In 1970 I was a high school student in Seattle when I first saw Dick Barrymore’s The Performers, a film about five skiers traveling the country in a van on the edge of a new style of skiing. It made such a huge impression on me that in 1972 I schemed my way to Sun Valley, and turned my college education upside down by taking winters off. All I wanted to do was live that vagabond life in front of the camera.

Three years later, through a bit of luck and good timing, I was living the dream as a member of the K2 Team. Along with Jim Stelling, Stan Larsen, Jim Garrison, Mike Grazier, and Wayne Wong, I strutted my stuff in Assignment K2, Barrymore’s sequel to The Performers.
We toured Europe for a month with Jean Claude Killy, an experience I would re-live in a heartbeat.

Stelling, Bob Burns, and Corky Fowler were my heroes back then, but no one made an impression on me like Wayne Wong.

As Skiing magazine's 1972 Freestyler of thee year, he was the poster child of the emerging hot-dog attitude. I remember standing at the top of Round House in Sun Valley, at my first Chevy contest in ’72, watching everyone flipping around and doing their tricks, and then Wong showed up. He had an aura about him. A year earlier he had taken third place at the Waterville National Exhibition, and his image—the white glasses and toothy grin, deeply tanned face, black mop of hair—was everywhere, in magazines and even in a nationally aired Pepsi commercial. I snatched an opening and jumped on the T-bar with him to learn all his secrets. Nearly 40 years later I still have questions for the man behind those mirrored lenses.

On April 16, 2009, Wong was inducted into the Canadian Ski Hall of Fame for his impact on skiing culture. Not too shabby for a kid from Vancouver, BC who loved to ski but had no idea what he wanted to do with his life.

GORDY: So you're actually Canadian...

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Oh man, this sucks! I haven't thrown a full load on my back in years, and now I'm paying the price in mental anguish that feels totally terminal. I keep shifting my pack, in which I've tossed out all but the lightest essentials, to minimize the slicing into my shoulders. With some 7 miles of bare White River Trail before us it's unavoidable--my skis and boots are strapped onto my five day load for full effect.

It's counter intuitive. As a habit I resist carrying ski gear. By design they're meant to be on my feet - not the back, and to do so I might as well throw in a couple of rocks for good measure. Focusing on the end game, I endure the pain knowing that the traveling gain will be justified. In fact, that's the point of our venture into the Dakobed Range. Skis, like a rope - ice axe - foot crampons make traverses possible when otherwise it might not be. They provide lateral and vertical leverage; allowing distance to flow unconstrained along the mountain spine. Marcel Kurz, who pioneered the Chamonix-to-Zermatt Haute Route in 1911, wrote, "In the high mountains the ski ceases to be a plaything. Circumstances make it a tool--the most useful aid to the winter mountaineer--but a simple tool intended to make traveling easier--something which we put on or take off like crampons and which is only a means to an end."

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As I break out of the trees onto the frozen surface of Rainy Lake my spirit soars with the opening view. It feels good to be out. The muted light that display's eye catching shadows, shapes and lines is captivating, and super surreal. I'm encouraged to shift my up hill mode into touring casual.

After a couple of storm cycles it's certain that epic powder stashes await throughout the high mountain reaches, but the perfect March temps and longer days have highlighted the buena vistas, and the call to slow the pace is in order.

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Before we left the Zermatt Heli-pad Barrymore gave us our only instructions for the day, "Don't lose a ski". "If you do the day will be lost." As I wait my turn at a run before the camera his words reverberate in my ears. My anxiety about skiing these high glaciers of the Monte Rosa (Europe's second highest, 15,203 ft (4,634 m)) is particularly peaked. I've never traversed in this realm of massive seracs and bottomless crevasses before, and I don't want to screw up now for a number of reasons.

Dick and his camera second, Kenny, have positioned themselves out of view around the corner of a huge angular block. My job is simple, blast into sight kicking up snow everywhere for effect, find their location, and ski right at the camera. I get the call and I let 'em rip. As I round the serac I spot the powder stash between us and make the most of it. However, glaciers are ice and a hidden chunk heat-seeks my ski, suddenly launching me sideways. Geez!! In an instant it's chaos! All I can think about is please don't let it end here, as I stare bug-eyed into the black abyss of an impending crevasse. Back pedaling, I hate to admit; I close my eyes and wait for my fate. After what seems like an eternity I open them slowly. Lying on my back in a medium size wind scoop, I stare up at Barrymore and the others in disbelief. Dick shrugs a shoulder and directs me, "Can you do that again, but just don't cut the serac so close" "I lost you in the shot". Yeah, right! At least I didn't lose a ski.

