Backcountry, Backcountry, Backcountry

By Clark Williams

Everybody’s  Doing it…

            Backcountry, backcountry, backcountry, that’s all you hear about these days, even here in the East. One of the more popular trips here is the Thunderbolt trail on Mount Greylock in western Massachusetts. That’s right, I said Massachusetts, it’s not all beans and baseball. Greylock is the tallest mountain in Massachusetts at 3941ft. and in 1933 the Civilian Conservation Corp built a ski trail from top to bottom in an attempt to attract tourist dollars to the depressed area. The races on this trail became quite popular, even though the racers and the spectators had to hike up through the woods. It must have been pretty exciting to watch these races, with guys on long wooden skis with no edges, soft low leather boots that were attached to those long skis with simple non-release bindings and leather straps. From what I’ve read they ran these races up until the 1950s when the unreliable snow and probably the lack of ski lift caused the racers to seek other sites.

During the 1970s someone decided to build a resort there with at least one double chair lift. Something must have gone bust because the place was never finished. If you peek through the trees in the right place you can see all the towers and a partially constructed concrete building that was probably meant to be the base lodge.  (More information can be found on www.NELSAP.org)   

 This trip was the first backcountry experience for me. I was invited to go along by my daughter who was going with several of her friends who were either current or former subordinates from Jiminy Peak Ski Resort’s Skiwee program.  It should be noted here that my daughter is 24 and her friends/subordinates on this trip were all 17 year old guys. I think she invited me so that I would be the slowest one, and I would be the one holding everybody else up. I didn’t care.  I was just glad to be out there.

 The plan was to snowshoe up and to ski down on alpine skis. This meant that we were carrying our boots and skis. The last time I did that it amounted to about a 36 lb. pack. We had a prefect day. Clear skies, a fresh foot or so of snow, no wind and, as long as you were walking it wasn’t too cold. We drove right to the trailhead without any trouble.

The hike up was listed in the trail guide as a mile and a half. There was only one fallen tree to navigate around, and most it was not very steep. If this had been a groomed trail at a ski area most of it would be a blue square. That’s not to say it wasn’t an effort to ski. Well it wasn’t an effort for the 17 years olds, but for the 55 year old (me, the slow one) it presented some challenges. This trail was probably never very wide, but now much of it was about the size of a work road and sometimes just a hiking trail. The upper portion was the steepest. I did not go to the very top (a.k.a. the steepest) my excuse being to get into a good position to video the boys’ descent. However, despite keeping the camcorder in my coat most of the time, the battery gave out due to the cold at the most inopportune time, and I did not get what would have been the best footage of the day, (I guess Warren Miller’s career is safe for another year).

 Anyway it was now time for us all to start down. Let me tell you putting on ice cold ski boots while sitting in a foot or so of snow is no easy matter. It is also rather painful but, with that accomplished, I donned my now much lighter pack and was eager to make some well-earned turns. Much to my surprise however I discovered that I was having difficulty communicating with my legs. They seemed to think that since they hauled my butt up the hill that they were just along for the ride on the way down the hill. It wasn’t pretty. I begged and pleaded with the legs to respond to my requests. It certainly was in the best interest of my carcass that they make at least some effort to make me resemble a skier. After all, there were trees and logs and rocks to contend with, all of which should not have presented a problem had my simple request for a few hop turns been complied with. I have taught skiing for eleven years and never had I seen a student flail in such desperate attempts to avoid semi-certain injury as I was doing during this descent. At this point I was not above the well-known braking wedge. Meanwhile the boys were way down the hill looking up at the old guy struggling down the hill wondering just how much effort it would be to drag my overweight carcass down the hill, should one of my near misses become a direct hit.

 Wonder of wonders I managed to survive all the way to the bottom without injuring myself, any trees, or any of the rest of the party.  While I was standing (barely) at the bottom feeling a sense of accomplishment for having made it up and down (even though it wasn’t pretty) this historic 70+year old trail, the boys had tied a rope to the back of the truck and were busy being towed up and down the access road. Oh to be 17 again or maybe just have 17 year old legs again.

 This was one of the best days I’ve had skiing, and I hope to be able to do it again. It may be difficult to find someone to go with me based on my previous performance, but as long as they stay far enough down the hill from me they should be safe. It might be helpful if they brought a tow rope or a comealong, a wheelbarrow, had some training in trauma medicine, or were capable of dragging 200+lbs of dead weight over irregular surfaces …

Clark Williams has spent ten seasons as a part time instructor at an eastern mountain. His fervent wish is to pursue instructing full time after retirement.