Crazy Casper Backcountry

The Bighorns are highlighted in the salmon color.

Did you just spit out your coffee wondering if Michelle had finally, really gone all the way over the edge? Casper has WHAT country? That’s right – I said it. Casper has backcountry. And it rocks.

This town continues to amaze me. Just when I stuff it in a neat little box I find a whole new way to be active (like Prana) or have a totally unexpected powder day, right in my own backyard. Mind you, my definition of backyard is pretty big – just like my state.

Teton pass backcountry users: riddle me this. If you have a leisurely Saturday breakfast at home and eventually make it out mid-day, what will the parking situation be? The correct answer, assuming the avalanche danger isn’t crazy high, is ‘absolutely dismal’ and you my friend had better start warming up that thumb to bum a ride from the Stagecoach parking lot. In Casper? Not so. But here’s the trade-off – the backcountry isn’t swamped because it’s roughly located in the middle of nowhere.

Located about 1.5 hours from Casper, the Bighorn National Forest is 1.1 million acres and spans into Montana, but the biggest peaks are in Wyoming. Not that we were peak bagging – this was just a Saturday ski.  Lap after lap we explored new lines and enjoyed 18″ of new snow, all to ourselves. Our chosen spot sported less vertical than Teton Pass, which suited my short attention span quite nicely. As an added bonus, we didn’t have to worry about anyone ski cutting the slope above us and causing a massive avalanche, or about beating the 15 parties we saw in the parking lot. Nope, this was backcountry skiing in its purest from – just set a skin track and enjoy the ride down.

So where exactly is this almost epic backcountry? I’d tell you but then I’d have to kill you (not really… but I’m not telling so it’s a moot point).

Actually-helpful-ski-video-of-the-day: How to dress while skinning in the backcountry.

Just Sign It – An Argument for Access

Beartrap Meadow County Park as seen on Google, otherwise known as "where you get to play" on Casper Mountain.

When people in Casper learn that I moved from Jackson, they often ask how I like it. How much I lie depends on who I’m talking to, but most of the time I give a vague yet honest, “It’s different. I miss all my recreation options but I’m finding things here that I like.” At this point, they usually (with good intentions) start telling me about Casper mountain. Here’s the thing about Casper mountain – there are trails (but not near the acreage that I’m accustomed to) but there are NO SIGNS. No mileage markers, no named loops, just parking areas and aggressive “NO TRESSPASSING” signs ringing the parameter. For a directionally challenged person such as myself, this presents a problem.

While we traditionally think of access to nature being limited by park fees or geographical location, but it can be as simple as poor roads leading to the area or a lack of signage directing folks around the various trails. When I point out to frequent Casper Mountain users that trails signs would increase the number of people who can enjoy the mountain, I typically hear something like “we don’t want them” or “go back to Teton county”. And to be fair, I don’t want to hike masses, either. But there is a line between an elitist attitude and depriving your fellow population of something as incredibly beneficial as nature.

Over and over we see studies that show humans are designed to move. Walking in the woods, whether it be with sneakers or snow shoes, lowers stress and helps maintain healthy body weight. And healthy people are generally happier, meaning the women serving you coffee may be a little friendlier and a few less folks may need public assistance (that would be your tax money) to help with the various disorders caused by obesity.

Obviously, the next step is to find a public meeting and figure out how to get these signs up. Is it too much to hope that there will be intelligent people present who won’t shout me back to Teton county?

Feed-your-body-recipe-to-try: Portobello Mushroom Strognnoff from Clean Eating

Why Michelle Loves Prana, existentially.

Vote for Michelle! Just kidding, it’s not that kind of contest. But I did make a video in an attempt to win 5 personal training sessions from my indoor fitness place of choice in Casper, Prana Yoga & Fitness. Did I win? Nope. But the video got me thinking all existentially. Here it is: I think to be truly successful in our highly varied society, the ability to adapt is key.

I have seen extreme athletes succumb to their demons when their human bodies aged or injured and refused to perform as they had in years past. These individuals suffer a severe identity crisis which can manifest itself in really unhealthy ways. In my humble opinion, the key to avoiding this inevitable demise is being able to bob and weave with the changes life throws your way. Changes like not having two national parks in your backyard and moving from five minutes to five hours from the best skiing in the lower 48. A snapshot of my personal evolution in this sense is in the video below (along with shameless plugs for Prana).

Untitled from Michelle Drechsel on Vimeo.

