The Sustainable Trails Coalition: Our Narcissistic Relationship with Wilderness

April 5, 2016April 19, 2016 ~ TheGentlemanAtLarge ~ 3 Comments

“Show me a picture of myself,” she said. He acquiesced. She looked at the photo on his cellphone and for only a moment was mesmerized. “Show me another one.”

The dinner party nursed stemless glasses of Turkish red wine and laughed. Of course her narcissism can be excused: she’s two years old. We brandished our glasses and wondered together when in life a person grows beyond self interest, and settled on some time between two and our own respective ages.

A while later the friends left. Sometimes a room can be overcrowded with loved ones so that after they go away laughter radiates from the walls and furniture the way a pan is still hot after it’s been removed from the stove. (Maybe I was just drunk?)

But there was a glow to the kitchen while I washed a few dishes before putting off most of them for the morning. I felt warm, and loved, and my mind wandered a bit to a short piece I’d read earlier in the day about the Sustainable Trails Coalition.

If you haven’t heard of the Sustainable Trails Coalition (STC), it’s a proposed piece of legislation that would allow regional land managers the discretion to open designated Wilderness areas to mountain bikes, where they’re currently banned. It confronts a long simmering issue head on, and is controversial to say the least. The issue has pitted sandals-with-socks traditionalists against the loud talking, neon wearing new schoolers that are positioned to inherit a legacy of land stewardship in the west.

mtb — Photo: Anders Broste (I found it on the Facebook) – Thanks Anders!

While the article itself is perhaps a fair treatment of one point of view, what’s interesting is the larger sample size of opinions that come to light in the comments section:

“Personally, I hope I never see a bicycle on the trail I am hiking.”

“I thought a fair portion of the [Wilderness Act] was to get people outdoors into the land, be active and not fat. Many people like biking and think hiking is boring.”

“I like seeing wildlife when I hike, but bikers make that hard to do since they scare them away.”

“My family enjoys all these types of quiet recreation, including biking. We enjoy it without conflict.”

There is a prevailing use of the first person.

Whether we agree or disagree with the premise that bicycles should be allowed in designated Wilderness areas, the real issue at hand is the personal and emotional response to such a far reaching piece of legislation.

Some outspoken citizens appear to believe that Wilderness management policy should somehow be based on how they like to spend their Saturdays, which is about as narcissistic as truly believing that God (architect of the universe) was watching your football game and helped you throw a touchdown.

Regardless of how we recreate, I like to think that most of the people in the room for these conversations feel strongly about the value of open space and public land.

Which brings me to another comment that I read:

“This is when I sympathize with the states’-rights-take-over-federal-lands movement.”

Both advocates for the Sustainable Trails Coalition and more resistant conservation groups are right in some of their talking points. But the conversation needs to be about strengthening Wilderness, not about individual user experience.

In this election cycle it’s easy to get distracted from the fact that public lands are under attack. Headline grabbing standoffs like in Burns Oregon or on the Bundy Ranch in Nevada are sensational, but really serve to highlight an underlying resentment of protections that we’ve come to take for granted.

The public land debate is not so different from the anti-vaccine movement. Those people out there who refuse to vaccinate their kids don’t know anyone who is paralyzed from Polio. They haven’t lost a loved one to Smallpox. The horror of the diseases that we’ve eradicated are alien to most of the people alive today.

We take vaccine protections for granted the same way that a discussion of land management policy can so quickly be reduced to how it suits our own hobbies. It’s apparently so secure in our minds that we can’t imagine it ever being taken away. The only thing to discuss, it seems, is how we should go enjoy what will always be there.

This approach to policy making is no less narcissistic than a toddler who is only interested in pictures of herself, and only slightly less so than that Tebow guy.

Both sides of the bikes-in-Wilderness issue have valid points for how their proposal serves the greater good. It’s our responsibility as citizens, and yes, as recreators, to keep the conversation on the resource and away from our next vacation.

Lifestyle Inertia

March 22, 2016 ~ TheGentlemanAtLarge ~ Leave a comment

Precisely one week ago I was sitting in a canvas yurt filled with strangers. By the time the sun went down the woodstove was hot, the beers were very cold, and we were starting to make friends with people we’d never met before.

Each of us knew a person or two before we met for dinner in Ketchum, but no one knew everyone. Avalanche conditions in this little corner of Idaho were spooky, and feeling out risk tolerance as a newly formed group forged a kind of bond early on. In the first twenty four hours we became friends over card games, stories, and private jokes.

