near the base deprive me of time on the board; I would rather ride ON the snow with my board than ride suspended OVER it in a chair.

Sure enough, the snow was a bit soft in spots. But all that meant was that I had to pick my lines more carefully. As it turns out, warm snow may be another one of those conditions which is easier for snowboards than for skis. Or maybe it's just that I was used to spring conditions.

Not Bad for the First Afternoon.
A few years ago, I read an account of a guy who hopped on a plane in New York, flew to Utah, quickly made his way to the mountain and then to the top of the mountain ... and then puked all the way down while attempting to ski.

Altitude sickness.

Fortunately I had nothing of that sort happen. I did have a slight headache, which I usually do during my first day in the Rockies.

Once I got back to my condo, then the more serious symptoms set in: I was wiped. Dehydrated, probably. The few juice packs I had taken with me were not enough.

But I opened the water tap back at the condo, let it flow, and got much better. Recovery took only an hour or so. Not bad for heading out to the mountains on the first day. And not a bad amount of terrain for a short day of riding.

My wild guess is that I got in 10,000 feet of vertical descent in just over 2 hours. By comparison, getting in that much back home would require riding from 9 am until 9 pm.

Oh yes, thanks in part to my aggressive schedule, I slept much better than I usually do for the first night.

The Joys of FedEx

A short time ago, a FedEx delivery guy dropped off the last of my gear from the trip out West. What a great service.

Since I was going to use both skis and a board, I had a lot of stuff to transport out there: a briefcase (with computer), a large suitcase, skis, ski boots, a board, and boarding boots.

Thanks to my boarding bag, all my boarding stuff fit into one package. A second package was my ski tube. At that point, I would have been over the airline limit, meaning my suitcase would cost me another $50 each way ($100 round trip). That's assuming that I used my briefcase as a "personal item" and lugged the 15 pound bag of ski boots with me. But I was not going to repeat that painful trek of last year.

So I took checked my snowboarding bag and suitcase on the airplane, and used my briefcase as my carry-on. All manageable. I used FedEx to ship my ski boots (boxed up) and skis (in a hard-shell travel tube) to and from Aspen. Total cost for both items, round trip: $50.

Upside: I got to try out both sports at a minimal transportation cost. I also saved my shoulders from lugging a heavy boot bag around the airport.

Downside: I had to take my ski stuff to a FedEx office on both ends of the trip. Given the value of my time, I might have done just as well to pay the excess baggage fee to the airline. On the other hand, it was nice to not have to deal with so many pieces of luggage at one time.

Massive Snowmass

February 14, 2005

Today we went to Snowmass, the big daddy of Aspen-area mountains.

In the morning, we went to the Big Burn, a wide-open, high-altitude location. When the sun is out and the skies are blue, it's a great location, with spectacular views. Unfortunately, this wasn't a great day, for several reasons.

The "burn" in "big burn" may be a noun, to describe the forest fire that years ago took out many of the trees that were there. But today, "burn" was the condition of my feet, which were in pain the entire run down to the lift. Ski. Stop. Ski. Stop. Ski. Stop. Agonize.

Compounding the problem was poor light, which made navigating a relatively unfamiliar terrain a lot of work. Throw in a lot of people flying around me, and you have not a great way to start the day.

Once at the end of the run, I waited at a restaurant for my wife and her father to take another lap. It seemed like a 45 minute lap, a much-longer rest than I had hoped for.

Once they returned, we took a long traverse (Trestle) down to the Alpine Springs lift. But there was a small surprise at the end of the traverse: a mogul field.

It was not a mogul field in the traditional sense. I don't think it was designed to be one. It was simply the result of the casual approach to grooming that seems to characterize Snowmass, combined with a lot of new snow and plenty of traffic.

Still smarting from foot pain, the last thing I wanted on the snow was to deal with moguls. I don't ski them, for one thing. My few attempts to do so have not been spectacular. But here I was, apparently with no other way down.

Not knowing any better, I tried to traverse the field rather than taking a straight-down approach. I got more speed up than anticipated, and when I went at what seemed to be a high speed over the top of one bump, I let loose a vulgarity that I thought must have filled the valley. But somehow, I stayed on my feet, and eventually worked my way out to smoother terrain.