Need more gear? Of course you do. Patagonia stuff is hard to get on sale (seriously hard), and the following sale is for the next five days. It just started today, so you’ve got a good chance of getting your size if order sooner than later. Click the ad to go right to their sale page.

Be-safe-article-of-the-day: This is why you don’t duck lines at a ski resort. Closed means closed, not because ski patrol is mean but because they want you alive. Read Colorado avalanche article.

An Ode to Dogs (and walking)

Wendell, my Lab, up close and personal.

This post is exactly what you think it is, because what animal is as wonderful as that sweet fur face with four legs, the canine?

Yesterday, my neighbor commented when I walked outside, “boy, we were just taking about how dedicated you are to your dog walks. This sure proves it!”. Sure, it was 4° with 20 mph winds, but if I let silly things like ‘wind’ and ‘cold’ stop me, I would never leave the house. And bodies need movement, be they canine or homosapien.

Lately I’ve been struggling with some sinus issues that sap my energy. Do I still walk the dogs? Yep! Here’s why: I’m very rarely too sick to walk. By getting light to moderate exercise outside, I’m avoiding spreading my germs to my wonderful friends at the gym AND my all-important lymphatic system gets a boost. One of the main functions of the lymphatic system is immunity, and the way to get it going is to move your body. It doesn’t have a circulatory system and depends excursively on skeletal movement and breathing.

Does this mean you should run a marathon with a cold? Of course not. Overexertion when your body is already stressed can be a bad thing.

It’s gusting up to 55 mph as I write these words, but I still took the dogs out this morning. The value of good outdoor gear cannot be underestimated and a windproof shell with a solid hood with a good audiobook through earbuds can be a good defense against the misery of high winds. But do the dogs mind? They sure don’t! And a 30 – 40 minute walk every morning is the least I can give them for their unconditional love and support. Besides, it does my body good, too.

NOTE: Our litigious society has me paranoid that I should insert “I’m not a doctor so consult someone with an MD behind their name before beginning any exercise regimen.” There, I said it.

Avoiding Avalanches & Snowmobiles

Scenery to Skin to - Pinnacle Butte on Togwotee Pass, Wyoming.

To be clear: I’m not trying to avoid avalanches on a snowmobile, because taking a snowmobile out in dangerous snow conditions on avalanche terrain is just plain stupid. No, I’m trying to avoid the snowmobiles altogether, as well as avalanches.

Before you scream, “Hypocrite! You own your own personal snowmobiling helmet!”, let me clarify. I love the smell of 2-stroke in the morning. However, when your goal is a peaceful, quiet tour with great scenery, it helps to avoid the ‘whah-WHAH’ of snow machines. And if there’s one place sled necks like to go, it’s Togwotee Pass (pronounced toe-go-tee). Which also happens to be on my way home from Jackson.

As you can see in photo above, Pinnacle Butte (pronounced “be-YOOT”) is a gorgeous fortress of breccia cliffs, peaks, and spires in the far southern region of the Absorka Mountains.  We parked at the Deception Creek Cross Country trail, but as we wanted to be in the trees, we headed across the highway from the official trails and up towards Pinnacle.

We had our backcountry ski setup with no intentions of making actual turns, which was a good thing. The snowpack was so unstable that the “whomp” of settling snow was a constant on near flat terrain. To a seasoned backcountry skier, this is a very spooky sound. It is not unlike the thump from an actual bass drum compressed into a terrifying second. To explain what causes the sound (and avalanches), I’ll launch into a horrifyingly simple overview of snow science.

Snow falls in many, many forms which is why 12″ of new snow can be slushy gloop on the Pacific coast and a dry, fine powder in Utah. And of course, the snow may fall in many different forms in the exact same place depending on the air temperature and humidity. So maybe you get a wet, heavy snow in November followed by fluff in December. This would be a good snowpack, since the heavy stuff is on the bottom. But what about when the scenario is reversed? This is what skiers mean when they say that the snow is “upside down”. The heavy stuff is on top of fluff, or worse yet on top of a rain-crusted icy layer. In this scenario, picture a few feet of fluff falling on the side of steep, ice-covered slope. The fluff is going to slide down, right? But maybe it doesn’t slide down right away; it may stick just a little bit until somebody or something weights a certain spot on that slope- and the fluff is released.

To access Pinnacle Butte, park at the sign for the Deception Creep cross country ski trail.