We also shot a lot of photographs; at least half the group identified as a photographer in some way or another. I’ve spent the last few afternoons sorting through pictures of a ski trip that fit even the most rigorous definition of fantastic. The weather was perfect, the skiing was tremendous, and living in a yurt is about the best way you can spend a week. But while I was sorting through photos my mind wandered to what might be next. I’ve been back in the groove of life in Missoula for fewer than 72 hours, but can’t help but scheme on the next thing.

I may have a predisposition to restlessness. I’ve at least got a bad habit of quitting good jobs to leave the country. But I plan hundreds more trips than I take. Since we shussed out of the Pioneer mountains a couple of days ago I’ve laid plans for a ski trip in the Sawtooths and another in Kootenais. I’ve penciled out ski tours across Switzerland and Poland. I’ve researched and begun writing proposals for a month in Japan, and, because of course it stands to reason that a month in Japan will segue smoothly into a bicycle tour of Thailand and Laos, that itinerary ballooned to approach three months.

Twenty minutes after sliding out of my ski boots at the end of this last trip I was racking my brain on the best way to reorganize my assets into a sailboat worthy enough for a year long cruise in the Pacific. Never mind that I get seasick.

Looking back through pictures and journal entries from trips of the last year or two scratches a certain itch. Memories of loneliness, mosquitoes, and diarrhea fade and are replaced by the sunsets and powder turns that we photograph to remember. There’s a nostalgia for time we’ve spent on the road and friends we’ll never see again. But in planning the next thing there’s excitement and hope.

I don’t pretend that even a fraction of the adventures I scheme on or plan will happen. That’s part of the fun. If you reject the real constraints of budgets (money, time, and responsibility in equal parts) and imagine a trip unfettered by an anemic checking account or a 2,080 hour work-year or a dog you adopted from the pound in the midst of an existential crisis (bless her heart), you get comfortable with thinking beyond the back yard. If you allow your mind to wander enough you might find, eventually, that an idea or two resonates and begins to ache.

If that idea aches for long enough, you might allow yourself to think about the next step. You might find that you can eek out a living while working from the road. That the 40 hour work week is something that’s best left behind. And even that you really can just drive across the border while your mangy pound dog glares at you from the back seat. You might even swallow the hard pill that inertia is not confined to objects with mass, and that the only way to make tomorrow different from yesterday is through deliberate effort.

And who knows, maybe I’ll see you in the south Pacific.

Balancing Reward

February 9, 2016 ~ TheGentlemanAtLarge ~ Leave a comment

“It’s really not as hard as people think,” he said. Two ice cubes floated in amber liquid and clinked against the rim of the glass. He held it between his thumb and middle finger, and punctuated every point with an index finger that he brandished like a foil.

“The secret to happiness,” he said for the third or fourth time since I’d wandered to this archipelago of half a dozen people at the fringe of a crowded party, “is simply to lower your expectations.”

The party was several years ago, I think in Chicago, or California or somewhere, but I found myself thinking about it again as I hiked through boottop powder the other day for another short lap of skiing through excellent snow.

The day before skiing I’d hoped to make it a big day. My usual morning routine involves hitting snooze until the last possible moment, groping in the dark for clean socks, nearly forgetting boots/skins/poles/skis, and leaving the house with neither food nor water (requiring a gas station or grocery stop on the way to the trailhead).

But this time I laid out my gear after dinner and got to bed early. I had snacks and water already packed, and even found my repair/first aid kit. When the alarm went off at 0530 I think I only hit snooze two or three times.

Eight hours later my skis whispered across the snow on a climb back to the top of our short run. It was already after lunch and we’d skied multiple hundreds of vertical feet. It was clear that we would not be hiking anywhere near the 10,000 vert that I’d prepared for the night before.

No one seemed to mind. The unspoken routine in this group of ski partners is for everyone to meet around 7am with an idea of where we’d each like to go. Over coffee and bacon burritos we’ll discuss the weather of the last few days, the avalanche report if it’s recent, any time constraints, and the disparity of our relative gumption. We’ll hem and haw for a while, and by 8 usually have a pretty good idea of where we’re headed and what kind of day it will be.

By the time we consolidate vehicles we’re all on the same page and have a good feel for the social dynamic before we even slip into boots. The morning after I’d laid out my gear and prepared like you’re supposed to, we decided the conditions ruled out steep terrain and settled on a day of conservative tree skiing.

