The Ahlers

Well this is pretty cool. Best new ski film for next season? It gets my vote so far...

We (okay, I) have a long-running tradition of hiking up Mt. Si after work on (or a few days on either side) the summer solistice. We shoot for reaching the top just before sunset, and once there, we watch the sun go down, eat a quick snack, and head back down the trail. Since it gets pretty dark in the trees pretty quickly, headlamps are required equipment.

This year was a bit different because when I sent out the email to see which day people wanted to go--Monday or Wednesday--the answers were split right down the middle. Whatever, I thought--I'll go both days. And so I did. Monday was with Allen and Matt, and Wednesday was with Isabella, Mike, and Jim. Great times both evenings. (Melissa was busy working. :( )

Pictures can be found here. I put both nights in one gallery, so the second night starts with the picture of Mike drinking a beer. :)

The Seattle Times: Pacific Northwest Magazine : Our Social Disease

I find this really frustrating. The Seattle Freeze? WTF?

I don't think we're any different than anywhere else. Sure, we have the niceness/politeness thing going for us, and I think that's what leads to the perception of the Seattle Freeze. On one hand we're so nice and polite, but we're just as reserved as people anywhere else, and it's the juxstaposition of the two that makes it seem like it's chilier here than anywhere else. If we were not so nice (or even downright rude), that reservedness/chill/freeze wouldn't seem like any big deal.

But as a friend says, perception is reality, so maybe there's something to this. Maybe it's something about setting expectations too high by being so nice and polite (goes to my juxstaposition argument above). Admittedly, I live in a special place where the community bond is tighter than any other place I've ever heard about. And maybe I don't notice it because I'm mostly shy anyway.

At any rate, I guess I just can't really relate to it. But I'm interested to know--what do *you* think?

Update: Mike sent some pictures of us that his crew took from Roxie. (They were in the same area for an SYC regatta.) You'll find them here.

Jim and the gang (me included) took Jake and Elwood over to Port Madison on Saturday morning for a two-day Melges 24 regatta hosted by the Port Madison Yacht Club.

Random observations from the weekend:

• Spinning a deck umbrella around with your shrouds is tricky business.
• Don't assume your outboard is gassed up when you leave the dock.
• It's nice to have reverse on your outboard while you're navigating into, through, and out of the locks (esp. when another boat starts reversing into you), but it isn't absolutely necessary.
• It's nice to have easily accessible gas on/off and choke controls on your outboard, but again it isn't absolutely necessary.
  
• Sunscreen: early, often, and Josh, don't forget the arms.
• Jim doesn't bring cold beers on Elwood for after the race, so someone else needs to be in charge of the mini cooler.
• Drawing a "W" on another boat with your stern pulpit makes a loud noise. The collolary to that is a spinnaker pole stuck in your backstay bridle is difficult if not impossible to free without the other boat actually retracting their pole.
  
• Getting tar and creosote on your boat sucks.
• A minus 2.5 low tide makes Port Madison a little on the stinky side.
• Hitting a deadhead with the bow, the keel, and the rudder at 9+ knots going downwind can do some damage.
• When towing a Melges at 15 knots in 2-3 foot swells: better to be in the towboat than the Melges.
• 13+ knots downwind is fun.
  

A friend came up with a credo for the summer, and I really thought this was a great idea. The day before the first official day of summer seems like the perfect time to come up with one. I prefer to think of it as a manifesto, and below you'll find mine. They're in no particular order.

1. No TV. Period. (Okay, at least no TV while I'm at home--I'm not going to walk out of a bar or something if the TV is on. And World Cup doesn't count.) I'm sick of wasting time watching TV. And I didn't really even watch that much--maybe 3 hours a week?
   
2. Happy hour at least once a week. Remember, not ever getting to hang out with friends after work was one of the reasons why M$ sucked.
   
