Training...

With the snow moving into less than par conditions it was time for the shift. Every year we go through this transition of snow and milking every last turn out of it to the rebirth of spring. However, the slow death of snow in the mountains does give birth to a number of mother natures gifts... Fly fishing and whitewater.

 What better way to bring it all in than with spring swift water training for the squibs.

The water is unseasonable low for this time of year most likely due to the weak winter. Every year we wait for the spring to bring with it the good white water. Still wating...........

Three years ago the river stayed at FLOOD stage until July. However, the past two years the Weber or Ogden has hardly risen to normal seasonal flow. Trainging went well and some of the new staff even got a taste of the non traditional "urban" river hazards... YIKES!!!!

Emptiness isn’t such a bad thing

The once snow covered road is now glowing the burnt orange of the earth, as if scorched by the same sun currently consuming the remaining snow. The snowmobile starts with a gentle whine as the motor warms up.  It roars as I punch the throttle and the sled glides off the trailer gracefully. We loaded gear and food with ease, almost as if it was second nature from years of practice. We weaved our way carefully down the remaining snow.

Five miles of beautiful, crystal clear mountain stream and trail now behind us we arrived to emptiness. The second we arrived we were surrounded by the vast nothingness of the mountains. 

 Only the sweet hush of the wind in the pines and the gentle kiss of Mother Nature as she blows crisp mountain air across my neck and face. If for nothing else but this short moment of solitude the trip was a success. After victory beer, a good porch sit and a few chores it was time to explore, without the constraints included with guests.

Initial assessment of the snow is good, a welcomed change in comparison with the prior month’s sketchy snow pack. The tall, steep, and daunting lines above the lakes have always called to me.

  The approach being exposed, steep, wind loaded, littered with cliffs and drop offs never presented an option for a mid season assent.

Standing on top, looking down upon the lake and surrounding valley I know today is the day I check this line off of my list. Beautifully preserved north facing powder was the reward for my years of patients.

Great food and great company rounded off the night with perfection.

 The nightcap of sweet whiskey, sipped indulgently, ushered the sandman in gently.

The sun cresting on the mountains brings with it the frosty wind of the fleeing darkness. Our well-rested eyes flutter open as the smell of tea and smoky pine fill the yurt.

Today… another one off the list. The view from the front porch of the yurt offers a cornucopia, if you will, of diverse terrain. Red pine trail offers great open glades. While the north face of yellow pine offers long steep chutes, cliffs, and with the snow just right, seemingly endless pillow lines. The north chute was first on the list but not enough snow was left to send it. We meandered down the thick pine to a pillow line of still soft powder. Down a tight bottleneck launching into the apron with max speed just to be thrown head first by sticky slush as soon as you enter the sun baked shadow line.

The long but mellow tour back to the yurt was refreshing, gliding through pine and aspen glades. Hungry for dinner we made good time.

After dinner and margaritas we headed to the lake. It was time for a snow couch lounge session with scary saucer sledding onto the frozen water. It was a blast.

The past few days of 65+-degree weather did a number on the snow, so we took a lazy Easter Sunday. Cleaned up the yurt and battened down the hatches for summer. Decided we couldn't end the season without one last run. 

Getting out was its own adventure. We had lost over a 1.5 miles of snow on the dirt road and had to hike to the car. Turns out the "Easter Bunny" left me a rotten egg in the form of a flat tire and flat spare. A hike and then hitch hike to cell phone service only to find out that "triple A" doesn't do dirt roads. I was stuck in the middle of Bloomington, Idaho. Lucky for me a stranger gave me a ride and a few hours later the Turners came to the rescue.

Got home late, exhausted, and hungry. Fell asleep thinking... that was AWESOME!!! Living my dreams daily! Minus the double flat tire...

Ready or not we are off!

It’s the night before a yurt trip and I am anxious as always. Flash backs of food, poles, skins, beacons, gloves, sleeping bags, boots, and even skis forgotten by years of former yurt guests all cloud my mind with a thick fog of hesitation.  Then as if a long awaited breath to hungry lungs it is all clear again, this is a PRIVATE trip. The past years of preparing for such adventures have made packing into its own sacred ritual. Everything placed in my pack with care, sounding off a mental “check”.

 Then the thought of being engulfed by the wilderness exploring foreign terrain for the next few days brings with it a welcomed familiarity. My anxiety quickly gives into excitement. The list of lines I have been drooling over for years start piling up. Memories of giant beasts lurking in the vast nothing of the Bear River mountain range are clear as the present. I think of how many people before me stood in the same shadows of these giant mountains and were as awestruck by their enormity as I.

The excitement grows with each breath and now at the last second here it is... ready or not! We are leaving in a few hours. I just keep telling my self... This is living my dreams daily.

 

Home...

The mountains seem to manifest a calling within me more and more each year. I am tied over in May, June and July with my bike, big white water, and the cast of the fly. However come august the mountains begin calling, beckoning my presents. A longing, an ache, an indescribable urge, insatiable urge comes over me and I start wishing, hoping, praying for, and needing snow. Fall hikes are filled with “beta collection” for winter lines. My bike no longer becomes an escape but a means to train and prepare for the snow. It is the days between fall and winter that the majesty of the mountains is unveiled. As if every year she, Mother Nature, prepares herself for the rebirth. I feel like the dreams of deep fresh snow tend to bring deep self reflection, thoughts of the why we are drawn to the mountains with such a strong conviction. The sense of connection. To be so far from anything and feel completely at home. There is no feeling quite like putting in that last turn on a ridge the moment before you reach the summit. The entire journey she whispered to you her story. Views rush into you as fast as the air rushes into your lungs. The vastness of the white desolate world surrounding you is humbling. As I grow older the connection I share with my mother nature grows stronger. With each adventure she provides me, we grow closer; our love for each other thrives. She never ceases to amaze with her beauty, pristine vistas, and awe striking power. My hopes are for this to be a place where my hopes, dreams, goals, and wildest imaginations come to life and are showcased to be shown to the entire world. This is me living my dream daily….