In the Deep North Woods...

I left the familiar confines of my red Embudo behind for a road trip deep into the north woods of Maine. Shan and I spent the holidays with her family, and headed to Maine the day after Christmas. We spent a quick night near Portland, and the following morning proceeded to Mooshead Lake, the gateway to the northern frontier.

We arrived in Mooshead with a few feet of snow on the ground, and the onset of a several days of fresh powder. It snowed six inches our first night and we woke up to pristine conditions. On the first day, we snowmobiled over one hundred miles in the backcountry, topping out at speeds in excess of seventy five miles per hour, on the long curvy snow covered trails. Our half way point was Pittston Farms, a family owned farm that served a warm meal on a bitter cold winter day. We sledded into the dark and arrived back at our cabin thoroughly exhausted.

The next morning, we awoke to eight more inches of fresh powder and headed to Big Squaw, a small homegrown ski resort down the road. Arriving at the mountain, we found out the top half was closed because of an accident on one of the two lifts several years back. Apparently, two of the chairs collided in mid air and snapped off of the main cable. No one died, but several people were severly injured and Big Squaw was forced to shut the lift down, or replace all the chairs. The owner simply decided to close the top half of the mountain. I could not help but stare in wonder at the crystal white trails shrouded in clouds of curious mist every time we rode the lift to the mid way point. Somehow, I would snowboard the entire mountain.

We spent the rest of the afternoon, knee deep in powder and a few big hits. A few local kids piled up a mound of snow at the edge of a cliff that dropped into the face of an old green abandoned hotel on the side of the slope. Speed was not a factor, simply dropping off the lip of this drop gave you a good freefall.

The next morning we woke up and grabbed our snowshoes. We headed for the base of the mountain and parked at the abandoned hotel. Shan and I strapped on our shoes, grabbed pack with some gear and our boards and set off into the snow. The trail was steep and we were headed straight up. Each step took a great deal of energy, even with snowshoes we were sinking at least a foot. After a few hundred yards I was sweating profusely. I knew it would be a long haul to the top.

One hour later we made it about half way. We caught up with a a few local kids that set out to reach the top without snowshoes. They decided to call it quits, and headed back down, one with a small blue plastic sled, the other with a snowboard. They crashed through a pile of bushes and sticks poking through the snow...

We continued up the mountain. The footing was better when the mountain was more exposed. An icy crust formed on the surface. We would get a few good steps before crashing through into chest deep powder. We would dig our way out and start the process over. A little over one hour later and we finally reached the summit.

The lift was in visibly deteriorating shape, its peeling green paint coated with a shiny layer of ice. One fallen chair lay beneath the cables. We took off our snowshoes, strapped them to my pack, and snapped the bindings on our snowboards. We began our descent.

The ride down was well worth the effort. Several feet of untouched powder and the feeling of making fresh tracks. We both wiped out several times and had to claw our way back to our feet. When you turn in powder, it is best to rotate the direction of the board instead of carving the edge into the slope... when you carve, you sink.

We made it to the bottom cold, but in good shape. I was sad to leave Big Squaw, knowing it would likely be quite some time before I would return again, but I knew I would never forget my first day on snowshoes.