I had an idea. I’m not saying it was a good one, or a well-thought-out one, but it had all the desire in the world to be something memorable. It was the kind of idea whose origin comes from a place deep within the roots of who you are, but time does its damndest to erase. And what was this stroke of genius? This lion roaring up from the well of my spirit? Well, for some reason I thought it would be no problem at all to do what I did eight years ago: carry my skis up Tecumseh and then ski Waterville Valley. I knew this idea would help me relearn some things about attempting backcountry endeavors this winter, but I didn’t realize how much of my previous education I’d forgotten.
My fellow hikers brought snowboards, and I started thinking I should have done the same.
The Ascent
It was actually a great day, but it came with a resurgence of the kinds of mistakes I haven’t made since setting out on the adventure that became 4000s by 40. When I met two friends in the parking lot for the Tecumseh Trail—heading out from the base of Waterville Valley Resort—the enthusiastic discussion about the day’s plan distracted me from making sure I had everything I needed. It wasn’t until we were twenty or thirty minutes into the hike that I realized I was missing a critical part for this endeavor: trekking poles. These could have not only helped me manage the load on my back as we ascended, but also helped me keep my balance if we skied down something hairy.
I decided not to worry too much about it. I anticipated hopping out on some groomer trails when we were done with the climb up, and expected an easy ride down. If worse came to worst, I could just take an easy ride down while videoing my snowboarding compatriots, and that was good enough for me.
During the ascent, the only problem I ran into was my skis hitting the snow-covered pine branches along the way, dusting me with a fine chill down my neck. But I didn’t mind that. It was all part of the adventure. To cap off the ascent, we met some great people at the summit: two hikers working on their Grid of the New Hampshire 48—an incredible feat in New Hampshire hiking lore.
Nothing makes me more excited about the possibility of new adventures, than a backpack ready for action.
From Tecumseh to Waterville
After learning about some possibilities for future backcountry exploration, from two who have seen it all, we took our leave of Tecumseh and headed over to Waterville to complete our training exercise. With all of the snow reported at mountains like Jay Peak and Stowe, and with Loon opening the same day, I believed Waterville would be in good shape. Waterville’s webcams made it look like it was ready to be skied as well, even though the mountain was closed. I know skiing Waterville doesn’t count for “backcountry,” even when you hike up to earn your turns, but the idea was to get some practice in before looking for true backcountry places this winter.
All still looked good when we finished the Sosman trail and emerged at the summit ski lift. The trails looked groomed. Easy peasy. Kids were already out training for the Waterville Ski Academy and it felt like we were going to have an easy ride down. But after descending the training hill, we started to worry about whether we were in the way of mountain operations readying the slopes. At a junction towards the upper right part of the mountain, we had a decision to make. Either hit what looked like a groomer and risk being in the way of mountain ops, or stay off to the side where trail maintenance had not begun. I wanted the groomers because I was without poles. Another wanted the side trail to avoid possible interference and trouble. I relented and paid the price.
Snow cover looked mighty fine at the summit of Waterville
Still Falling, Still Learning
Not more than four turns into it, my skies slid under an upper crust of ice, and I fell forward. Because of the afternoon light, I wasn’t wearing goggles, and the bridge of my nose was the first thing to make contact with the ice. It didn’t hurt, but it was a direct hit. When I lifted my head, it surprised me to find blood dripping all about the snow. What the heck? Feeling my face, I noted a tiny flap of skin pulled away from the bridge of my nose, but not much else. And yet, there was so much blood. I felt my ears and the rest of my face just to make sure I hadn’t lost something more significant. I couldn’t figure it out.
Holding my nose with my shirt to staunch the blood, I snowplowed my way to my friends. One is an emergency room PA, which is a super good friend to have in situations like this, and he helped patch me up. The wounds were superficial—just big bleeders. Bandaged up, I took my time the rest of the way down. I hiked down parts where no snow existed, snowplowed over the crust when it did, and didn’t truly ski until we hit the groomers near the bottom. In the final turns, and as I removed my skies to walk across the parking lot to my truck, one thought kept repeating itself: I have much work to do.
Upon Review
But despite my bludgeoned nose, I think the day was a success. Okay, so I was banged up—that wasn’t a plus. But after eight years of not trying something like this, what did I expect? Rome wasn’t built in a day, Rocky didn’t make his comeback without putting in the work, and reinvention takes sustained effort. Plus, I made some new friends along the trail and got to be outside in the mountains I love. What could be better than that? It was worth a few cuts.
Just a flesh wound.