A morning tradition like this sets the tone for good communication and safety. It does not, however, set the tone for doing anything ambitious. The tree skiing the other day was really quite good. We found soft snow blowing in to lee aspects and that wind slabs were easy to avoid. We had a good time and told a lot of jokes.

What we didn’t do was stand on top of anything noteworthy. We didn’t descend anything exciting. Really, nothing we did was worth writing about at all.

When we decided on a plan over coffee and sausage gravy, we categorically rejected expectations for the day. There was no angst about whether or not we’d succeed, because there was no stated goal. There was no risk, because there was no bet. There were simply a few friends wandering around in the woods cracking jokes and skiing powder.

Balancing reward and risk below the East Couloir on Grey Wolf Peak.

There’s nothing wrong with cracking jokes and skiing soft snow in the same way that there’s nothing inherently wrong in whiling away your working years without risk or creative endeavor. But the unstated foundation of the idea that happiness is got with lowered expectations is that happiness itself is mutually exclusive with ambition.

I don’t know if I agree. I do think that it’s worth thinking about. Recall Annie Dillard’s warning that “how we spend our days is of course how we spend our lives.”

A day of low stress fun with friends is a beautiful thing, but a life without creative expression is heartbreaking. The daily balance of reward and risk extends beyond our morning routine. It’s the foundation for how we will have lived our lives.

Nutrition Tips for the Dirtbag Athlete

February 2, 2016February 2, 2016 ~ TheGentlemanAtLarge ~ Leave a comment

Many of you have made your way to this site out of a shared passion for being outside. We share a zeal for crisp October mornings, in light snow and in coffee before dawn. In starry desert nights, in finally sending your project, and in cold beers with good friends after a long day on the trail.

But getting to the end of a long day in the mountains means, well, that you need to make it to the end of the day. You can have all the right gear and great fitness, but to survive a 10,000 foot day of ski touring, you need to eat right.

And in the spirit of the other week’s primer on setting skintracks, I’d like to offer a few nutrition tips on how best to keep your energy up for the long day ahead:

Finish your buddy’s breakfast – Nothing says “I’m really looking forward to having my life entirely in your hands this afternoon” like asking, “are you going to finish that?” while you’re topping off the tank before the trailhead. This is most effective after not ordering breakfast yourself, and mentioning that you ate at home. In the awkward time between the last refill of coffee and paying the check, start picking at stray hashbrowns on your partner’s plate and go from there.
Bacon by the pound – There’s a strong correlation between towns with good skiing and towns with hipster grocery stores. There’s also a strong correlation between hipster grocery stores and food buffets that charge by the pound. When confronted with a by-weight eatery, the intrepid dirtbag knows better than to waste precious grams on things like potatoes, condiments, and vegetables.
Pepperjack cheese is often overlooked as a staple.

In Missoula, at the Good Food Store, the hot bar price is $7.50 per pound, regardless of what’s on your plate. Well, my friends, that hot bar has bacon on it, and bacon is hard to come by raw for much less than $7.50/lb. Load up on cooked bacon at a discount, and if you can’t finish it with breakfast, be sure to lay in stores of pocket-bacon for a pre-lunch snack.
Hostess – The great staple of poor athletes: Hostess. The first time I rode my bike more than 100 miles, it was actually 135 miles. I was about 19, inexperienced, and riding with much stronger companions. The only way I survived to collapse into my tent was with the gratuitous ingestion of Hostess Fruit Pies and gas station burritos. In 2012 Hostess Brands faced bankruptcy and liquidated warehouses of product. Those savvy consumers in the audience stocked up when the market was hot.
Gels – Gels go by many names: gel, gu, etc. They are generally vile, but do offer a couple of real benefits. They’re an excellent proxy for how tired you are; if the gel tasted good, and maybe you’d like another, then you are very, very tired. The marketing departments will tell you that their proprietary blend of simple carbohydrates and electrolytes is easy your stomach and will keep you energized to perform your best; the scientists will tell you that that’s what PopTarts are for. Never pay for gels. They can be found slowly coagulating in the bottom of of every 10k race packet on earth, next to the car wash coupons and safety pins.
PB&J – Gels can snatch you from the depths of hypoglycemic despair, but there’s a limit to what the soul can endure. Better men that me have been fundamentally broken by diets too rich in “sports product.” The bread and butter of the dedicated dirtbag athlete is, literally, bread and butter. Peanut butter, that is, with a little jelly and, (if you’re feeling fancy) some banana. The peanut butter and jelly sandwich is as simple and reliable as it is time tested. More first ascents have been powered by PB&Js than by any other food source^{[citation needed]}, so throw a couple in your pocket and hit the trail.
Michelada – The dreamers among us know that no today can beat the promise of tomorrow, and it’s important to be well rested and ready for the next big thing. For proper recovery, I recommend a specifically tuned blend of electrolytes, carbohydrates, and the anti inflammatory properties of alcohol: The Bud Light Michelada. It’s spicy, it’s refreshing, it’s technically got vegetables. You earned it, so crack one on the drive home.

