This is Backcountry

This is Backcountry. Here, blood meets rock, sweat meets trail, and the well-worn path to a routine existence reaches its terminus. This is an invitation to feed your wanderlust, to rediscover the spark inside you and feel the strain of your muscles against the forces of nature. Every second is about action—it's gas and a match fed to grit and determination. Take a glimpse, and then take another — we get it, and this is what we call #goatworthy



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Outdoor Research Tiny House Tour- Season 2, Episode 4 | British Columbia Pillows

There is the discovery, when your eyes catch the first glimpse of a pillow line. Your mind quickly assesses the fun factor, believing how easy it will be to effortlessly drop from one marshmallow cloud to the next. Why wouldn't you ski these pillows? You start hiking. At the top, the world looks a bit different. Disorientation follows, as you realize you have no idea where those inviting little puffs actually live. They seem to have crept away leaving you standing with only a visual of the flat snow at the bottom. But you decide to drop in because you've got a feeling that this is something you can do, something that you'll love. You trust the pillows and your ability to make just enough contact with your skis that it counts, but not enough to stop the momentum in the graceful pillow line pseudo fall.

The moment when you point your skis downwards a flash image of the line appears in your mind. One pseudo-turn. Oooh, nice snow—this is going to be memorable. Then, maybe a jolt or two? A face shot mid-line? A flat landing at the bottom? And then it's over. You can't recall every detail of the line. Maybe you can't remember any at all. But the dream state is still with you. Just as it should be, because skiing isn't about overanalyzing. Once you've decided to ski a pillow line, it's see it, feel it, and go.

Words by Molly Baker

Outdoor Research Tiny House Tour- Season 2, Episode 3 in Utah

Every moment in the mountains lends an opportunity to learn. A lifetime education awaits those willing to explore, watch, and listen. And sometimes we meet purveyors of the knowledge, people who have made it their intention to understand the intricacies of the snow, and share what they've learned about the many varieties of a snowflake. These snow aficionados are our greatest educators, devoted to dissecting the element that brings skiers life and death simultaneously.

The tiny house arrived in Utah at the beginning of a storm cycle that would invigorate the mountain community with pow turns, while burying a weak layer in the snowpack that would require trepidation in the backcountry. In the two weeks the tiny house lived in Utah, many slides were seen and experienced by skiers and snowboarders across the Wasatch. Instead of playing their usual roles in this act, they became the audience and learned from a friend of the Utah Avalanche Center, Trent Meisenheimer, a passionate snow safety ambassador who grew up at the mouth of Little Cottonwood Canyon.

Following Trent and his father Bruce (a man who should be put in the Ski-Loving Father Hall of Fame) into the special ski stashes of the Cottonwoods (yes, they still exist), the OR team investigated their own capacity to learn and re-learn what they already thought they knew. You're never too experienced in the backcountry. And there is always something new to digest.

“Education is the process of living, not preparation for the future.”


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Outdoor Research Tiny House Tour- Season 2, Episode 2

Words from Molly Baker-
All of us have mountains and lines that beckon to us every day, every season, every turn—Giants that loom in the periphery of our memory and thoughts. These monoliths sleep in our wildest dreams. And sometimes they creep slowly, after years of hoping and wanting, into our reality. These lines turn into days of our life that we’ll never forget. They trump weddings, graduations, and other celebrations because they represent an achievement that others can’t understand unless they spent that day with you, saw you make those turns, and felt what it was like to be in those places. These mountains and lines are officiators of greatness, if only in our own psyche. But they signify greatness that you’ll never forget (and may never surpass) because being invited into the wild by a mountain is like heaven’s doors opening for your welcome.

This December we were called into the living room of one of our favorite peaks, a mansion that stoops over our existence every day we’ve ever skied in Washington’s North Cascades. Each time we’ve ventured into the threshold of this esteemed range, we’ve cautiously dusted off our shoes at the door hesitantly asking, “Are you sure?” But the mountain has been a gracious host. Polite and accommodating, serving up everything we’d hoped for as an intimidated guest.

On our 15-hour mission in December, the gates opened with an honest certainty. Snow stability and freshness we’re expected as we climbed the nearly 7,000 vertical feet to the summit. After skiing that same distance in warm sunlight, but cold crystallized powder, back down to the valley floor, we were only half way done with the mission. We still had to go home. We still had to get back to the tiny house two drainages and another climb away. Our day and night we’re not over.

Invitations can be just like that. You can’t make assumptions based on your R.S.V.P. The party might go on for longer than you’d hoped. And mountains are surprising hosts, often temperamental. But, sometimes they let you slip out the back door, going unnoticed, like the quiet guest who sat in the corner, barely uttering a sound, but soaking in all the glorious sounds, smells, and sights, of people enjoying the time that they are alive.

