I just got back from a 2 hour ski through Coopers Rock State Forest. The WVU rental facility is turning out to be my saving grace, though I broke a basket off of one of their poles (d'oh!).
Apparently, the top of the layer of snow that was at Coopers began to melt, then froze, creating a crispy crust, and then about three inches of powder arrived. It's a very intersting layered combination, that makes poling difficult, but the skis move well over it since my weight isn't enough to break the crust.
I'm getting addicted to XC skiing. I didn't see anybody, and was blazing the trails when I wasn't on the road. It's pretty remarkable. Check out photos.
Git 'r Dun.
15 February, 2007
11 February, 2007
Arbitrarily Close to Heaven, Part n + 1
After deciding to stay west for the weekend, I pieced together a list of things that I might do for fun. Things that made the list were ice hockey on one of the many frozen bodies of water in the area, a trip back to the Purple Fiddle, a long road trip south to where rivers are flowing in liquid form, and a ski or snowshoe excursion to Dolly Sods. The last item on this list prevailed, thanks in part to a website I found called HikeSite. Last minute calls to potential partners-in-crime produced a handful of excuses not worth mentioning. (I know, Trevor and Max, you both had very good excuses).
I discovered that WVU has a rental facility for outdoor gear, and after visiting the folks there, I was set to "knock the bastard off." That's what Edmund Hillary said after coming down from the first ascent of Mt. Everest. This was arguably a far less severe bastard, but it ended up feeling like real, honest-to-goodness mountaineering (I think).
The plan I set Friday evening was to get up at 5:30 am, drive the three hours to the first hairpin in FS 19, ditch the car, and start skiing. It was approximately 3 miles to Mark and Margot's cabin from there, and I'd pack in gear to stay the night. Get the woodstove going, eat something, and take a small pack 2 more miles to the summit, beyond where no vehicles were permitted to proceed. A few hours along the ridgeline, double back, and back down to the cabin. I'd stay the night if possible, and ski down to the car in the morning. This last bit was contingent of the amount of wood that remained in the cabin from the last time it was used because that's the only way the cabin is heated.
I parked the car at about 9:30 am, hoisted on the pack, and began the uphill climb, which was a mix of hiking and skiing thanks to the high winds that this mountain receives. On exposed parts of the mountain, there was only bare sand and rocks. Otherwise, the snow was somewhere between a packed surface left by brave 4x4'ers and deep drifts.
The cabin was clean and lifeless. I'm often a bit anxious as I approach the cabin, imagining that either somebody has recently broken a window to get in or critters have taken up residence. The former would have meant there was no way to heat the cabin, so I was doubly anxious. Two of the traps I set last time had dead mice in them, but otherwise there was little evidence of critter activity. I fired up the crematorium (aka, woodstove) to get the place heated up. There was only one small heap of wood in the cabin, and I was not able to find any dry wood around the cabin, as most of it was buried under drifts. I didn't decide it at this time, but it would not be possible to stay the night. The most tragic part of this was that I'd hucked a full-size pack up the mountain and I'm not one to pack light. I would be lying if I said that the weight of the thing combined with a raised center of balance didn't leave me squirming like an upside-down turtle in the middle of the forest road at least a few times.
After a snack, I headed out again. It was refreshing to get on skis with no added weight. I schlussed along out to the forest road, and started ascending. In the two miles to the summit, I'd pass at least four spots on the road where a 4x4'er got stuck and turned back, creating a dense maze of tire tracks. Otherwise, I was able to stay in the tracks of some apparently well-equipped vehicle. However, even this vehicle was stopped by a 6-foot drift just before reaching the summit, and was parked. It turned out to be a Hummer H1 (talk about being well-equipped!), and I skied on past the mess made by its attempts to get through.
