I was nervous and excited as we gassed up the other two snowmobiles and prepared for our full-moon ride out into the snow-covered backcountry. We passed around a flask of brandy for “warmth” and I was curious about how far out we already were anyway. Wasn’t Fulford in the backcountry? We had driven miles into Sylvan Lake’s forest area, plus a 20-minute snowmobile ride to get here. How much further would we be going?
The moon was so bright it cast shadows, and the reflection of the snow lit everything up with ambient light, the whole scene was straight out of a Christmas movie. I was spellbound. And so excited, hopping around in the snow, impatient to get going, it occurred to me that I had only operated a snowmobile on my own once before.
The winter before, my sister, Michelle, had been a concierge at the hotel she worked at, and throughout the season, most local vendors had “locals appreciation” days where they would invite the concierge staff plus 4-ish other “staff members” to experience the various activities they offered.
It was always a win/win, as locals, we got to do cool stuff with great local companies (snowmobiling, snowcat tours, backcountry hikes with lunch, sleigh rides, ski-biking and tubing in the winter, rafting in the spring and horseback riding, frisbee golf, ultimate which is a relative of frisbee golf, actual golf, and Vail Pass bike rides in the summer – riding from the top of Vail Pass descending about 2,000 feet in elevation into the village, all downhill, of course, none of the uphill shenanigans) or eat at amazing restaurants. The businesses got free advertising because that was about the time that Oprah had declared the best way to “get the most out of your ski town experience” was to ask the locals what they did, where they ate, and which activities they would recommend.
Of course, if we had context, we were more than happy to tell people about the cool trip we’d just done with company X.
Win/win.
We roared out of the village following Pooch, four snowmobiles heading into the forest. The lights on the snowmobiles were like tiny pinpricks of yellow light, making barely a difference under the bright moon. My breath was almost solid, fogging up my goggles, it seemed like I was breathing solid clouds of vapor, so I started blowing my breath down into my neck gaiter, which would be warm for about a split second and then freezing as the night temperatures claimed it.
We blasted through the forest before leaving the path (or what I imagined was a path) weaving between the tall trees, Pooch seemed to know where he was going.
After a mile or so, we came to a clearing, which stretched as far as the eye could see, we stopped and turned off the machines so Pooch could speak to us.
He pointed out where to ride and where to not ride. Seemed simple enough. Oh and avoid going too far towards the edge of the plateau as it was a cliff. And there was a stream under the snow somewhere on the right. He suggested we follow him around the perimeter for a lap so we knew where to go. OK. No worries.
He took off and we followed, laughing and yelling, standing up as we launched over small lumps…hills? Logs? Who knew? It was so much fun! He took us over to the edge of the plateau and we appreciated the full view from the cliff, it was breathtaking. The forested mountains stretched out for miles and the New York Mountain range (I didn’t actually know it had a name until Pooch told us) glowed under the moon and starlit night. This was Colorado. If I hadn’t loved this incredible state before, for everything I gained since I had lived there, that moment really placed it firmly in my heart.
Then we blasted around the field for what felt like ages, carving deep lines in the snowy field, mostly oblivious to the below-freezing temperatures, and propelled by adrenaline with the childlike glee of waking up early on Christmas morning, speeding in giant figure eights and in tight turns, popping over snowy mounds and blasting from one end of the plateau to the other. Michelle found the stream, her snowmobile nose-dived into the bank, and she rolled off, which was hilarious, (especially seeing as she was unscathed) and it took all four of us to pull her machine out.
It was about then that Pooch suggested we headed back before we ran out of fuel.
I had no idea how long we had been out but the moon was in a different place in the sky and I realized I couldn’t feel my nose or lips. The hand and foot warmers had stopped working long ago and were now just uncomfortable lumps in my boots, gloves, and pockets.
A slower ride took us back to the cabin and we were surprised to see it was 3:00 am. Holy cow. How did that happen? Any effects of the alcohol we had previously consumed were well and truly gone by then, and we were freezing and starving. Pooch pulled out some hot chocolate sachets, stoked up the pot belly stove, and found some MREs (Meals Ready to Eat) – an army staple. He gave me the big metal kettle and told me to fill it up with snow. Only the white stuff, no yellow.
When I came back Jason regaled us with hilarious stories of MREs from his time in the army and Michelle and I watched with wonder as they heated themselves in only a few minutes after being activated. And they were not too bad, once you got over the fact that they had a life span of 3-5 years depending on storage, they covered all nutrition requirements and came with dessert too.