3. Sailing. Often. Weekly at least is obvious. If I only had a Laser, it'd be more often. :)
   
4. Hiking. Regularly. Weekly, perhaps? I could get used to this after work hiking thing, I think.
   
5. Skiing at least once a month. Backcountry, sidecountry, frontcountry. Doesn't matter. I'm thinking maybe Whistler, Mt. Hood, and some serious hiking.
   
6. Power boating. Early and often. Maybe once a week to a happy hour? :) We didn't use the powerboat very often last summer (crazy, eh?), and I'm fixin' to change that.
   
7. One backpacking trip (overnight) at least once a month. I'm on track so far, I think. Gotta get some more on the calendar.
   
8. Reading 30 minutes a day.

What am I missing?

Gots to go. I still have some reading to do today... :)

On Sunday, we slept in, no doubt about it. I was up first, and the other two didn't emerge from the tent until 9 am. Dang, good thing we didn't think we needed an early start...

But it was definitely a bluebird day, not a cloud in the sky as far as I could see. After a moderately speedy packing up and departure, we hit the road by 10 am. By 11 am, we were on the snow, ready for the ascent.

(I should probably mention that I've never been to Camp Muir. Heck, I've barely spent any time at Mt. Rainier. Strange, isn't it? Bill has been to Rainier a few times, and even hiked up to Muir in the late summer once. Libby has been to Muir countless times, and summitted once last summer. Neither of them had ever skied down from Muir.)

It took us about 40 minutes to get to where Bill and I had turned around the day before after an hour's travel. We weren't in any kind of hurry the day before, and we were still getting used to the gear. But on Sunday, it was almost noon and the sun was blazing, which made for a very hot hike.

At that point, we were ready to take on the first real challenge -- the steep section up to Panorama Point. Since Libby was hiking up with her ski boots in her back and her skis strapped to her pack, she was already prepared for the hike. Bill and I had to take off our skis and strap them to our packs to begin that portion of the ascent.




It wasn't too bad since there was a substatial number of people who had already kindly boot packed a set of "steps" in the snow. But still, we were closing in on 7,000 feet, and for this sea-level dweller, I could start telling the difference between training at 0 feet and doing the real thing at altitude.



Once we gained the ridge that forms Pan Point, it was substantially less steep, but there were a few rock bands we had to cross through, so Bill and I kept our skis on the packs. (Side note: I didn't plan on carrying my skis like this for very long, so I really didn't try very hard to strap my skis in well. This would turn out to be really annoying since the ski on my right kept hitting me in the head as I walked, and they didn't exactly help my balance as they were waving around in the air.)

Once we got to Pebble Creek at around 7100 feet, (PDF map of most of the trip from Pan Point to Camp Muir), Libby allowed us to stop for a quick bite to eat and a little bit of sun. Okay, it was a lot of sun. We had already lathered up at the parking lot, at the bottom of the steep climb up to Pan Point, and now we were doing it again. And you don't want to use that cheap sunscreen they sell at the grocery store. No, that stuff sweats off too easily. You want to use the thick stuff, the stuff that's like Vaseline when you're rubbing into your skin. And don't miss any spots or you'll come out looking a bit blotchy. (Right, Libby? :)

At this point, Bill and I hiked a little longer with skis on packs and then decided to put the skis back on our feet. The way I figured it: we rented this crazy randonee stuff precisely so we could go uphill with the skis on our feet, not in/on our packs, so let's give it a try. Plus, the skis attached to my pack were really starting to bug me.

So Bill and I started skinning up again. The terrain on the Muir snowfield was slightly steeper in general than the first section we skinned up from the parking lot, so we did a little more traversing and switchbacking than we did before. Libby at this point really started motoring up the slope. Or was it that she was going the same speed and we had slowed down? No matter, the net effect was the same -- Bill and I were falling way back. After a particularly steep section of many, many switchbacks, we charged over to some rocks and rested again for a bit. The weather at this point had gone a little south, with the bottoms of the clouds just barely above us. We felt a few rain drops a few times, but it wasn't too bad.