Skintrack Etiquette: a primer for the uninitiated

January 19, 2016January 26, 2016 ~ TheGentlemanAtLarge ~ 5 Comments

New snow means new beginnings. The tracks of last weekend are not so different from workplace angst; we leave them behind for a few days once a week to recharge and recuperate. A fresh blanket of snow is the incarnation of opportunity. You, the backcountry skier, are unbound by roads and trails, and have absolute power over where you go.

The freedom can be intoxicating, but I’m here to remind you that with great power comes great responsibility. And so I would like to cover a few guidelines for skintrack etiquette.

The Skintrack* is an Extension of your Manhood – If you only learn one thing from this guide, learn this: The skintrack is an extension of your manhood. Not comfortable hucking a 30 foot cliff into breakable crust? That’s ok. Don’t quite feel like pulling 5 Gs as you carve out of that steep couloir? Don’t sweat it. As backcountry skiers we spend 90% of our time walking uphill, and so that’s clearly the best time to demonstrate our innate superiority over our partners.
Set a Steep Skintrack – You should always set a skintrack along the steepest grade possible. This is generally directly up the fall line, but occasionally requires short, squiggly switchbacks. Be sure to utilize every heel riser available and disregard the people behind you slipping backwards on the now icy track. Remember, setting a steep skintrack is a sign of unbridled masculinity, and it’s well documented that the steeper your uptrack, the more women will want to mate with you.
Never Share the Work – Breaking trail is significantly more difficult than hiking along an established skintrack. In some cultures it is considered acceptable to share this work, and take turns on the front. Well, my friend, some cultures approve of sister-dating and cannibalism, too. You should never relinquish the front of the line, as doing so is an act of weakness. If you bonk at noon and force the group to turn back early, that’s merely a show of your enthusiasm for the dawn. Good form.
Make Your Own – If you make the all too common faux pas of skiing with someone less manly than you, you may find that they set a skintrack differently that you might have. Best practices suggest that you should diverge from their path and set your own. This is the best way to identify yourself as an ideal mate to members of the opposite sex if you don’t happen to be currently breaking trail.

Step on the Tails – Another option for demonstrating your superiority is to walk on the tails of the person in the front. Disregard the fact that walking in the front is much harder. Actually . . . don’t disregard that. Use it to your advantage. Be sure to walk on the ski tails of whomever is breaking trail. This will disparage their fitness and discourage them. When they step to the side it will allow you to regain your rightful position in the front.
Show up Hungover – Occasionally, you will ski with someone who is in better shape than you. Under normal circumstances this would be a sleight to your social status, and the best way to head it off is to drink 15 beers the night before you meet up for a big day in the mountains. A hangover is the get out of jail free card for a lackluster performance on the skintrack. If you sufficiently poison yourself the night before a day of skiing, just making it to the trailhead amounts to a victory over your peers. Nevermind that you’re a liability in the backcountry, those haters can only aspire to the glory of your single handed 1:59am Fireball shot ski.
Pee in it – The last ditch effort toward inflicting yourself on the backcountry experience of your party: take a piss on the skintrack. Sure, you could have stepped to the side, or at least pointed out of the way, but that’s the kind of move that Jack McCall or Robert Ford would have pulled. Not you. You’re a real outlaw. Damn convention; damn the man. You pee on that skintrack and let the world know that you’re a force to be reckoned with. If you do it right, they’ll smell the Hamm’s on it a mile away.

*Skintrack (n) – The route and means by which a backcountry skier or snowboarder ascends a slope. It is done by affixing climbing skins (originally made of moose or elk skin, but now usually crafted from nylon) to the bottom of the ski to provide traction against the snow.

The Gentleman at Large

Keeping an eye on the forest.

Mountains

The Sustainable Trails Coalition: Our Narcissistic Relationship with Wilderness

Lifestyle Inertia

Balancing Reward

Nutrition Tips for the Dirtbag Athlete

Skintrack Etiquette: a primer for the uninitiated