Adrenalin and Endorphins: You Can Have it All Free-Heeling
Cross country skiing can still be done on the cheap and provides unparalleled enjoyment for millions of folks every year. Most people opt to stay with skinny skis and leather boots. The options are many: You got your ultra-lights, skate skis, race skis, carbon poles, and special gear enough to make you blush and broke. I entered the free-heeled world from alpine skiing. I like my heavy boots, that feeling of being locked and loaded, of carving tight turns and skiing glades. I also love solitude. While I could find plenty of adrenalin downhilling, untouched powder and quiet were hard to find.
Skiing regularly with an expert telemark skier, I was convinced it was time to make a break for the backcountry. A confident and very competent skier on alpine equipment, I was eager to strut my stuff on the wimpy slopes at the neighboring Nordic venue.
I opted for Karhu 10th Mountain Division backcountry skis over the skinny skis and had some burly Hammerhead binding slapped on. I paid about $200 for some high end Alpina backcountry leather boots. Going up wasn't too bad. I was grooving. The skis and boots were weightless. Granted, they felt a little flimsy. Ok, a LOT flimsy. As we switchbacked up on a green trail, I knew this was a sport for me. So quiet. Beautiful, pristine wilderness and not a lift line or a snowboarder in sight. This is IT.
Two sweaty hours later, I slid none too gracefully onto the summit of Bald Knob. I was now ready to cash in on some turns I had earned. "This," I thought, "is where the fun begins."
Not so much. Leaning forward in my flimsy boots with a free heel brought about predictable results. Superman I.
I gathered myself and my dignity up and adjusted. I leaned back and promptly fell flat on my tail.
For the next hour and a half, I weebled and wobbled all the way down. On greens. Groomed greens. No fresh pow for me. I couldn't even stay in a set track. I reverted to snow plowing and prayer. And I kept falling. The real workout for me was in getting up 20 or 30 times.
Wait a minute. I ski expert slopes. Bumps. Trees. Steeps. And I can't do this???
Let us bow our heads for a moment of silence in remembrance of my hyper-inflated ego. I made it back physically uninjured, snow covered and exhausted. I struggled to free myself from the tele-bindings. Even that's harder. After several moments of self-pity and self-flagellation, I traded my Aplina boots for some Garmont Excursion, hard plastic boots.
And I went out again the next day. The beefier boots gave me a modicum of control and much more importantly, confidence. The next weekend I took my stuff over to the downhill resort and started again. And again and again. I took telemark pointers from my husband. And I fell some more. After a few weeks I managed to ski a two-mile green without falling, linking wobbly telemark turns the entire way down. I wasn't finding adrenalin, but I was punching my tickets for freedom. What I gave up in adrenalin was more than replaced by finding endorphins and satisfaction.
This year, we passed on buying season passes at the alpine resort and saved several hundred dollars with season passes as a Nordic ski area which actually offers more vertical than the neighboring downhill venues. This is the year that Ullr, the Norse God of Skiing, has blessed us with epic powder. I am now skiing back country powder clumsily and haltingly, but I'm doing it. And every successful tele turn is as sweet as clover honey. I am now rewarded with both adrenalin and endorphins. I still strap on my alpine gear for some flawless runs at lift-serviced resorts, but there's nothing sweeter than earning a turn. Nothing.