The adventure really began at this point. I wasn't the only one out here, but the only others were obviously wearing snowshoes. The sun was bright and there were no clouds. The wind was whipping violently from the west (my left as I started north). If I had to imagine what it would be like to visit Pluto, this would be it. The sound of strong wind coupled with the stinging cold made it feel devoid of life, and even the trees seemed to be having a rough go at it. They have no branches on one side; all of them, the same side. I bumped into a trio of snowshoers who are WVU students, and afterward thought that any of the three could have been my students, and neither of us would have recognized it. We looked like astronauts with very little exposed to the elements.
After about 90 minutes, I turned around and headed back south along the ridgeline, stopping more often this time to take photos and video. I was surprised to find that a vehicle had blasted through the big drift that had stopped the Hummer, and the owner (drinking Milwaukee's Best) and I pointed out the fact this his 70's vintage purple Chevy pickup with some serious lfts to make room for (I'm guessing) 45-inch wheels and some tire chains probably cost about a thirtieth of the cost of the Hummer. He didn't really laugh, which made me wonder if he understood, or just didn't like tree-hugging skiers.
Skiing to the cabin was fast and incredile, aside from the lack of edges on the skis. I only went down once, but it was enough to make me want backcountry skis. My decision to leave was reinforced when I saw that the fire I'd created about four hours earlier hadn't even heated the place enough to melt my original snowy footprints, and I'd used all the wood. I made myself some food, cooled off a bit (ok, a lot in a short amount of time), huffed on the big pack, and headed for the car.
I got back to the car at 5:30, just about eight hours after leaving it, and right as the sun was going down. What a fantastic shift. Check out the photos and video.
Git 'r Dun.
I discovered that WVU has a rental facility for outdoor gear, and after visiting the folks there, I was set to "knock the bastard off." That's what Edmund Hillary said after coming down from the first ascent of Mt. Everest. This was arguably a far less severe bastard, but it ended up feeling like real, honest-to-goodness mountaineering (I think).
The plan I set Friday evening was to get up at 5:30 am, drive the three hours to the first hairpin in FS 19, ditch the car, and start skiing. It was approximately 3 miles to Mark and Margot's cabin from there, and I'd pack in gear to stay the night. Get the woodstove going, eat something, and take a small pack 2 more miles to the summit, beyond where no vehicles were permitted to proceed. A few hours along the ridgeline, double back, and back down to the cabin. I'd stay the night if possible, and ski down to the car in the morning. This last bit was contingent of the amount of wood that remained in the cabin from the last time it was used because that's the only way the cabin is heated.
I parked the car at about 9:30 am, hoisted on the pack, and began the uphill climb, which was a mix of hiking and skiing thanks to the high winds that this mountain receives. On exposed parts of the mountain, there was only bare sand and rocks. Otherwise, the snow was somewhere between a packed surface left by brave 4x4'ers and deep drifts.
The cabin was clean and lifeless. I'm often a bit anxious as I approach the cabin, imagining that either somebody has recently broken a window to get in or critters have taken up residence. The former would have meant there was no way to heat the cabin, so I was doubly anxious. Two of the traps I set last time had dead mice in them, but otherwise there was little evidence of critter activity. I fired up the crematorium (aka, woodstove) to get the place heated up. There was only one small heap of wood in the cabin, and I was not able to find any dry wood around the cabin, as most of it was buried under drifts. I didn't decide it at this time, but it would not be possible to stay the night. The most tragic part of this was that I'd hucked a full-size pack up the mountain and I'm not one to pack light. I would be lying if I said that the weight of the thing combined with a raised center of balance didn't leave me squirming like an upside-down turtle in the middle of the forest road at least a few times.
After a snack, I headed out again. It was refreshing to get on skis with no added weight. I schlussed along out to the forest road, and started ascending. In the two miles to the summit, I'd pass at least four spots on the road where a 4x4'er got stuck and turned back, creating a dense maze of tire tracks. Otherwise, I was able to stay in the tracks of some apparently well-equipped vehicle. However, even this vehicle was stopped by a 6-foot drift just before reaching the summit, and was parked. It turned out to be a Hummer H1 (talk about being well-equipped!), and I skied on past the mess made by its attempts to get through.
