Extreme skate skiing

(Here's the latest installment of my Excursions column published in the Jackson Hole News&Guide)

By Amy Schenck

For quite some time I’ve had intentions of becoming a skate skier. Two years ago I even went so far as to pick up skis, boots and poles at a gear swap.

Shortly after obtaining the equipment I went out a few times on the trails behind the cabin where I lived in Alaska. The trails were well groomed, but far too narrow for skate skiing. My short jaunts soon became more about breathing fresh, crisp air under the full moon than actually learning how to skate ski.

Last year, now in Jackson, I again tried to go skate skiing … once, with my roommate, up Cache Creek, at 6 a.m., before work. The thermometer hovered somewhere around negative 15.

The temperatures made it so cold that I got a lot more stick than glide. Soon I was essentially classic skiing up Cache Creek as my much more skilled roommate disappeared around the bends in the trail.

So when Cory Hatch and I talked about going out skate skiing, I promptly informed him that this time I wanted a good experience. As I spoke these words, I was envisioning a 23-degree bluebird day, on freshly groomed corduroy, over Kansas-flat terrain.

How that translated into “skate skiing” through 8 inches of powder in a whiteout complete with wind gusts well over 50 miles per hour and snow dumping so thick that my braided pigtails turned into solid icicles I’m still not sure.

But it began with plans to head to Grand Targhee Resort for opening day Nov. 20. In addition to skate skiing, I wanted to test out the resort’s new beacon park … and write this column about that.

We arrived around lunchtime, just as the lifts were closing because of the ferocious weather.

I checked in with a ski patroller and Targhee hadn’t yet opened the beacon park. Its focus had been on getting the lifts cranking.

In blinding, slapping snow, Cory and I faced a decision: retreat to the warmth and comfort of home or buy a $10 ticket and venture out onto the Nordic trails. Itching for exercise, we chose the latter.

The ticket seller looked at us a little cross-eyed as we bought our tickets. The trails were groomed in the morning, she said, emphasizing morning and then glancing out from behind the booth at the snow piling up so fast that nearly an inch of snow had accumulated on our head and shoulders during the 33 seconds we stood there talking to her.

After Cory assured her he had been on the trails before and knew the routes, she handed over the tickets.

What Cory failed to mention before I agreed to this hair-brained plan was that to get to the easy terrain, we had to go up a blue and black rated slope.

So, although well-meaning, I found it far from reassuring when Cory turned to me as we were clicking into our skate skis and said something to the effect: “Don’t be too intimated by this first hill, it gets easier afterward.”

Less than a third the way up that first hill, my heart was pumping, my legs were throbbing, my core was overheating and I was totally out of breath.

I stopped to rest.

For a beginner that hill would have been brutal without the extreme weather.

Standing there, peeling layers, eating snow, I reveled in the absurdity of the situation. For some unexplainable reason, I was having fun.

With a good dose of persistence and encouragement from Cory, we eventually crested the hill into flattish open terrain.

There, we could feel our way along the groomed track. I mimicked Cory’s movements and started to figure out how to semi-effectively propel myself through the thick powder.

We occasionally veered off course, but knew immediately when we did, because the ground would give way into a fluffy abyss.

Three-plus hours later we had circled the green-rated Snowdrift Loop, pausing to cruise back and forth on the rare sections of trail that were somewhat flat and wind protected.

As we returned to the truck, I decided that extreme skate skiing isn’t nearly as miserable as it sounds. Sure, I still would like to experience that elusive bluebird, fresh corduroy day. But, in the meantime, I have yet to take out a classified ad to sell my skate skiing equipment, so I must have had a good enough time to want to give it another go.

Columnist Amy Schenck has a flair for offbeat adventures, and for befriending folks with a similar mindset.