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Jesus said “unless you are converted and become as little children, you will by no means enter the kingdom of heaven” (Matthew 18:3). Some people might say that snowboarding is heavenly, and there are certainly some comparisons between learning to ride and being like a toddler.

First, consider the act of getting to stand up when your feet are locked into the bindings. It’s awkward, isn’t it? It reminds me of the difficulty that a toddler faces when learning how to stand up from a seated position.

Next, consider the joy of discovery. Toddlers are natural scientists, exploring everything they see, and often taking great joy in finding something new. One activity that makes a toddler happy is learning how to use a slide. There’s a “whee” factor in making the trip down the slide. Like snowboarding, it involves gravity, sliding, fun, and a bit of fear.

Any other ideas? I’ll be adding them as I think of them–or add your own observations in the comments section.

Once again a few us got together at Arapahoe Basin. It was a great time of snowboarding, sharing meals, and just hanging out, with some older riders. Even resorts elsewhere close for the season in March or April, A-Basin keeps going into June. Our gathering this year was May 13 and 14.

(Yes, you can go snowboarding in May!)

DEALING WITH THE ALTITUDE
This was my third visit to Summit County, and my second for snowboarding. As the name suggests, it’s definitely an “at altitude” place. A-basin, Breckenridge, Copper, and Keystone, all in the county, have a base elevation of at least 9,200 feet.

So during my first visit there (a Labor Day weekend back in 2005 or so), I experienced some mild altitude sickness. When I returned for snowboarding last year, I got a prescription for Diamox, a commonly prescribed drug. It helped.

This year, I didn’t take any Diamox with me. That was a mistake. I usually have a fitful sleep my first night in the mountains (even at a lower elevation such as Vail or Aspen), but that night was bad. I woke up feeling short of breath, and like someone was sitting on my chest. I was so tired and weak that at breakfast I could barely lift my spoon from the cereal bowl to my mouth. But I decided to gut it out, and planned to take it easy the first day.

Once I got to the mountain, I was fine, but I ended the day early, at about 12:30. I got in enough riding to be satisfied, and took a nap in the afternoon. I went to bed early that night, and woke up a completely different person.

So the lesson for flatlanders: Read up on altitude sickness, take precautions, and talk to your doctor if you’re concerned.

GETTING THERE
You can get a nice airport if you spend $5 billion, and Denver International Airport is pleasant, as far as airports go. It’s the home base of Frontier Airlines, on which I got a decent through not spectacular deal the week before I left. Frontier has a three-tier pricing system, which is somewhat confusing, but if you pay $25 more than the lowest fare, you get to check two bags without an extra fee, plus you get to watch DirectTV.

The day before my flight, I booked a van ride with Colorado Mountain Express, for $82. The driver was tour guide and naturalist, giving us a history lesson on the various towns that we drove past en route to the county, as well as pointing out wildlife by the road. We saw prairie dogs, sheep, and buffalo. They delivered me to the door of my condo.

Before I left the airport I noticed the counter for Big Sky Shuttle, which goes from DIA to Summit for $65. I don’t know if they offer door-to-door; be sure to ask.

DINNER
My flight arrived earlier than expected, so I got an earlier shuttle, which meant that I could meet everyone for dinner rather than, as I had planned on, arriving at the condo after dinner. Being able to meet some folks before the first day of riding was a pleasant addition to the trip. We ate at a Mexican restaurant, which offered adequate food.

THE CONDO
Our condo was between Keystone to the east (A-basin was a few miles further east) and Silverthorne to the west. It had four bedrooms, and if you wanted to pack people in them, could have, I’m guessing, slept 16 people or more. It had six levels, if you count the front entrance and the kitchen (separated by a few steps) as being on separate levels. I stayed in the loft, meaning at times that I felt like I had to combine chores so as to minimize the trips I took down to the kitchen or (a few steps below that) the living room. Overall, it was a fine setup. Steve found it on VRBO.com. I highly recommend the site.

TICKETS
If you have time and are willing to do some work, you can often get by without buying tickets at the window. I used Liftopia.com, which claims to offer discounted tickets, but the system was rather screwy the day I tried it. It claimed to offer me 2 days for $67, but when I clicked through, it wanted to charge me twice that. I backed out and selected a different option, and paid $45 a day. That saved me … not a lot of money. Only $3 off the end-of-season window price of $8. On the other hand, there’s a hill around here that charges that during high season, for 300 feet of vertical and about 125 acres.