We took lunch at the High Alpine restaurant. Given its location and where we wanted to go next (Elk Camp), it was a reasonable decision. Still, I was bothered by the fact that, when we had finished eating, it was 12:45, and I had taken only two runs, neither of them successful or enjoyable.

But the rest of the afternoon—until 3:50—was a different story entirely. We spent the time at Elk Camp, an intermediate (blue) area that is my favorite location at Snowmass. It's got compound slopes, enough trees to make things look nice but not so many that they get in the way, and pitches steep enough to make things interesting but not so much that getting down them is a lot of work.

We started out on a trail (Bear Bottom) that was allegedly groomed. There's no way it could have been, with all that pushed-around snow and mini-piles. Other trails in the area, such as Bull Run, approached mogul run status, at least for me. I’m not saying that I now enjoy bumps, but I got some experience learning how to use them. It seemed like I spent a lot of time "jumping" off the top of them. I appreciate the experience enough that I may take a bumps lesson next year.

Another thing I enjoy about skiing (or riding) is to explore new territory. We traveled in the Creekside region, which is an interesting mix of semi-steeps followed by a much longer section of a very gentle slope.

Throughout the day the sun teased us. Occasionally it almost appeared from beyond the clouds. But most of the time we dealt with difficult light, and when we finally had excellent visibility, we were nearly finished for the day.

Visibility, it turns out, played a role in my foot pain. At least that's my theory. Unable to see very far ahead, I used a lot of short turns, especially in the morning. In the afternoon, I loosened my buckles, and the pain was almost always gone. What may have been equally important, though, is that I got more comfortable reading the terrain. So I was more willing to let my skis run out to the bottom of a small pitch, which meant less turning, and less pain.

Snowboarding on a Big Mountain

Now I know why snowboarding leads the way in waterproof pants. I didn't wear that kind of clothing today, and now I'm soaked to the skin from a day of snowboarding.

Today we went to Buttermilk. It was mostly because it was my wife's first day here, and she wanted an easy start to things. Another reason is that we expected it to be a "flat light" day. As it turns out, though, it was one of the sunniest days around. That made the decision to use the day to ride even better.

I'm often more anxious to get going in the morning than the other members of my party, and that certainly was the case today. We had a powder day! And it was my first time out west, on my own snowboard. More importantly, it was going to be the first day I rode with any degree of competence out west. Oh, I had taken a lesson out here last year, but it was such a tortured performance. I had managed to make it from the summit to the base, but that was due to determination more than skill.

Unfortunately for my anxious plans, we got a late start to the morning, first in leaving the hotel at 9 A.M. (when the lift opens). We were, as my wife's sister put it, "a herd of turtles" that day. And then we missed the bus.

Aspen has a good bus system for tourists. I imagine it is financed through taxes on hotel rooms and restaurants, because I've never dropped as much as a penny into the farebox. (Step on the bus after "ski hours," though, and you have to pay.)

When the next bus came along 10 minutes later--time's a wastin' away!--it was packed. The four of us looked at each other, deciding whether to climb on the bus and stand the whole way, or not. I got on the bus. The others stayed behind.

It was just as well. They had to stop at the rental shop anyway, which would take away precious more time from my snowboarding adventure. We agreed to meet at the top of Buttermilk's west terrain. It is the easiest of all the slopes in Aspen, but it was going to be enough of a challenge for me.

Once at Buttermilk, I thought, ever so briefly, of getting on the ski school lift. I often live by the motto "make your first run on the easiest part of the mountain," but I disregarded that today. For one thing, the ski school lift wasn't even as steep as the mini-hill I call my home "mountain." So no need to take that lift. As I took the ten minute (or so) ride up to the top, I was so excited about finally getting a chance to ride in a larger area that I knew that skipping the easier lift was the right thing to do.

If the theme of the 1960s was "Everybody's Surfin'," then the theme today was "Everybody's Ridin'" a snowboard. Nine out of every ten people I saw on the mountain, from the lift, was on a snowboard. I knew that Buttermilk was popular with snowboarders, but were they really that dominant? (As it turns out, there was a competition going on over at the Tiehack side that day. I never made it there.)