Outdoor Research Tiny House Tour- Season 2, Episode 1

When 100 trees fell in December closing highway 542 to leading Mt Baker Ski Resort, We all felt pretty lucky to be in position ready to slay the untouched pow. Episode 1 - stay tuned for more coming soon from Outdoor Research
Words from Molly Baker:
Everyone wants to be the all-sacrificing powder hound, vagabonding from storm to storm, with no possessions, a bank devoid of money, but full of powder turns. In some places, we know true ski bums. People who don’t have cars, jobs, friends on powder days, or houses (or at least houses that don’t live in trees).

We know Ben Price.

A true specimen, and maybe one of the last of his kind, Ben lives deep, deep in the Cascade Mountains, living out of his tree house, a map of the peaks engrained in his mind, and more of a dedication to making turns and finding adventure than anyone you’ll meet in the mountains these days. And he does it because of one reason…wait for it…because he wants to.

Before the days of the glory and fame of the vibrant, mowhaked professional skier of the 90’s to the energy drinking XGames youth of today, there were local heroes, people who skied because of the freedom and counter-culture found in the mountains. There was some risk involved in this—giving up everything to find solace in the powder. Comforts were gone, but enlightenment was found by the skiers living in the parking lot on the periphery of what was normal.

As a snow loving community we’ve come full circle and today we’re all looking for that kind of hero. We need to draw inspiration from something unfamiliar, someone not constructed in the minds of a marketing team, but from a genuine icon—a legendary ski bum. We’re looking for Ben Price.

We found him in Washington this December and parked our tiny house in his kingdom, following this splitboarding cowboy to the last frontier. Unexplored mountains and unknown pillow lines were found. And we also discovered that in the world of ski bums there’s everyone else and then there’s Ben Price (a true snow loving freak who would hate us if he knew we put him on the Internet).

Steelhead and Spines- The Provo Bros

Steelhead and Spines- The Provo Bros from The Provo Bros on Vimeo.

Our addiction to mountains and rivers has always had us looking north to Alaska, where big fish and mountains existed on a level we had only experienced in our dreams. As the winter of 2012 continued to disappoint in the lower 48, it was obvious that Alaska was being buried in snow. It seemed like the time was right, that maybe after 10 years of "practice" in Utah, we were ready for our journey north. We hit the road in March, putting everything we had into our first and for all we knew, our last adventure to Alaska, with two things on our mind, steelhead and spines.
We joined forces with three of our friends from Utah, for a ski-plane assisted camping expedition in the heart of south eastern Alaska's backcountry. Over 50 miles by wing from the nearest road, our pilot dropped the 5 of us off on a big lonely glacier encircled by jagged mountains, and in the spirit of adventure, wished us good luck. We would need it. From that point on, the feeling of being completely alone in a wild and unknown land for the first time in our lives penetrated every cell in our bodies. Only one person in our group had ever been to Alaska, Chris Coulter. On day 8 when he suddenly left to work in Haines as a heli guide, the feeling of isolation crept deeper into our minds, and it had never felt so good.
We chose to do this trip without any guides, plans, itineraries, or rules simply because we wanted to have our own experience. We wanted it to be raw, unknown, and we wanted it to be an adventure. Of course the style we chose made things much more difficult for us than they could have been, but the feeling of accomplishment was immense. We found glorious spines to ride, and stumbled upon one of the best runs of wild Steelhead in the world. Returning home safely from our first journey to Alaska signified a successful mission, along with the wonderful new memories from the greatest riding and fishing experiences of our lives.

Snurfing safari 2012

This season kicked off with a good storm in october that left us with a good amount of snow. In classic utah form it sat there for almost a month before another storm arrived. When the snow came back, it came in full force. A good 50 inches fell in little cottonwood making for a perfect pow surfing base.

Andrew Miller photo^

First turns for 2012-2013 season- October 24th

Just like that, old man winter opened the door and flipped the switch. A solid storm came in on October 23rd and skipped over the southern end of the Wasatch, but absolutely pounded up north at Powder Mountain . We headed up early the next morning to find ourselves submerged in mid winter, over the head conditions. A complete opposite to the days prior on the river!

From dirt and rock to this in a matter of 1 day. Ian provo photo^

Ian getting a face full of october blower! what a day...
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Steelhead & Spines trip report on Orvis News

Originally posted on the orvisnews.com blog. HUGE thanks goes out to The Orvis Company for making the best rods on earth! Here is a write up my brother Ian did that gives you a good idea about our trip to AK and back.