If you go, you can try Liftopia, but if you don’t get a good deal, see if you can get a “scalper” in the parking lot. Pass holders can “sponsor” friends (or people they’ve just met) for a discounted price. You may also find, as I did, someone in the parking lot hawking some surplus vouchers. I could have gotten one for $30. Bummer that I missed that.

THE FACILITIES AND STAFF
Vail it isn’t; the A-basin parking lot was dirt, reminding me of many a Midwestern lot. The base day lodge is an upgrade from Midwestern day areas, but equal to or arguably a step below what you might find at some Midwestern areas such as Lutsen or Granite Peak. The mid-mountain Black Mountain Lodge is only a few years old, and looks it. We ate lunch there both days; expect to pay ski-area prices for your food. (Meatball sandwich with two sides: north of 10 dollars.) It’s a comfortable place to hang out, though (showing my age, part 1), I thought the music on the outside loudspeakers was too loud. It was tuned to an XM music channel, and (showing my age, part 2), I didn’t recognize any of the songs until an Eagles tune came wafting towards me. One nice thing about the Black Mountain Lodge: The food service was moved out on the patio, buffet/cookout style. I dropped my plate of food before I even got a chance to eat much of it. The staff saw the incident and gave me a whole new plate of food without question.

A-basin is famous for “the beach,” an area in the parking lot where people cook out and drink. We didn’t stop there, however.

The lifts (at least the ones I used) are at least triples, and reasonably fast. On the other hand, the trail map should include more information–in particular, the time required to travel each lift as well as the elevation gain made by each.

THE MOUNTAIN
The stated statistics include an area of 900 acres, split between the original basin (490 acres) and the Montezuma Bowl (410 acres), which became lift-served during the 2007-08 season. (Prior to that you had to hike out of it.) The expansion increased the relative importance of advanced (black) and expert (double black/ex) terrain. Intermediate terrain became 122% larger, the advanced terrain became 340% larger, and the expert/extreme became 211% larger. Overall, 207 of the 900 acres (23%) are rated expert, leaving about 500 acres for us mortals. (For what it’s worth, Colorado law defines “extreme terrain” as having a 50 degree average pitch over a minimum distance of 100 feet.)

(In front of the East Wall, 2008 photo)

The A-basin trail map claims a vertical rise of 2,270 feet, which is respectable. But most people will find that to be a misleading number, since it comes from subtracting the base elevation (10,780) from the elevation at the top of the 13,050 at the top of the Upper East Wall. To get to the Upper East Wall, you have to hike from the top of the Lenawee lift (which someone on the mountain told me was at 12,450). That’s a 600 foot vertical hike, so for most people, the available vertical rise is only 1,670 feet. Respectable, certa
inly, but less than, say, the 2,030 of Aspen’s Buttermilk, a place with a much, shall we say, milder reputation.

PLAYING ON THE MOUNTAIN
We were all advanced riders, with perhaps an expert thrown in for good measure. Two guys who normally ride soft boots hooked up with a younger guy who spends a lot of time on hardboots, to try hardbooting. I figured that being at altitude was enough of a challenge, so I kept my setup.

On the first day that I was there, we warmed up by taking laps off Exhibition, the lower lift in the front basin. It’s a got a mix of green and blue runs, but nothing too difficult. The blue runs, in addition to being somewhat steeper, a generally more narrow.

If I recall correctly, we moved on to take laps on Lenawee, which serves the upper reaches of the front side. Most if not all of the area served by the Pallavicini lift (mostly black and double black) was closed, since the Pali lift was closed. We could have taken a traverse to ride down the lower east wall (which we did last year), but at least when I was there, nobody in our group did.

After some laps on Lenawee, we went to the Montezuma bowl. You have to ascend a short distance to get there, maybe 50 feet. It’s not a horrible climb, but enough to make you want to unstrap your board and carry it.