The adventure really began at this point. I wasn't the only one out here, but the only others were obviously wearing snowshoes. The sun was bright and there were no clouds. The wind was whipping violently from the west (my left as I started north). If I had to imagine what it would be like to visit Pluto, this would be it. The sound of strong wind coupled with the stinging cold made it feel devoid of life, and even the trees seemed to be having a rough go at it. They have no branches on one side; all of them, the same side. I bumped into a trio of snowshoers who are WVU students, and afterward thought that any of the three could have been my students, and neither of us would have recognized it. We looked like astronauts with very little exposed to the elements.
After about 90 minutes, I turned around and headed back south along the ridgeline, stopping more often this time to take photos and video. I was surprised to find that a vehicle had blasted through the big drift that had stopped the Hummer, and the owner (drinking Milwaukee's Best) and I pointed out the fact this his 70's vintage purple Chevy pickup with some serious lfts to make room for (I'm guessing) 45-inch wheels and some tire chains probably cost about a thirtieth of the cost of the Hummer. He didn't really laugh, which made me wonder if he understood, or just didn't like tree-hugging skiers.
Skiing to the cabin was fast and incredile, aside from the lack of edges on the skis. I only went down once, but it was enough to make me want backcountry skis. My decision to leave was reinforced when I saw that the fire I'd created about four hours earlier hadn't even heated the place enough to melt my original snowy footprints, and I'd used all the wood. I made myself some food, cooled off a bit (ok, a lot in a short amount of time), huffed on the big pack, and headed for the car.
I got back to the car at 5:30, just about eight hours after leaving it, and right as the sun was going down. What a fantastic shift. Check out the photos and video.
Git 'r Dun.
07 February, 2007
Life in a College Town
From time to time, I'll have to post some memorable emails from students; ones that are particular to the atmosphere created in a place such as Morgantown, WV. Take 25,000 undergraduates and put them in a town of 25,000 surrouned by harsh wooded mountain terrain, build dozens of bars, and -- voila!! -- you get some great WV moments of the "coming of age" style. Enjoy!!
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
> Hi, My name is *********** I am enrolled in your Math 128 course. I
> was not able to finish the first HW by the due date and I would like a
> chance to make it up in order to start on the right foot in this class.
> My excuse is kind of unbeliveable but true for not turning in the HW on
> time. My new room mate of whom I hardly know stumbled in to my apartment
> on Friday night around 3:30am and proceeded to enter into my room and
> urinate all over my brandnew apartment floor, computer chair, bookbag, &
> paperwork. I made him throw away all of the urine covered papers. All of
> my Syllabus' and HW that i had in my notebook had to be thrown away so i
> have been playing catchup all week. I also tried to find the website all
> weekend but I could not find it to do the HW. If there is not any way
> that i can make this up please let me know so that i know how this is
> going to affect my grade. In all honesty I am not one to leave things
> until last minute and I am always on time and I am always a
> t class. I truely hope that I can make this assignment up but if not
> I understand. Thanks for your time. Sincerely, ***************
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
> Hi, My name is *********** I am enrolled in your Math 128 course. I
> was not able to finish the first HW by the due date and I would like a
> chance to make it up in order to start on the right foot in this class.
> My excuse is kind of unbeliveable but true for not turning in the HW on
> time. My new room mate of whom I hardly know stumbled in to my apartment
> on Friday night around 3:30am and proceeded to enter into my room and
> urinate all over my brandnew apartment floor, computer chair, bookbag, &
> paperwork. I made him throw away all of the urine covered papers. All of
> my Syllabus' and HW that i had in my notebook had to be thrown away so i
> have been playing catchup all week. I also tried to find the website all
> weekend but I could not find it to do the HW. If there is not any way
> that i can make this up please let me know so that i know how this is
> going to affect my grade. In all honesty I am not one to leave things
> until last minute and I am always on time and I am always a
> t class. I truely hope that I can make this assignment up but if not
> I understand. Thanks for your time. Sincerely, ***************
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
05 February, 2007
Triathlon, WV Style
I just remembered today to check the date on Captain Thurmond's Triathlon, an annual event in Fayetteville that combines mountain biking, whitewater paddling, and trail running. It's on Sunday, June 10th this year, in case you're interested.