There's one benefit riding on a small Midwestern hill: it gives you plenty of chances to learn how to descend from the lift chair. I had worried that I might have a more difficult time taking on the higher, longer descent from the Aspen lifts. But I had no problem.

SOLO
After riding over to Buttermilk West, I started with the easiest possible route down, Homestead Road. (It's more like a steep golf course than a mountain.) I felt pretty good riding on a big mountain, even if it was on a mild route on the easiest side of the easiest mountain in Aspen. I was, after all, riding out west, regardless.

I left the road after it turned into a catwalk with a slight incline, and dropped into Westward Ho (another green trail), and stuck with that until I got to the new mid-mountain lift. After that I took another green trail (Larkspur) for my second solo run.

It was then time for a little showboating underneath the lift. That area used to be an off-limits, but when the ski company put in the new lift, they widened the trail and opened it up to the public.

I found shifting, double fall lines, which made things more interesting. But the biggest trouble came from being nervous about riding close to the trees and lift posts. A couple of quick turns, started in anxiety, lead to falls as I washed out.

LOOK AT ME!
Soon enough I met up with everyone else: my wife, her sister, and their 70-plus year old father. We played with the various green trails, sometimes descending to the base, and sometimes stopping at the midpoint lift station.

But the morning wasn't confined to the easiest terrain. I made a smooth trip down the lower part of Camp Bird, a blueish pitch that had given me fits last year. And I ended up following my sister-in-law into the bottom of Lower Larkspur, a bumps trail that I had not even attempted on skis.

As I've noted before, powder is an excellent environment for learning and improving your snowboarding skills. The early runs today were filled with slightly-used powder. I had enough untracked snow to give me the confidence to gather some speed and make some turns.

We took up a blue trail (Teaser) before heading in for a late lunch at 12:50. I was pretty much done for the day, though I did not know it yet.

TALKIN' 'BOUT THIGH BURN
After lunch we headed over to Tiehack, a more difficult part of Buttermilk. (Its black runs would be blue at other area mountains).

But I could not keep up the pace. My thighs were in pain, a lot of pain. Especially in my leading (right) foot. I had made a point of over-weighting that foot. While that's not as good as having a balanced stance, it's better than over-weighting my back foot.

I took it easy on the way down Buckskin (a blue trail on Tiehack), and did much better once I got out of the chopped-up stuff, and into the packed powder. My conclusion for the day: powder is great. Packed powder is fine. Chopped up stuff that presents mini-moguls is hard.

After this one trip over to the Tiehack side of things, I waited back at the restaurant for the others before a final run down.

From High to Low

Normally, I warm up to Aspen rather slowly, spending at least one day at Buttermilk (a smaller, lower mountain) before moving on to the other mountains in the area. But today I went straight to Highlands. As the name suggests, it's at a higher elevation, which makes for a greater challenge to the first day of skiing.

But I thought it was a good idea anyway. My wife was going to be arriving the next day, and we certainly would spend that day at Buttermilk. And I didn't want to go there two days in a row, so this was my chance to get some variety in right away.

Since this was a more difficult mountain, I took my skis rather than my board. My feet were killing me the entire first run. I was also winded. "I'm the weakest link," I announced. Even though I had been diligent in using a stair-stepper at home, I rarely used it to its full potential for aerobic exercise. There's no such thing as too much cardio preparation, I decided.

We (my father-in-law, his youngest daughter, and me) were joined by a 76-year old man and his 40-year old daughter. She and I were almost the youngest members of the party, which numbering 25 or so, took up a good portion of our small hotel. The group, which makes this an annual outing, was started in Michigan over 30 years ago. It has since dispersed to Arizona, Florida, and other retirement locales as its members have grown older. The median age is, I suspect, 65 or so.

Even though these folks were able to take time off to ski 30 years ago, few of their children have taken up the tradition. Our family is one of only two or three that have extended the trip into a second generation. That's got to be a bad sign for the ski industry.

But back to Highlands. We never did make it to the highest lift. We spent the whole morning in the mid-mountain area, using the Cloud Nine lift. That was good enough for me; I was working hard enough at 10,000 feet, and did not need to go any higher.

