My “big trip” this season was to Sun Valley, Idaho, as a participant in the annual convention of the North American Snowsports Journalists Association. Sun Valley combines old-school skiing with high-tech snowmaking. But can a snowboarder find a welcome there?
You can read my review here.
(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)
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.
Being a Midwesterner, I’ve wondered how my fellow journalists would respond to their trip to Lutsen Mountain. Here are excerpts of what I found so far:
Lutsen Mountains … a Midwest gem
Dan Cassidy
Maine Today
One thing you won’t get at Lutsen is altitude sickness. No, that won’t happen here. However, you’ll ski more relaxed. The lifts are a little on the slow side. They’re the older two seats with a pole in the middle that travels a little slower than the more modern quads. It gives you time to relax, enjoy the scenery and get to know your neighbor.From Moose Mountain Summit Chalet, you can enjoy a wonderful meal, sit outside on the wrap around deck and enjoy the vistas of Lake Superior. On a recent evening while attending our North American Snowsports Journalists Association (NASJA) reception and banquet, I took a walk outside just to watch the sunset and look over the Lake in the distance, and noticed five white tail deer walking across the trails below. Deer sighting are common all over the resort.
Indeed. One of my fellow convention-goers told me of spotting a dead deer in the woods.
Cassidy has several other blog entries on his trip, including one on a 150-mile snowmobile journey to the Canadian border and back, which occurred before the convention.
He also wrote of a trip to the nearby town of Grand Marais, writing
“Having just spent a week snowmobiling, skiing and touring along the western shore of Minnesota’s Lake Superior, I had the feeling of a touch of home. The shoreline and forests from Lutsen to Grand Marais resembled the coast and woods of Maine’s villages and towns.”
Minnesota’s Lake Superior? As a native Michigander, I’d have to take issue with that. More of the lake is in Michigan’s jurisdiction than that of the other units of government that border the lake, Wisconsin, Minnesota, and Ontario. But I would agree that the North Shore of Minnesota and the Maine coast have a similar feel.
You’re Going Where…On Purpose?!
Neal Estano
Albany Times-Union
Duluth is a small city of about 85,000 hardy residence. Sitting on the western tip of Lake Superior it gets some of the harshest weather in the lower 48. Duluth’s nickname is “The Air-Conditioned City” because of cooling effect of Lake Superior who’s water temperature struggles to reach the 50 degree mark.
Duluth is about a 90-minute drive from Lutsen, and the nearest “big” city.
Estano also wrote “A Pleasant Surprise in the North Country” on March 24. He said, in part,
With just under 1000 vertical feet Lutsen is not a big mountain but they do a lot with what they have. As my fellow NASJA member and friend Phil Johnson of Clifton Park said: “There’s not a lot of vertical…but there a heck of a lot of horizontal”.
Estano also has some photos of convention-goers climbing up a frozen waterfall.
Weekly Skiing Column
Bob Cox
Torrance (Calif.) Daily Breeze
Lutsen Mountain, Minn., is not one of the major stops or even one of the best-known ski areas in America. Yet that’s where [World Cup champion Lindsey] Vonn started her career, following in the footsteps of another great Minnesota racer, Cindy Nelson.The resort was founded by Nelson’s family, and is hard by the shores of Lake Superior. It is located about 100 miles north of Duluth, which puts it close to the Canadian border.
To get a perspective on racers coming from Lutsen, consider that the mountain has a vertical drop of only 975 feet. To create an FIS-approved race course, the mountain had to build a start platform 25 feet above the peak, to achieve a vertical drop of 1,000 feet.
We started our NASTAR race about 50 feet below the bottom of the platform.
Oh deer. A nature and snowmobile lesson in Lutsen
Martin Griff
The Times of Trenton
Griff has several articles about two different trips he made to Lutsen. The link above takes you to a short article about a snowmobile trip (not the 150-mile trek that Cassidy wrote about), and a good photo of death, animal-style, on the trail.
While I’m spending a few days in Lutsen, Minnesota, with a bunch of ski writers and ski industry people, today I participated in two activities that have little to do with lift-served skiing or snowboarding.
In the morning, I went to a dog-mushing expedition. In the afternoon, I participated in a 25-mile snowmobile ride.
I’ll have more about each activity later.
When I was out on the mountains yesterday, several skiers said to me, as we were going through the flats, “That’s why I’m not on a snowboard.”
Yesterday I wrote about how snowboarders need to plan their routes carefully, to avoid extended flats. Yet I forgot to mention one other elements of the flats: Encountering one isn’t going to ruin your day.
Depending on your fitness level and experience with various types of equipment, you may find it easier to deal with flats on a snowboard than on skis. Here’s why: If, despite your best efforts, you’re on a snowboard and you come to a stop, you can simply get off the board and carry it. The board is pretty light, and you can walk in most snowboard boots.
If you run out of speed on skis, walking for more than, say, 20 feet is rather difficult. And depending on the slope of terrain, polling is no picnic, either. The combination of skis and boots is rather heavy. More than once yesterday, I saw a skier huff and puff his way towards the lift after running out of speed.
I don’t want to overstate the frequency of flats here. But they are something to be aware of.
Here on the Minnesota north shore, I’ve been told that three decades ago you couldn’t give away property. But now it’s pricey real estate.
So I asked my hostess for the evening, what changed? It’s not as though the physical qualities of the land have changed much.
There were several factors that could be at work:
- Increased population in the state (more potential buyers)
- Increased marketing efforts draw attention to the area
- Increased household income (reaches a threshold after which people consider second homes)
- Increased interest in all things related to outdoor recreation
What else? Remember, a “variable” has to “vary” over time.