Anyone who has experienced an avalanche burial (thankfully, I know this second-hand) will tell you that fluffy snow ceases to feel like fluff in an avalanche. In fact, the process is very un-fluffy.  Skis, packs, and even clothes are ripped from the skier as a concrete sludge tumbles the body in a hyper-active spin cycle. If conscious, the skier tries to swim up in attempt to be towards the top of the pile when everything stops moving. This assumes the skier knows which way is up. Skiers have reported been partially buried up to their chest and if their hands aren’t free when the pile stops moving, they feel as if they have been cemented in concrete and must depend on their friends to dig them out. This is why you don’t ski alone, and also why you MUST wear a transceiver, carry a shovel and probe (a big expandable stick to find the body) and know how to use them to travel in avalanche terrain. Going without any of these four items (the knowledge to use the tools and evaluate terrain being a crucial item) is Russian roulette.

And this is why we weren’t making turns. The snow pack was so unstable that it didn’t even need the gradient to settle onto itself. There is little question that had we ventured onto the prime avalanche angles, we would have caused an avalanche. And the prime angles are 25° to 45°, which is the same angle as blue and black slopes at a ski area – in other words, the fun stuff. If you absolutely have to get out in dangerous snow conditions, take a cue from us and go for a cross-country tour. It’s great for the dogs, too.
Find an avalanche class by clicking here.

Holiday-detox-of-the-day: 7-day Portion Control Challenge from Vegetarian Times. I would make some substitutes for additional protein of the meat variety but they make it easy with shopping lists and recipes.

Skiin’ the ‘ghee: Grand Targhee Resort

To understand crossing into Idaho from Wyoming to get to a Wyoming resort, note the lack of roads over the Tetons.

With low levels of snow and high avalanche danger, skiing around the Teton Valley last weekend required careful decisions. We settled on Grand Targhee Resort in Alta, Wyoming and it proved to be an excellent choice.

To get to Targhee (or, the Ghee, as the locals say) from Jackson, one must drive over Teton Pass, into Idaho in order to cross back into Wyoming. If you’re coming from Jackson Hole Airport, the drive will take you 1.5 hours, but only about an hour if you’re coming from town, which can be totally worth it.

Grand Targhee gets a lot of snow – as you have to if you’re so bold as to mark the POWDER AREA on your trail map. That’s right- grab a trail map and locate the POWDER AREA for likely powder. While Sunday wasn’t exactly ‘blower’ (as in so much powder snow in blowing in your face), the snow was actually good.

The groomers were fast and grippy with the only speed limits imposed by how adept your are at dodging tourists, and there weren’t many of those. In fact, we skied on to every lift all day long. The only crowds worth noting were in the Trapper Bar, but given the calendar (it was New Year’s Day) and the amount of ball games on, that’s not exactly a surprise. They’d had 12″ of new snow in the last two days and the rocks showing were equivalent to Jackson Hole Mountain Resort on any given heart-of-winter powder day.

And the best part was the lack of rush. On a really blower day (see above for definition), there’s an underlying push to get in as many laps as possible in order to find the best, deepest snow on the mountain before everyone else. Since 11″ of the new snow fell the day before and 1″ overnight, the rush was off. We could cruise groomers or soft, pillowy snow and eat a leisurely, full-service lunch instead of horking down Cliff Bars on the chair lift. We were in such a not-hurry that we left before the lifts closed to stop for beers in the driveway of a good friend living in Victor, Idaho and again for wine in Wilson. It was a very, very slow drive back to Jackson (lest you worry, I was not driving). As I get older and dare I say wiser, I am beginning to suspect that it’s all part of the fun of skiing.

Targhee-tip-of-the-day: There’s a new shuttle from the town of Jackson to Targhee! At just $94.88 for shuttle and lift ticket, it’s a must for apre lovers. For more info on the Targhee Express, click here.

Shooting in the Dark

Reason to get out of bed: early morning light on the Platte.

Mornings are a difficult time for me. When I was little, my two sisters employed wildly different tactics to wake me up. One would open my door, turn on the light and shout, “Mom and Dad said to get up.” I promptly chucked whatever was closest, usually a paperback, in her general direction.

My youngest sister, however, would crack open the door so the light would gently fall into my room, and then snuggle with me in bed while whispering, “It’s time to get up!”.

Although I awoke like an angry grizzly bear, my first sister had more success.

Action Lab with Sports Mode on camera! He's more of a snuggler than a duck retriever.

Fast-forward to the present, when my husband has the privilege of prying me out of bed to engage in an activity that I participated in planning. It always seems like a better idea the night before, less so when the alarm goes off and it’s still dark outside.