I don't remember how I ran across this event last year (my blog replaces the need for a memory), but when I did, there was no question about it. I hadn't paddled the section of the New River where the race would take place, and the one thing I always hated about triathlons was the pavement. I figured entering would give me a good reason to train for a fun event, but most compelling was the goal of running some new water.
I'm not one to take an event like this and just show up, race, and go home. For some reason (my guess is to blame my parents), I emailed everybody I know who might be interested in doing the race solo or as part of a team, reserved a group campsite for a group of twenty, and even booked a rafting trip the day after the race. So, it had something for everyone, and we filled that campsite.
A couple of good antecdotal stories were generated by the weekend, including . . .
(1) My posts to several whitewater paddling community message boards went generally unnoticed, aside from one particular paddler, who responded and committed right away. His name is Geoff Calhoun, and at the time he was an internationally ranked wildwater paddler (I'm not sure if he's still ranked, but if he's not it's because he has been out with an injury since summer). This is kind of like organizing a pick-up game of football, opening it to general invitation, and Payton Manning showing up. I immediately contacted the fastest runner I know (James Gordish) and the fastest mountain bikers I know (Marty McKeon, Justin Leidy, Max Kellogg). James and Max took the bait, and with Geoff, they swept the event by miles.
Follow-up to (1): As a math guy, I didn't appreciate that the winning team got $200 cash. I mean, doesn't everybody know that 200 is not divisible by 3???
(2) This format is fantastic, but it's a peculiar race for another reason. I'd give the bike section a grade of B. Twelve miles is kind of short, especially since there are no memorable climbs, and only a few good descents. No tough, technical sections. Lots of double (or more) track means lots of jockeying for position. There's not much one can do in the design of the kayak section other than where you put in and take out, so the boating section receives a well deserved A, thanks to a couple hundred thousand years of hydrology.
The run, however, is a different story. I can understand the desire to have the running section end in Fayetteville so that they can set up a grandstand, local businesses will benefit, etc. And, I can understand that a trail network may present some constraints, but this was by far the toughest running I've ever done. At one point, I looked over to my left, and there was a ladder -- A LADDER!!! -- in place for assistance. Running seldom requires hands, but my palms were dirty after this race. Water stops? Not in West Virginia! (ok, so they had two, one after 1/2 mile, and one at mile 7).
Naturally, I give the run section an A+.
(3) Burch fell out of the raft and landed on a rock. Good thing Burch could probably shrug off close-range buck shot.
(4) We camped at a place called Chestnut Creek campground, which would be a super-fantastic place if it weren't for the most anal retentive man in six states running the joint. His name is Brian and he actually has a policy whereby if your firepit is not cold to the touch at daybreak, you lose your campfire privileges. How absurd!! The guy actually gets up at 5 am to drive around in his golf cart, stopping at each campsite, crouching over, and feeling the coals from last night's fire. My brother Marc thought it would be funny to pee on the fire, but I told him that was cruel (sike; it was the other way around).
I later found out that Brian has his rules posted in the stalls in the women's bathroom, presumably for bathroom reading, and that he actually goes into the women's bathroom to check how clean it is without knocking first. Someday, Brian is going to get a right hook when he walks in.
(5) Mark Burns is apparently a Clydesdale, which is not something that anybody would like publicized. (Sorry, Mark, but there are only two people who read this, anyway, so it's not like it's out there).
(6) As mentioned before, logistics are a nightmare with this race. You have to go to the pre-race meeting in Fayetteville to get your number, get your boat to Cunard (way, way back on small mountain roads), get your running stuff to Fayette Station (way, way back on small one-way country roads), and get you and your bike to Thurmond (way, way, way back on country roads). This is easily two hours of driving, and the pre-race meeting is 2 hours before the start of the race. This is a race where it pays to have spectators (aka, running shoe holders).