After our break, we put the skis back on and started skinning again. Before too long, we saw Libby on her way back down, ripping up the slopes like a champ. We chatted for a few minutes before deciding that it was probably turnaround time. The weather up at Muir wasn't great -- Libby said it had started to snow up there -- and it was 3:45 already. So Bill and I put on jackets, turned everything into downhill mode, and we were off. In hindsight, we think we were at about 9,000 feet (Muir is about 10,100) and about 3/4th of a mile from Muir. Looking at the map afterwards, we determined we were just south of Moon Rocks. If we had taken another hour (or started an hour earlier, dammit!), we could have easily made it up there before it got to be too late.

On the way down, we crossed paths with some pretty badass skiers who looked like they had just summited the mountain and were skiing back down again. Wow. The two groups consulted with each other several times since we were all trying to maximize the skiing and minimize the number of times we'd have to remove skis and walk across the rock sections. They ended up getting down faster than us, so we lost track of exactly how they got down.


The snow conditions were what I'd call extremely variable. Some places were soft and smooth enough that you could get some pretty regular turns in. Other places were a little more challenging, especially when we crossed the many, many boot tracks that hikers had left in there. Given the extremely variable conditions, everyone skied well. Heck, I think I was the one who fell the most (or at least had to put a hand down to stop a few falls).

Libby picked the best line and ended up only having to take her skis off once. Bill and I, being a little lazier, took a slightly lower line and were force to do an extra little hike. Oh well.

The final challenge for us was getting down the steep section from Pan Point. We didn't want to take the route we took going uphill since it was totally boot packed and glisade path-ridden. We ended up going down a small chute to skier's right of the uphill route, with the crux of it being a moderately steep entrance. I was nominated to be the guinea pig ("they're rentals!"), and it turned out to be no problem. After that, it was just a long, mostly flat ski out to the parking lot. It was perfect timing too since it started raining when we were about 5 minutes from the cars.

After changing, we drove down the mountain a ways, had some celebratory beers at a scenic lookout, and talked about the next AT adventure. Mt. Adams, anyone? :)

Looking back on the weekend, I'm glad to know my fitness level is at least in the ballpark of getting me to Muir and back. I still have a ways to go before I think I'll be able to fly up the slopes like some people can. The skiing itself was outstanding. Not the snow quality per se, but just the fact that I got to do it in such a scenic location in mid-June. And skinning up vs. hiking? Somewhat undecided. I think if I had a bit more practice (and equipment that I owned that fit and functioned well), it would definitely be less work (and hopefully just as fast) as hiking. And lastly, it helped to have a couple of patient ski bums for partners too. :)

Now that you've read this far, you're entitled to take a look at the rest of the pictures. And read Libby's account of it.

On Saturday, Bill and I drove over to Marmot in Bellevue to rent our gear. We got on the road later than planned (my fault) and Marmot took forever to get our skis ready. I was hoping to be out of there by 10 am, and we didn't leave till noon. And then the drive down took much longer than planned since we ended up making a number of stops to get food, gas, and lunch.

We finally drove up to Paradise at about 3 pm and hunted for a parking spot. (They're doing all kinds of construction up there right now, so parking is at a premium.) The weather wasn't fantastic, but at least it was only cloudy -- not pouring rain like it was lower on the mountain during the drive up.

After putting on appropriate clothes, we walked over to the snow (which still comes all the way down to the parking lot), walked up about 100 yards, and started figuring out how all of this new gear works. Boots in bindings? Check. Uphill mode on boots and bindings? Check. Downhill mode on boots and bindings? Check. Attaching skins to skis? Check. Hey, this ain't so hard!

We took a bit of time to get the hang of things and and ended going uphill for about an hour, arriving just below Panorama Point around 5 pm. We took a short break, got to see The Mountain peeking in and out of the clouds, and put everything in downhill mode.

Bill did pretty well for being a relatively new skier in general. I, on the other hand, hated the skis I ended up with. For whatever reason, I couldn't turn the stupid things to save my life. I couldn't initiate turns, and I could finish turns (the tails kept washing out). Man, now I remember what a new skier feels like. Oh well, it was still a blast and we were back at the car in 15-20 minutes.