Most of the Zuma bowl was closed, but the intermediate terrain down the middle was open. The top pitch looked like it might be trouble (steeper and hardpacked) but wasn’t bad. The most troublesome spots, in fact, came once the grade leveled out some. Some areas had been groomed. They weren’t anything like fine corduroy, but there were certainly rideable. But if you got off the (ex)groomers, you were likely to get some nasty, bumpy, frozen snow, sort of like trying to ride on frozen mashed potatoes–or worse.

After three, four or five trips through Zuma, we returned to the front side. I left about 12:30, since I had more than enough riding for the day. I slept off much of the afternoon, which helped me immensely the next day.

On the second day, the Zuma bowl was closed, so we spent most of our time lapping the Lenawee chair. The hardboot guys worked on their technique and tweaking the equipment, and I simply enjoyed taking nonstop laps. By the way, the ride from top to bottom was somewhat less than I had expected. At the end of the day, it took me 10 minutes to ride from the top of Lenawee to the base. I wasn’t bombing it (the snow was too chopped up for that), but I also didn’t stop to rest along the way.

THE PEOPLE
I enjoyed meeting everyone in our group, and learned something different from each of them. We had a couple of gearheads, an instructor, and two (ex)southerners, who provided some accents I haven’t heard that often in the mountains. We talked about snowboarding techniques, families, ski schools, and other topics. Back at home, I usually ride alone, but having riding and dinner companions is a great component of big-mountain riding.

(Some of the riders, on top of the ridge separating the front bowl from the Montezuma bowl.)

NEXT YEAR!
A newcomer to our group said that we ought to meet again next year. He even suggested a name: Last Gasp 3. I like it. What do you think?

For the inaugural and second year, we met during the second full week of May. While we were blessed with 8 inches of fresh stuff last year, we didn’t do as well in the snow department this year. Maybe we should make our next meeting during the first full week of May. That way, we might benefit from more snow, but still be able to get mud season rates for lodging, and have fewer crowds than during the peak season.

Some ski areas are owned and run by big companies (think Vail Resort) or enterprises that can boast of world-class terrain (think of the Aspen Ski Company). Then there are the industrialists who have a ski business on the side.

The March/April 2009 edition of Enterprise Minnesota (article not online) has a one-page write-up of Vern Anderson and Paul Anderson, who are the brothers behind Andes Tower Hills.

ATH is about 50 miles east of the Minnesota-South Dakota border, so don’t expect half-hour runs. Neither the company web site nor the 2008-09 season brochure give any indication of the vertical drop, though OnTheSnow.com says it’s 290 feet, on 35 acres.

So none of the three words in the name–Andes, tower, hills–is that informative. But you make do with what you have. At least that was the motto of hill owner Vern Anderson, who says “I’ve always enjoyed the winter … and as a family we really enjoyed skiing.” Since the nearest lift-served terrain (Powder Ridge, 300 vertical feet and 60 acres) was 75 miles away, “the only solution, Anderson decided, was to build a ski resort himself.”

Today, the magazine says, ATH gets 60,000 visits a year. That’s a pretty good amount of traffic, considering that the county the hills is in has a population of just over 38,000.

Anderson is the CEO of Douglas Machine, so he turns the operations over to manager John Bitner. Bitner talks up the area’s vibe: “We–flat out–have the best family atmosphere for skiers and snowboarders in the state of Minnesota. That’s what’s unique about us.” Anderson, for his part, says “Seeing kids and families have a really great tine. That’s what’s exciting.”

If you’re one of those people who chafes at the commercialization of winter sports (my attitude: Meh), think of Andes Tower Hills, and many other small places like it, where the passion of owners and managers keep the wheels turning.

As I looked out my kitchen window this morning, I saw an unusual sight: 3 inches of new snow. Had this happened a month ago, I would have been happy. Now I’m simply annoyed.

Why? While the season for snowboarding and skiing continues in some places in the Rockies, here in the Midwest it’s all but over, with only one or two areas still open. The nearest one is 4-5 hours away. Any place within a short drive has been closed for at least one week, and in most cases, longer than that. They’re not going to re-open, and the little snow that we’ve received isn’t enough to be useful.

At this point, the new snow is simply signals a delay of the coming of summer.

So at this time of the year, in this place, I say “down with snow!”