My brother Neil and I had talked about going to Alaska for many years, but the idea to combine fishing and skiing in one trip was kind of new to us. For two diehard ski and fish bums, it seemed like the trip of a lifetime, and the perfect way to see Alaska for the first time. You can only talk about doing something for so long before the urge to bring it to reality becomes too much. We reached that point, and for the first time in our lives we could make this trip happen. By doing everything on our own, it was obvious we were in for a big learning experience and perhaps more failure than success. Without guides, or planned itineraries, the rawness of the adventure was left completely intact. For us, it was important to experience these new mountains and rivers from the ground up, and it didn't matter if someone had done it before or done something greater, because this was going to be our adventure.

For 18 days, we lived on a glacier, 50 miles by plane from the nearest anything, with a couple of our buddies from Utah who were also looking for their first Alaskan experiences. We got plenty of those. From the moment our pilot, Drake, set his plane down till the day he arrived to bring us home, the feeling of being totally isolated and alone for the first time in my life never left my thoughts for a moment. We slowly worked our way into the greatest mountains any of us had ever seen, battling the weather and snow, avalanches, and our own minds. Coming off the glacier, our crew smelling like a massive pile, we knew we had done some things wrong, but we did a lot of things right, and that was certainly something to be proud of. After the mentally and physically exhausting glacier expedition, it was a great relief to finally set our sights on the water. But knowing absolutely nothing about steelhead fishing or where we would go, the anxiety and uncertainty quickly returned. It was very clear to us that if there was going to be any "Steelhead & Spines" concept, well than one of us had better land a fish on this trip, and it should probably be a good one. We decided to fish a river not far from our base camp in Haines, in Southeast Alaska. But like most good adventures up here, this one had to start out with a bush plane. Once again, we found ourselves flying with Drake through the nastiest mountains our eyes have ever seen; it was hard to believe we were going fishing. When we landed in the small fishing village of Yakutat, there were still a two-meter snowpack at sea level. Some of the locals told us not to be afraid of the brown bears who were waking up, but rather to watch out for the moose in the river that will run your ass down. For three days, we drifted our raft down through the thick cover, camping wherever we could find a dry spot to pitch our tent. We picked the brains of some hardcore steelheaders, and with that knowledge we were able to develop our own technique.

On the first day, we had a bite, and on the second day Neil stuck our first steelhead after thousands of casts. It was, at that point, the biggest fish of his life. It was coming together for us, and we were learning about the style. On the third day, gear soaked from 36 hours of nonstop rain, our morale was low, but we continued to put a fly in every hole. Once again, Neil was on the rod when it got bent for the second time of the trip. After only five casts through a beautifully undercut and sticky sweeper, the fish we were dreaming about was on. After this fish was released, we had never felt more accomplished. Coming to Alaska, we had only two goals, ride the line and catch the fish of our lives. It didn't matter if only one of us achieved each goal, because we were working as a team and none of the goals would have been reached without the help of each other. The Steelhead & Spines mission was complete, and we began the long drive home knowing that we had the most Alaskan experience we could have ever hoped for. After finally being exposed to this great land, it will be impossible for us to ignore the desire to return.

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STEELHEAD & SPINES- 2012 trip to Alaska

From the first time i strapped into a snowboard 16 years ago till this day, Alaska has been the ultimate dreamland in my mind. living in Connecticut in the late 90's watching old shred films with huge mountains and deep snow, i knew i wanted to live my life out west. After this last decade of amazing winters in Utah, my brother Ian and i agreed it was time for us to explore further north then we had ever been before. This spring we are taking our camper, skis, snowboards, and fly rods on a road trip up through the interior of BC up to Haines Alaska. The ultimate destination as a skier, snowboarder and fly fisherman.

After some pillow mashing in BC on our journey north, we plan to meet with Chris Coulter, Zack Clanton, Tony Pavlantos, and the Caldwell Bros to set off on what will be the craziest snowboard mission in my life! We'll be taking a prop plane high into the alpine where we'll set up camp, and pick off spine lines for 3 weeks. Really looking forward to my first AK experience, who knows, maybe i can even get in a heli! More to come on the expedition side of things...

When the skiing and snowboarding come to an end, the next passion in life will take over- Fly fishing. The coastline of AK and BC is not only dream spot for snowboarding, but equally so for fly fishing. In hopes of hooking our first wild steelhead on the fly, Ian and i will make our way south of alaska into some of the best rivers on the planet. Watermaster boats, big fish rods, new flies, and new techniques are sure to make for some exciting new experiences on the water.
http://www.orvisnews.com/FlyFishing/The-Start-of-a-Great-Adventure.aspx



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