The pain in my feet was sharp for the first hour or so. Sometimes I got relief while on the lift, but sometimes I did not. That’s the penalty, I thought, I get for not having skied more this season. My boots do have custom footbeds, so in theory I shouldn't have this problem. But there is always a "break-in" (or rather, "pain-in") period at the start of this season.

Our final trip down Highlands, just before lunch, took us through a catwalk and then down a narrow (20 feet) icy pitch. Not fun at all. I side-slipped much of the way down.

Once at the base, we met my wife, who had arrived on a flight while we were skiing. Several of us ate lunch together before she went back to the hotel to visit with her brother, who left the restaurant to pack for an afternoon flight out.

By this time, the weather had deteriorated; it was overcast and snowing. After lunch The rest of us went over to Buttermilk, which is the default option when we have "flat light," a condition in which the ground appears to be one large sheet of white. (Try skiing at 25 miles an hour when you can't see whether the ground beneath your feet will remain level or drop 15 feet. That gives you an idea of the trouble with flat flight.)

We spent our time over on the west side, which is the easiest of all possible slopes in town. Not only is it less steep, but its runs are surrounded by trees, which improves the visibility. We took the Westward Ho trail to the new mid-mountain lift, and then ran various trails to either the new lift, or all the way to the base.

As much as I appreciate the speed of the new lift, progress had its price. Pine trees had closely lined the old lift. The ski company cut out many of those trees when they put in the new one. This gave us a vanity trail to use ("up there in the lift! Look at me!"), but it also took out much of the picturesqueness of the ride.

While stopped at the lifts, I handed out three Grays on Trays business cards. One man, obviously in his 60s (if not 70s), looked at the card and said "What makes you think I'm gray?" But he took the card with some interest.

A Few Mountain Stats

Skiing or riding in Aspen is actually spread over four mountains (the ski operations are all performed by one company, though). Here's one source of quick statistics that show how different the four mountains are.

Acreage:

• Snowmass: 3100 acres (more than the others combined)
  
• Highlands: 790 acres
  
• Aspen: 673 acres
  
• Buttermilk: 430 acres

Base Elevation:

• Snowmass: 8104 feet
  
• Highlands 8040 feet
  
• Aspen: 7945 feet
  
• Buttermilk 7870 feet

Summit Elevation:

• Snowmass: 12510 feet
  
• Highlands: 11675 feet
  
• Aspen: 11212 feet
  
• Buttermilk: 9900 feet

Vertical Rise:

• Snowmass: 4406 feet
  
• Highlands: 3635 feet
  
• Aspen: 3267 feet
  
• Buttermilk: 2030 feet

Travel to the Rockies

Today I traveled to Aspen for a few days with family and their long-standing skiing companions. This time out, my trip was more complicated by the fact that I decided to ride as well as ski.

I sent my skis and ski boots ahead of time via FedEx Ground service. It was a smart move, I think. It costs less to ship both items, together, than it would have cost to take just one of them as a piece of excess baggage.

There was a scare for a few minutes this morning, when I looked on the FedEx web site. It looked like my skis would arrive today, but not my boots. Tomorrow is a Saturday, so I would not have my boots for another two days! But a quick call to the 800 number brought me relief: both items were on their way. The web site had not been updated. Sure enough, once I arrived at the hotel, both packages were waiting for me. It was sure nice to not have to carry my ski boot bag as a carry-on item, like last year. Carrying 15 pounds through the airport can get tiring very quickly.

All the snowboarding gear fit into one large bag. That's one advantage of riding with soft boots: they are light enough and small enough that they easily fit into the bag, along with the board, my goggles, snowboarding gloves, knee pads, and impact shorts. Compared with skiing, though, there is more to take (shorts, pads, and special gloves.)

It took me a couple of hours to unpack everything. To fit the board into bag, I had to partially take apart my bindings, which meant that I had to reassemble them in the hotel room. It's hard to describe what this was like, so I won't. If you have seen Flow bindings, you will know what I'm talking about.

Getting a good night's sleep that first night in the mountains is always hard. It was compounded by the fact that I had to sleep on the couch for the first night. But thanks to some sleeping pills, I got 6 to 7 hours of sleep, which is actually good for a first night.