Not until weeks after this trip, did I learn of the Fun Scale. Type 1: The event was fun during, and fun once over, and after discussion. Type 2: The event was mostly miserable during, but fun, once over and after further discussion. Type 3: The event was miserable during and a horrible idea after. My expectations for the yurt trip quickly started the process of renunciation.
We decided to skin in, I’d nordic skied a few times and was really keen to put a split board to the test. This would be my first true season dedicated to being as involved with snow as much as possible. The last 7 years I’d been chasing the sun, in places with no snow, too poor, or focusing on other things to snowboard, but this was the year. So we booked the yurt. The forecast showed tremendous storms, so the five of us met at Addison’s place, agreeing to bail if any one of us didn’t feel something was right.
Traci and Addison took on the role of navigation with map, gps, and offline topos. As we were going back country, we all agreed on beacon and probes as well as a training session prior. As always, I was stoked to be learning all of this useful information and so grateful to be doing this. I’d only moved there a few months before, but I was finding my crew and doing things that gave me the feeling I was exactly where I was suppose to be.
Amanda, Traci, Addison, Megan, and I headed up the mountain. Down in Logan, the weather was rainy, cold, and grey. Discouraging having the worst weather the whole winter season as we’re about to take trail. As we drove through the canyon, the farther away from Logan we got the better the weather seemed; less rain, more snow. We pulled over to the Bunchgrass trail, grabbed our skins, skis, shovels, beacons, probes, and backpacks. The yurt was just a 4 mile trek in, so we prepped for an array of cheeses, vegan taco supplies, 4 bottles of wine, cards, and naturally my journal. We were fully stocked for an adventurous and relaxing weekend. The sky was gray, but but the trees were white with snow and the trail was freshly powdered. We stopped 100 meters from the start and Addison gave us a review on the beacon and probe. We each practiced running to the buried beacon in Send mode. I took the short training serious with some connection, but not a true understanding of what needing a beacon and probe on this trip really meant.
As I was watching Traci run after the beacon, A group came skiing down with 65L bags.They were coming from the Yurt. The group asked if we were headed up and told us to have fun. In a way, that was my go ahead. It was going to be fine.
The first mile we connected on past adventures and how we were finally doing the The Yurt Trip. Passing couples waved us off with smiles as they snacked on granola bars and took in the view. Pure white, fresh snow, faint ski tracks a head. The snow is coming down and we were not sure how long the trail would last, nor did we fully trust the tracks. Each pine tree layered, a dark green slice barely seen on branches. We were in a winter wonderland, the wind blew small tornadoes over the smooth, untouched powder. Traci and Addison continued navigating, but soon without the third guide of ski tracks. Shortly after the start, I felt my right hip as well. Once in a great while, my hip joint gets inflamed. The pain was intense rather quickly though, I didn’t want it to be there, so I tried my best to keep it to myself. Every movement, pulled and burned. The trail became more grueling as well. I could feel the distance, the incline, the hours passing. We came to a steep hill that needed to be climbed. Addison first, Amanda second, Traci third and she fell, but crawled out with a struggle. Beginning the incline, I did my best to side step, but couldn’t crest and soon I fell as well, my arms were plunging into the snow. The ware had set in and I was struggling so hard to just stand up, finally able to reach the clip around my waist and pressed against my windpipe, I rolled my cheese and wine stuffed bag off of me. Every ounce of energy I could give was to stand up on my split board. I couldn’t move, my skis waved back and forth, stabbed in the snow in all directions, I couldn’t control them; so I unclipped. My leg jetted deep in the snow to my hip and I pushed my skis towards the others, crawling with every limb sinking, hoping that I could just catch my pole on something that would give me enough support to progress. Little by little, I moved the 4 feet forward and found somewhat solid ground to clip in. I felt like a toddler.
We were in the last mile, this would be the hardest and we had an hour of daylight left. We all agreed to push and just get there. As we made our way up another steep hill, we saw the glow fade, replaced by the flicks of our headlamps. We’d been navigating for nearly 7 hours, made some wrong turns, and found ourselves going one by one over what was deemed Avalanche Terrain. I remember thinking right before crossing, is this worth it? I said “no” in the moment. I wasn’t terrified by any means, but had only done a 20 minute beacon and probe exercise. I wasn’t qualified to be out there. I just hoped the snow wouldn’t break. I hoped that I would remember to relax my breath if it did. That I’d get to them in time. These were thoughts I was having as I skinned over the perfectly sloped, 20 meter crossing. Once across, the tough thoughts disappeared and I was redirected to side stepping back down. The terrain was too dense and steep for my skills. Side stepping did give some relief to the the pulling of the ski on my hip. I remember feeling exhausted but good. I also remember planning what we’d do if we couldn’t find the yurt. Running through the supplies each of us brought, and the snow structure we could build. The others had thought of this too. Then we saw the aspen grove, described in the trail information. Amanda was in front and called out “I see it” It actually makes me tear up remembering this moment of pure joy and relief. We called the lock code out and busted through the doors. I wanted to rip my clothes off and do a naked happy dance, but I was too tired and dehydrated. Immediately we got the stove going, hung up clothes, drank water, melted snow, and started cooking. I cracked the bottle of white wine, just because I didn’t want to carry the whole thing back.