I tried “I don’t want to go anymore.” At first, he was surprised and then realized it was just a stalling tactic. A few minutes later a bowl of oatmeal was plopped down by my head (which I will admit is very sweet and sneaky tactic). Because I wake up famished every day of my life, I woke up to eat.

The mighty hunter with the duck. Look hard for the duck - camo works! (click photo for larger view)

Fast-forward again to the great outdoors, both of us shooting. My hubby with a gun, me with a camera. It wasn’t dark anymore but it makes a catchier title. I alternated reading the Nikon D3100 Digital Field Guide (v. helpful) and taking pictures of slightly annoyed canines and a much more willing landscape. The husband shot a beautiful Mallard drake (that’s a boy duck). We’ve learned the hard way that plucking the duck and cooking it whole is far tastier than breasting it out, and a 350° oven for a little over an hour rendered Mr. Duck quite delicious. As for a camera trick, my very non-technical advice is that the sports mode works great for pets, too.

Being a Skiing Student + Announcement

People (not me) skate skiing on Casper Nordic Center.

So I don’t mean to toot my own horn, but I’m pretty good at most of the sports I do. I only fall over in yoga every now and then and haven’t hurt myself skiing in more than two seasons. I didn’t even hook my dog last time I went fly-fishing, so I was a little nervous when my latest gear came with a lesson from the sales person.

And exactly what gear comes with a lesson (or should, at any rate)? Skate skiing gear. For those of you that need a refresher, cross-country skiing has two types- classic and skate skiing. When doing the classic style, the skier appears to be on a Nordic track and their skis are indeed often in tracks. For skate skiing, imagine ice skating on really narrow skis and add in poles that come up to your nose. If that sounds incredibly awkward, then you have the correct mental picture.

I met my instructor at the Casper Nordic Center, which has 42 kilometers (26 miles) of groomed trails. This is exceptional. The alpine skiing in Casper is less than exceptional, hence the reason for my new sport. He first had me bumble around without any poles, practicing the basic skating motion, which is a great first step in all skiing disciplines. Shortly after, I added the poles in and learned the various V1 and V2 techniques. I won’t bore you with the details here, but suffice to say I felt like a torso barely held upright by four randomly flailing appendages.

After jaunting up and down a straight bit for a while, we went for a ski. The downhill sections didn’t worry me much since I’ve been flinging myself down steep slopes for too many years to remember. This was a gross oversight. I had one fantastic spill when I knocked my jaw with the handle of my pole, all because I tried to turn on the edges of my skis. Downhill skiers, Heed My Warning: skate skis do not have edges. You must step turn. Noted.

By the end two intense cardio hours, I was more or less gliding with gradual but significant weight shifts over the active ski. I even feel confident in several of the poling techniques. But the biggest lesson was how awkward my new gear felt and the ensuing trepidation which resulted from said awkwardness, which is a great reminder for any instructor. We get so comfortable in our chosen vocation that we can forget the sheer terror that is a perfectly normal response for most students, which is why I recommend that all instructors learn something new every now and then for a healthy dose of empathy.

Announcement! In a hopefully brilliant attempt to boost readership, MountainKidd will now post every Wednesday. Ideally sometime in the AM hours, but hey, I’m human. Feel free to forward this blog onto anyone and everyone who might marginally enjoy it (or just read it, even if they don’t enjoy it).

(I really don’t) “Feel it in my Bones”

The Wilson Cabin in all her glory.

Okay, so I acknowledge that the “feel it in my bones” sentiment is more due to barometric pressure changes than temperature fluctuations, but the greater point I’m trying to make is that I’m out of synch with mother nature. Let me explain.

This may have something to do with flying from Hopkins Village, Belize to Casper, Wyoming USA in one long afternoon. I’ve tested the tropics-to-mountains theory several times, and I can confidently say that our species has not evolved enough in the last 50 years of frequent air travel to make it a comfortable process. There is nothing natural in going from sand between your toes to 10° before windchill in a twelve-hour window. The next day dawned with a high of 10°, which I discovered by checking my phone. Oddly, this is exactly my issue.

Yes, technology like insulation and weather reports on my cell phone can be a wonderful thing. But I honestly had no clue that it was below 0° when I woke up. Why would I? I have a well-insulated house with central heating (and air-conditioning, I might add). We keep it at a conservative 65° in the winter, which lately seems both too cold and too warm.

Before moving in with my now-husband, I lived in a 1920′s log cabin in Wilson, Wyoming (7 miles outside of Jackson). It was about 700 sq. ft., had authentic paned windows and was generally a little slice of heaven. The main room was heated with a propane fireplace with an on/off switch in the back and there were a few rarely-used baseboard heaters in the siderooms (but only the bathroom had an actual door).

