Grays On Trays

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So this snowboarder says … Long live capitalism.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Midwestern skiing and riding? Pfft!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A snowboarder on a ski racing course? Yep.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

More on that later.

How about an introduction to Crested Butte, the mountain?

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

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

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

Notice the old western-style store fronts.

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

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!