I was still new enough to the US to be highly suspicious of the huge range of food and drinks that came in freeze-dried sachets with ridiculous life spans, I mean how good is that foodlike substance really for you? But none of us had actually eaten a meal since the previous day’s lunch, so hey, when in Rome right?
Pooch made our hot chocolates in giant metal mugs with a healthy dash of brandy “to help us sleep”, and they were actually pretty good. Even the weird little dehydrated marshmallows were recognizable. Maybe these sachets can be trusted after all.
- I’ve since realized that nope, only in a “survival” type situation such as 3:30 am in a freezing cabin in the middle of nowhere, or say, when you return to your hurricane-ravaged island home and have no power for a week do those foodlike products taste good. They do have the added bonus of completely clogging you up, so at least you won’t have to worry about unnecessary trips to the bathroom for a couple of days if say toilet paper or unreliable plumbing is a worry or something.
We propped our gloves and boots up around the potbelly so they wouldn’t freeze overnight. After indulging in our “meal” and watching the pot belly consume the firewood we fed into it for a while, Jason and I went upstairs across a weird catwalk that overlooked the entire downstairs area to the bedroom and climbed into bed fully clothed. There was a full-sized elk skin as the top blanket, which made the blankets very heavy, yet strangely comforting. And after hugging each other as tight as we could to get warm, Jason and I drifted off into sleep.
I woke up to the sounds of the pot belly being stoked up. It turned out Michelle and Pooch had stayed in front of it all night, stretched out (as much as they could) in the two oversized wooden rocking chairs, with more animal skins covering them. The cabin was kind of warm, enough to leave off your heavy outdoor jacket but no other layers and not the pants. It was still only 8 AM, but we were awake and decided we should head back. We could nap and shower when we got home. At that point, I had never wanted a shower so much in my life. You know that road trip or camping grimey feeling? It was like that but with added fumes trapped in our hair and lungs. The mix of snowmobile fuel and log cabin fire that had been so charming a few hours ago was replaced with a desire to be warm and clean and to brush my teeth.
We were in good spirits though, laughing and joking about the previous night’s adventure.
More instant hot chocolate – sans brandy, we all declined the opportunity for another MRE, still feeling the rocks in our guts from the ones consumed 4 or so hours before. We didn’t have much to pick up, just our trash. We were leaving with everything we had bought, in fact, we were wearing everything we bought. We headed back outside to the snowmobiles. It was a beautiful bluebird Colorado day. There were a few elk visible at the very edge of the cabin area, about 100 feet away, I was surprised at how big they seemed with their thick woolly winter coats when we were just fragile humans standing there, in their territory, not in a vehicle. They were not concerned with our presence and moved back into the forest silently.
The sky is deep blue and endless in Colorado, and I mean deep, deep blue. Not the pale washed-out blue seen almost everywhere else around the country.
It was still ridiculously cold. And I realized I could not feel my feet, in fact, I had not felt them for hours, they had momentarily come back when I put my fire-warmed boots back on, but that was gone as soon as we got outside onto the snow-covered ground. The air was crisp and there were small birds flying around, I was surprised at just how many birds were flitting about. I guess not all birds fly south for the winter. We helped Pooch close up the cabin and cover the other two snowmobiles and headed back down to the trailhead where we had left our cars.
Riding on the back of the snowmobile on the way back down felt like we were heading somewhere entirely new. The bright moonlit shadows had portrayed a completely different mental image of the scenery, now it was shady and icey, and easier to follow the road carved out of the mountain, we were blocked from seeing anything beyond the road and the trees but then there would be a brief clearing and a glimpse of the incredible expanse of wilderness we were in the middle of.
We made it back to the cars and parked the snowmobiles next to the others that were stored there, obviously, it was as popular in winter as it was in summer. Pooch checked that everything was secure and we drove back through the Sylvan Lake wilderness, we saw a wild turkey and a moose on our way from extremely nowhere, passing through the icey dirt roads then onto a single-lane tarmac road, and closer and closer back to civilization until we reached the interstate. We stopped off at a diner for some actual breakfast and headed back to Vail, back to our touristy ski town, grateful for the experience and completely unplanned night. In awe of the majestic, stark beauty of the backcountry wilderness.
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