The Bacon Strip

Day 1, Dec. 8th, Cameron Pass, Rawah Range.  Not the best conditions for opening day…but there’s fresh snow and the road’s been plowed, so why not? I have a late start, but the familiar uptrack toward Montgomery Bowl disappears quickly. Pewter-colored clouds boil and race past the Nokhu Crags and Lulu Mountain to the south. What if we get a whiteout? I am going solo today. Fortunately there are a half-dozen fellow addicts in the upper bowls, so it’s safe to ski up there. The first run is a bit tentative, feeling it out, getting my skis under me, but the last half-dozen turns are solid and hold all the promise of the coming winter. The second run is in mid-season form–through the scattered spruces near the top, quick, short, slow turns, then breaking out below the trees onto the (inexplicably) untracked open slope above the exit gully. Yaaaaahhooo! Zoinks…it is already getting dark and flurries are starting to blow in from North Park. Time to head for the pub. The exit gully (as usual) provides the best skiing of the day–easy turns across the bottom and back, then well-graded tree skiing for most of the rest of the way back to Highway 14. Game on!

Day 2, Dec. 11th, Snowy Range, Wyoming. It’s the weekly visit to our high-altitude research site in the boondocks of southeast Wyoming. The skiing here usually is bad; Wyoming is not known for its soft, fluffy, wind-free snowfalls. But the gods have smiled with the latest storm: a foot of champagne atop a shallow but fairly solid base. I make a mental note to GPS all the boulders and logs near our site next summer. Using the fatties today–the skinnies/3-pins I usually use for work would ride too deep for early-season skiing. Only a couple of short runs today, but the snow is good and forgiving of sloppy technique.

Day 3, Dec. 12th, Ajax Mountain, Aspen. Today is an excellent example of why all BaconStripppers (and plenty of other people) wish they were me. I stop in at the Aspen will-call window, present my Forest Service ID, and am given a complimentary gondola ticket. Lugging 50 lb. of equipment and tools, I board the gondola, ride to the top, and glide over to a small, cylindrical shelter where my ozone monitor awaits its monthly calibration. Twenty minutes later, calibration machine running, I leave the shelter and roar downslope. Aspen has benefitted from 2.5 feet of nice, light snow in the past two days, and much of it remains on the ungroomed runs. I ski under the gondola (the pressure’s on–I am in uniform and a stupid fall here makes the government look even worse than it usually does), bounce over a couple hundred feet of bumps, and jump-turn down a steep, unmarked face. The pitch is even steeper mid-slope, and I begin to wonder if I’ve bitten off more bacon than can be masticated…then whump-whump-whomp-whump and I am spit out onto a groomer where two rich cats stare vacantly. Whatsamatter…you never seen anyone drop the knee before??! The run is over too soon, and then I return to the top, gather my equipment, download the data, and head back down in funereal evening light. This run isn’t any fun–the heavy pack and calibration machine (carried like a suitcase) turn my quads to jello before I’m halfway down. Oh well, that’s why they pay me the big bucks.

Day 4, Dec. 16th, Cascade Mountain Ski Area, near Madison, Wisconsin. 1) Who says the midwest doesn’t have powder days? There are six inches of fluffies on the ground today. 2) Unfortunately, the douchebags who run this place groomed the hell out of absolutely every last square foot. 3) Nobody, except me, drops the knee in Wisconsin. WTF? The place is overrun with Norskies on alpines. 4) My nephew Henry, seven years old, required an hour and three runs to master the kid-banzai school of technique. Like almost all kids, he’s a natural. This is his first season on skis; it’s my 36th.

Day 5, Dec. 25th, Snowy Range. Back at the field site, on the skinnies for the first time this year. Defying all odds, we have received yet another storm without the usual accompanying 50-mph gale, and once again the powder remains movable, this time to a depth of a foot or so. It’s ideal skinnie conditions, and the experience does not disappoint. The scrub spruce and open slope above our uppermost precipitation collector is the private ski resort of the research crew, consisting, in this case, of myself and my friend John Frank. I have a couple of white-knuckle moments at first–the old 200cm skinnies are just a leeeetle bit less maneuverable than, say, a Nimitz-class aircraft carrier–but I thread the needle, emerge into the open, and carve 10 almost-perfect turns down to the frozen lake shore. John F. follows. He is still learning to freeheel and usually yard-sales at some point, but today the gods are kind and he manages to parallel my turns. Another run, and that’s all for today–once again we’re racing the weather back to the snowcat.

My apologies to all B-strippers for having no photographic evidence. Camera battery is toast and I have only now found a new one. So Day 6 (this Friday at Winter Park, I think) will be more visual. Cheers, beeyotches…!

 -SB