The on/off switch on the fireplace is significant. There was no thermostat. This means when the temperature dipped below zero, you could see your breath inside sometimes in the morning. Waking up involved a epic battle of wills that usually went something like this:

Alarm goes off. Oh god it’s cold. My nose is freezing. Better hit snooze. Alarm goes off. (potentially repeat up to 3-9 times). Grab long underwear in mad dash and dive back in bed with clothes under covers with me to preheat. Put on said clothes under the covers. Jump out of bed and turn on fireplace and teapot. Add more clothes, potentially a hat. Feed Wendell, let him outside (it takes a lot to make a Lab cold). Crazy dog.

So why on earth would I miss that? Because I was constantly aware of what was going on with the natural world. High winds whistled under the front door. When the paned glass started to glaze over on the inside, I knew I would be wearing expedition level mittens teaching ski school. And when my dog only went outside for two minutes at a time, I knew there would be no significant new snow until it warmed up*.

So are these nostalgic ramblings with the rose-colored glasses that the passage of times grants us optimistic humans? Maybe. Does this have something to do with copious amounts of time indoors due to lack of outdoor recreation options and lack of outdoor employment? Most likely. But I can’t help but think that some small primal part of me feels locked up from the natural world here in my insulated house with daily leashed dog walks.

Put-on-the-winter-fat-recipe-of-the-day: one pan dark chocolate chunk skillet cookie

* Subzero cold is almost always due to very high pressure and very dry air, making difficult conditions for snow.

Regulation & Wendell

Beartrap Meadow County Park as seen on Google

My poor lovable pup has two strikes against him in the weight-management category: 1) His background as a Mexican street dog means he eats whenever and wherever he can get food. 2) He is primarily a Labrador and thus has no portion control. This also means he Hoovers rather than chews.

But now, I’ve added a third: 3) I, his owner and primary playmate, work out in a gym more often than outside.

These three factors add up to one thing: Wendell is chunky.

I didn’t want to believe it. Sure, he seemed a little bigger but it wasn’t until a friend visited last week and commented that I really accepted his growing waistline. So with summer quickly fading, I’ve been neglecting my gym membership in favor hiking around the woods while my dog unknowingly gets his heart rate up with me. However, these woods are new to me and on Saturday our hike became an interesting introspection on regulation.

I parked at the top of Casper mountain at the Beartrap Meadow trail head, and the first thing that struck me is how odd it is to drive up the entire mountain. Nevertheless, I started out on the Nordic trails eager to spend some time in tall trees. But then I got sick of going in circles.

Don’t get me wrong- I love loop hikes. But the 26 miles of Nordic Trails present themselves in a variety of small loops, and I wanted to hike in one direction for at least an hour. Roughly picking my way though various trails, I found myself confronted with “PRIVATE PROPERTY” signs just under an hour into the hike. While Wendell merrily trotted past the signs, I recognized my gun-loving county for what it is and turned towards technology for an explanation. The Google satellite with my GPS location pinpointed showed that I had l hiked to the far end of the park had nowhere to go but back. Sigh. And which way was back, exactly? Luckily, the magical arrow on my phone pointed in the right direction and I started choosing random, unsigned single track trails that would hopefully lead me towards the car.

Glimpses of fall on Casper Mountain

I know someone who is ‘building trails’ for biking on Casper mountain. I’m not sure if this is entirely legal (my guess is not), but the county doesn’t exactly swarm this park with enforcement agents. Add in a healthy red-neck population who will squeeze a 4-wheel-drive vehicle any place said vehicle can fit, and the trails in this park have more variations than a Mexican climbing route. While I enjoy being able to bring my dog with me (something not allowed in National Parks), I resented the lack of clear trails and complete lack of signage. In Jackson, the National Parks in my backyard offered hiking for eight hours plus in one direction without encountering a road (dirt or paved) and only a few well-signed junctions. I loved that I couldn’t get too lost inside my head before a stunning vista or bear would jolt me back to the now. Now, my ‘now’ has too many marks of civilization, which is what happens when a place doesn’t have the supreme protection status of “National Park”. But having a National Park in your backyard is the exception, not the rule. And I’m no longer an exception. With ‘wild’ places such as this, it’s no wonder that life spans are shortening and obesity is on the rise.

Sewing how-to of the day: Make your own Pin Tucked Duvet Cover