As the yurt warmed, sheets of snow slid off the top, giving me a startle, but also reminding me how grateful I was for a warm space. The circular room gave us only space to be with one another. To confront that we were there together, in this mess together. I didn’t want to be alone at that point though. I was grateful for them. I truly felt we had a great team. Once the snow melt was prepared for morning, our socks were hung, beds were made, and my 0 degree bag was cuddled into for the first time, we turned out the lights.
Light shone through the circular ceiling window. I woke mentally preparing myself for what today was going to be. Addison softly spoke, asking if we could wake an hour earlier than previously discussed. Breaking trail is exhausting and the snow piled nearly two more feet overnight. I wanted to be there for Addison and do whatever she felt was right, so I reset my alarm. I could feel the anxiety at different levels for each of us. I had organised this group, we all agreed to do this trip, with the same information given to each of us, but I felt somewhat responsible. It was partly my fault for the pain and the anxiety. I didn’t have enough experience to help lead either. With my back turned, making breakfast, I silently cried. I couldn’t stop, They didn’t know, but I knew I needed to pull myself together for our team. So I went to the outhouse, still crying and admiring the construction of this whole place, up in the middle of nowhere. Surrounded by fresh snow, we were tucked into the trees, and it was just beautiful. This whole trip was fucked up and brilliant. I went back into the yurt somewhat composed and Addison said, “Let’s do a group hug”. I lost it and explained what I was feeling. I felt safe with them though. I knew that this was okay. I knew they understood, and I knew I wanted to be honest in every way with these woman. This wasn’t a place for ego. I was so grateful for this moment. I needed it and then we moved on. The yurt was made to look as we had found it. I took a deep breath. God the view was incredible, a winter paradise. Before we even started the descent, I understood why people did this.
Breaking trail by 10, the falling began and it was happening, a lot. We were still laughing a lot though, crying sometimes, but laughing. I saw Addison do a front flip over her skis at one point. I called out, “I’m coming”, but I honestly could not get to her, my skis were stuck trying to move towards her. I was in so much pain myself. My mantra for that day quickly became “ I’m just doing the best that I can”. It didn’t feel like enough sometimes, but I was being deeply honest with myself. We were still able to be there for each other, be that person for that one moment. One mile left and 5 hours in,the terrain became more level and I saw Traci look around. I started to see where we were. To be in pain, but present for backcountry. The trees, the mountains, fresh snow, our group, we were a mess, but doing it. It was incredible.I saw the spot we trained with the beacon and probe. Relief. A hundred meters left. Shovelling the snow from around the cars, we nearly peeled out, Megan still wearing her snowboarding boots.
When asked, later that day, if it was worth it, I said to talk to me in a few days. I wasn’t sure. We went home, showered, and planned to meet in a couple hours. Not able to lift our bodies, we promptly ordered food and passed out on our respective couches. I spent the next couple days feeling pretty sore. Debriefing with the girls as well as others, I realised I wanted to do something like this again. I learned a lot about the kind of group I want to be with. I got really lucky with this crew. This backcountry trip, may have been the most naive adventure I’ve ever done. For sure, I didn’t belong out there. I love naivety in many ways though. It doesn’t hold me back. If I would have realised the things I do now, I may not have done the trip. Winter isn’t something to mess around with. The weather, temperatures, dangers of avalanche aren’t to be taken lightly and I’m grateful to learn that lesson freshly exploring what snow has to offer. I’m also horrible at skiing.
Over the next weeks we came to terms in our own way of what that trip showed us. I learned what it meant to be with a group that was open to honest communication. How important understanding what each and every person in the group is capable of. How we can rely on one another with individual skills and be honest with our skill level, giving no space for ego and selfishness. A group of woman that could push past the bad for the good moments. Making a choice to renounce negativity in those the tough times, creating the atmosphere that got us back. This is exactly the community I want to grow with as I keep adventuring. The people that push themselves in an uncomfortable way, and have space for vulnerability in and out of adventure. These to me are the type 2’s.