(This is one of several posts about my non-snowboarding activities while at the NASJA national convention in Lutsen, Minnesota, held in 2009.)

In the afternoon after my morning on a dog sled, I took a more modern form of transportation, the snowmobile.

It wasn’t my first time on a snowmobile, but it was my first time in decades. I had wondered if things had changed a lot since then. They had, and they hadn’t.

Six convention-goers, arriving in a parking lot in the middle of nowhere, were greeted by representatives of various snowmobile companies, who had arranged for us to sample rides from the major manufacturers, two of which have their main facilities in the state.

The reps also had boxes of riding gear on hand, in particular, gloves and helmets. My gloves were thick enough for the temperature. But I wondered if I needed some sort of special snowmobiling gloves to dampen the vibration. (I’m used to wearing special gloves when riding what are popularly known as “jet skis.” They help dampen the vibration that my hands feel from holding onto the throttle.)

The rep said no, my regular gloves were just fine. But he did look through a pile of cardboard boxes to find a suitable helmet. I asked for the largest size available, but it ended up being not quite big enough. During our ride, the helmet pressed on my forehead so strongly as to leave an indentation that lasted for a couple days. I didn’t feel any pain, except when we came to a stop, at which point I squeezed on both sides of the helmet to try to relieve the pressure. (Taking off the helmet entirely was out of the question; it had taken quite a bit of work to get it over my head.)

This being 21st-century America, one of the first orders of business was to sign several liability waivers. I don’t know the number of people who die or are injured on snowmobiles each year, but mishaps (many self-inflicted due to excessive speed or consumption of alcohol) do occur.

Once everyone was equipped, we got a briefing on proper use of hand signals, the features of the various sleds, and other topics. I was impressed that the machines have brakes (I’m so used to driving personal watercraft, which don’t). Some have built-in hand and seat warmers, the better to provide a comfortable riding experience–and presumably, encourage repeat sales.

I rode a Polaris, and held the third position in our convoy. My goal, simply, was to keep up with the sled in front of me and not slow everyone down. The ride was a bit rough. The snow was hard, which caused some side-to-side chatter (yaw) during my ride.

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.

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.

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)

My least favorite season of the year? Spring. Oh, spring riding is great. Shed some layers, enjoy the sunshine, and be thankful for snowmaking that makes a base that carries the season a bit longer, and be thankful for grooming that can smooth out snow that gets to be unrideable when it’s chopped up and then served frozen.

But after the ideal time for snow sports comes the decline, and with it, a temporary fit of misanthropy. I snarl when people talk about the “nice weather” coming upon us. I wonder, “Nice for what?” Too warm for snowboarding, too cold for riding a bike, taking a boat ride, or playing golf. The ground turns soft, mushy, and brown, unsuitable for walks.

The opening of the flowers? The woods coming to life? Pleasant, but not offering the same enjoyment as a good  trip down the slopes.

The problem with spring, in addition to signaling the end of the snow season, is that it is cold, windy, and wet.

Cold is good if it’s not wet. Windy is good if it’s not cold. Spring combines all three qualities into one unpleasant package. It’s wet, windy, and cold, and often, overcast.

Sometimes, the weather takes a cruel turn, dropping some snow long after the local ski areas have closed. It can leave too much snow for ordinary life (as people quickly forget how to drive in snow), too little for the hills (which require a good base to operate) and too late (a short warm up tends to distract the attention of would-be customers, drying up ticket sales and the incentive for ski hills to keep the wheels turning.)

So how long is the “bleah” time of year? Too long. The National Weather Service keeps records of recorded temperatures. For the Minneapolis-St. Paul area, the average daily high exceeds 34 starting on March 4. After that, you’re snowboarding on borrowed time; in my experience, you might have decent conditions through St. Patrick’s Day (March 17), but after that, it’s time to put away the board–or plan a trip to higher elevations.

The average daily high doesn’t hit 60 until April 21. So at least in my part of the world, there are about 5 week of unpleasant weather, filled with cold, damp air, wind, and rain.

Of course, there are about 5 weeks in the fall when the average daily high drops into the 34 to 60 degree range. But at least you’ve got some beauty of the leaves turning color–and anticipation of snow.

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, thoug
h 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.