We hopped in the car, drove down to Cougar Rock campground and set up shop. Heated some water, cooked some dinner, and started the fire. Libby showed up around 9:30 (had to work most of the day) and we hung out for way too long chatting about whatever -- okay, mostly about skiing/backpacking/other adventure trips. I guess a campfire has that affect on you.



Two perpetual jokes that evening. My tent was supposed to be big enough for all three of us, but it sure didn't look like it after we got it set up. It turned out to be fine. The second was my attempt at a no-bake cheesecake -- which was recommended to me by a certain someone who said they work great on camping trips. I was told mine tasted somewhat powdery, and didn't set enough such that it ended up being a vanilla pudding cake. Whatever. *I* thought it tasted good. :)

Over this past weekend, Bill -- a friend from soccer, sailing, skiing, and backpacking -- and Libby -- a friend from work, indoor climbing, and skiing -- and I made an attempt on Camp Muir on Mt. Rainier. Okay, fine, Bill and I are the ones that attempted and Libby completely kicked our asses and made it up to Muir. (Melissa was in NYC for a bachelorette party.)


Bill and I were both primarily interested in trying out some rented backcountry skis. They call it randonee (which some would define as French for "can't tele") or Alpine Touring (AT). For the most part, the skis are the same (except somewhat lighter weight skis that are especially designed for AT). The boots and bindings are where the real differences exist. When the bindings are in downhill mode, they operate exactly like regular downhill alpine bindings, holding the toe and heel down solid, but releasing in the case of a bad fall. But they also have an uphill mode: the toe stays attached to the ski, but the heel is allowed to flex upward, like a typical cross country binding. It's hard to explain without being able to show how they work, but they're really quite ingenious. They've clearly done a ton of work figuring out how these things should operate -- for instance, it doesn't actually hinge where the toe piece would normally attach to the ski; it hinges in *front* of that, giving you more lift and more leverage as you're traveling uphill.



At first glance, the boots look a lot like regular alpine downhill boots -- hard plastic shells with buckles, soft and flexible liners -- but they also have two distinct modes. You guessed it -- one for downhill and one for uphill. The latter makes walking much easier and more comfortable, especially uphill.

And the last pieces of equipment that make going uphill relatively easy are called skins. They're a long strip of rubbery nylon, with really, really sticky glue on one side, and short, stiff nylon bristles on the other. The bristles are all oriented in a single direction, so rubbing that side of the skin feel a little like shark skin or fish scales -- you rub one way and it's totally smooth. You rub the other way and you can barely move your fingers. This is what allows you to get uphill -- with the skins mounted on the skis (sticky side in), you can move them forward easily, but it's really hard to move them backwards.

The theory -- and this is what we were anxious to find out -- is that "skinning" up the slope takes less effort than putting your downhill skis and boots in your pack and hiking up. I read somewhere it's supposed to be 30% easier, but that wasn't any kind of scientific study or anything. You can't go straight up really steep slopes like you could if you were just hiking, but overall, it's supposed to average out to be just about as fast without as much effort. So much for theory...

Jim, Bill, and I went on a great hike on Saturday. Excellent weather, and not too many people. Check out the pictures.

Okay, we weren't exactly last place this week, but we might as well be. It wasn't our finest Duck Dodge moment, but it wasn't our worst either.

It was another one of those nights like the first DD this year, where it was at least 70 degrees (twice in May!!) and no wind. We picked up Emily at the gas dock, puttered around until just before the start, and then tried to find a spot on the line. Didn't really work out for us, it turns out. We had a horrible start, and it just got worse from there. The boats that were able to get off the start line did okay--the wind was filling in from the north, and we were all headed to Freeway, so it worked out great for them. When the wind finally got to us, they were minutes and minutes ahead of us. It also was the shortest posted race that any of us could remember: Freeway, Aurora, Finish. Once around.

Crazy.