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The Idea:
For many riders, including myself, the best time of year to mountain bike on the local trails in Bend, OR, is after the first few rains of early Fall. Cooler weather combined with the added moisture keep the trails firm and tacky, making for the ideal rubber-to-ground contact.  Technical climbs become a little easier, confidence brews on fast corners, and riding with friends is simply more fun on dust-free singletrack.  The problem is that as the days grow shorter, there is less and less time to ride after the work day.  This used  to push mountain biking to a weekend activity come Fall-- not anymore.
While night mountain biking might seem like a masochistic, peripheral sporting endeavor, the fact is that with the advent of new generation, affordable, and bright LED bike lights, even beginning-intermediate mountain bikers can enjoy trail riding after dark.  The longer days of summer used to be a mountain biker’s best friend—get caught on a trail after dark, and the chances for a hard fall or having to walk your bike back to the trailhead start to rise.  Alas, the new, lightweight and fast charge LED mountain bike lights extend the mountain biking season into October and November, and if you’re an avid mountain biker, help alleviate the doldrums of the nine-to-five.  I now begin rides in mid-October at 5:30pm during the last hour of daylight and segue seamlessly into an after-hours adventure-- the lights are bright and the fun doesn’t stop until I get back to the trailhead. 

The Light:

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 As Louis L'Amour sings in my ears, "The thing to remember when traveling is that the trail is the thing, not the end of the trail. Travel too fast and you miss all you are traveling for." I pole tap in quick step to keep pace as Lowell takes deceptively long strides. It seems ages since my brother and I have partnered on a mountain adventure together. At one time we were so in tune that each others next move was anticipated, and the mental vibrations were felt on the other end of the rope.

As we chat non-stop up the Easy Pass Trail time flies by, and then seemingly we are teleported to one of our favorite Cascade vistas. It never disappoints, and instantly we are engrossed in the spiritual spender of a varied expanse soaked in brilliant color accented by crisp shadows. During our youth every weekend the mountains were our church; filling us up with awe, inspiration, and self learning. Looking out beyond the reaches of Easy Pass towards alluring Mt. Logan, it feels good. Like time has stood still.

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Standing on the Col du Chardonnet checking my anxiety, I watch as Jeff repels into the swirling mist. Vaporizing into its depth of uncertainty we've taken a huge leap of faith; for this 55 degree glazed slot is the switching point. Once this bone yard of steeps and spires is crossed there is no turning back. We've laid our cards down on a questionable weather forecast in an attempt to ski from Chamonix, France to Zermatt, Switzerland; some 60 miles across the spine of the European Alps, "The Classic Haute Route".

It's been a late winter this spring, and most aspirers have been turned back or rerouted.

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Three day weekends seem to have an air of importance and a sense of urgency. They are long enough to get out on a trip; yet still to short to cover much ground. With a three day weekend quickly approaching plans were laid for a relaxed trip to the Northern California Coast for a sampling of some bouldering on the beach and clipping bolts on beautiful sweeping limestone cliffs. Most climbing trips begin with days of thumbing through guide books, checking weather reports, and compiling a list of climbs you’d like to do.

The start to this excursion was a bit different that a typical climbing trip since we were heading to an area that is not exactly a climbing destination, but more of a if you happen to be in the area type climbing place. Before the trip we flipped through the major climbing rags that had recent articles and looked at the nice glossy photos and got our hands on a copy of the new film “Spray” to get us psyched up for the climbing to come.

Equipped with boulder pads, quickdraws, rope, and a quiver of shoes we made for a quasi-alpine start barreling out of Bend in Drew’s Scubaroo at 7:00 am sharp! Our trip had us starting in the High Desert and took us through snow covered mountain passes, through the jaw dropping Redwoods, and eventually to the boulder strewn California Coast.

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