Git 'r Dun.
I don't remember how I ran across this event last year (my blog replaces the need for a memory), but when I did, there was no question about it. I hadn't paddled the section of the New River where the race would take place, and the one thing I always hated about triathlons was the pavement. I figured entering would give me a good reason to train for a fun event, but most compelling was the goal of running some new water.
I'm not one to take an event like this and just show up, race, and go home. For some reason (my guess is to blame my parents), I emailed everybody I know who might be interested in doing the race solo or as part of a team, reserved a group campsite for a group of twenty, and even booked a rafting trip the day after the race. So, it had something for everyone, and we filled that campsite.
A couple of good antecdotal stories were generated by the weekend, including . . .
(1) My posts to several whitewater paddling community message boards went generally unnoticed, aside from one particular paddler, who responded and committed right away. His name is Geoff Calhoun, and at the time he was an internationally ranked wildwater paddler (I'm not sure if he's still ranked, but if he's not it's because he has been out with an injury since summer). This is kind of like organizing a pick-up game of football, opening it to general invitation, and Payton Manning showing up. I immediately contacted the fastest runner I know (James Gordish) and the fastest mountain bikers I know (Marty McKeon, Justin Leidy, Max Kellogg). James and Max took the bait, and with Geoff, they swept the event by miles.
Follow-up to (1): As a math guy, I didn't appreciate that the winning team got $200 cash. I mean, doesn't everybody know that 200 is not divisible by 3???
(2) This format is fantastic, but it's a peculiar race for another reason. I'd give the bike section a grade of B. Twelve miles is kind of short, especially since there are no memorable climbs, and only a few good descents. No tough, technical sections. Lots of double (or more) track means lots of jockeying for position. There's not much one can do in the design of the kayak section other than where you put in and take out, so the boating section receives a well deserved A, thanks to a couple hundred thousand years of hydrology.
The run, however, is a different story. I can understand the desire to have the running section end in Fayetteville so that they can set up a grandstand, local businesses will benefit, etc. And, I can understand that a trail network may present some constraints, but this was by far the toughest running I've ever done. At one point, I looked over to my left, and there was a ladder -- A LADDER!!! -- in place for assistance. Running seldom requires hands, but my palms were dirty after this race. Water stops? Not in West Virginia! (ok, so they had two, one after 1/2 mile, and one at mile 7).
Naturally, I give the run section an A+.
(3) Burch fell out of the raft and landed on a rock. Good thing Burch could probably shrug off close-range buck shot.
(4) We camped at a place called Chestnut Creek campground, which would be a super-fantastic place if it weren't for the most anal retentive man in six states running the joint. His name is Brian and he actually has a policy whereby if your firepit is not cold to the touch at daybreak, you lose your campfire privileges. How absurd!! The guy actually gets up at 5 am to drive around in his golf cart, stopping at each campsite, crouching over, and feeling the coals from last night's fire. My brother Marc thought it would be funny to pee on the fire, but I told him that was cruel (sike; it was the other way around).
I later found out that Brian has his rules posted in the stalls in the women's bathroom, presumably for bathroom reading, and that he actually goes into the women's bathroom to check how clean it is without knocking first. Someday, Brian is going to get a right hook when he walks in.
(5) Mark Burns is apparently a Clydesdale, which is not something that anybody would like publicized. (Sorry, Mark, but there are only two people who read this, anyway, so it's not like it's out there).
(6) As mentioned before, logistics are a nightmare with this race. You have to go to the pre-race meeting in Fayetteville to get your number, get your boat to Cunard (way, way back on small mountain roads), get your running stuff to Fayette Station (way, way back on small one-way country roads), and get you and your bike to Thurmond (way, way, way back on country roads). This is easily two hours of driving, and the pre-race meeting is 2 hours before the start of the race. This is a race where it pays to have spectators (aka, running shoe holders).
Git 'r Dun.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
