Often, when I’m deep into an adventure, my mind drifts to my ancestors - Farmers from the Czech republic, who sailed the sea to lived off the land in that Texas heat before A/C or refrigeration. I think about my grandmother who picked cotton from an early age and how they used to store meat in a barrel of pig fat to keep it from spoiling. I think further back- of humans living in igloos and teepees, of ancient humans huddled in caves or nestled in trees. Did they have time or the bandwidth to even think about what their ancestors were like or what life “could” be like? Somehow, they all survived well enough to create 8 billion people on earth today.
These are the things that I ponder while sitting in a state-of-the-art yurt by Yonder Yurt in State Forest State Park with a fire blazing in the wood stove and my water filter dripping like an IV bag into my thermos nearly 2 miles away from the nearest road.
Skinning up to the yurt would have been easy if it weren’t for the 45 pounds of luxury items attached to my back and even then, it wasn’t like dragging a quartered buffalo through the snow after a long hunt. Sitting inside the warm yurt, one of my headlamps is charging via the state-of-the-art solar rig. I have the evening to myself before my buddy Dave Ney arrives in the morning. I bust out the tripod and head outside for some long exposures. It’s insane, the number of stars. Or maybe just the right amount.
Back inside, I sit and write in the warmth of the fire writing by headlamp with a very long exposure going just outside the door. I notice the motion-sensor porch light pop on. Curious, I swing open the door and jumped back – it jumped back too. A red fox about the size of an Australian Sheperd with yellow to orange coloring along the head and body, black legs and grey dipped tail – After startling each other we stood there like two gunmen in a high alpine showdown. I ran inside to grab my other camera. That’s how it starts, I thought. That’s how we turned wolves into dogs. Just like this. Curiosity, contact, and a bit of patience.
Waking up early the next morning, I brought the fire back to life, and as I sat down to eat my freeze-dried breakfast. I look out the window to see my new fluffy golden-coated buddy effortlessly glide across the snow and disappearing into the trees.
Shortly after, Dave skinned up the trail. He’s in his 60s—witty, tough, more alive than most men half his age, and one of those people you can trust in any situation. We grunted at each other, repacked our bags, checked our avalanche beacons, and laughed at the sunny 50-degree forecast. Not bad for March in the Rockies. We set out along a snowmobile-tracked road, the sun shining, snow glittering, and not another soul in sight -natures bribe to keep us coming back. We stopped to scout Clark Peak and the ridgelines around it, eventually deciding to aim just right of Clark toward Pipet. We broke trail and picked our way through snow-laden trees, across snow bridges spanning icy creeks, until we reconnected with a more established path at the base.
From there, it was all uphill. We climbed and climbed, eventually veering off-trail to bushwhack toward a north-facing gully that pointed us back toward the yurt. At tree line, we paused to snack and transitioned for the descent. As clouds rolled in from the west, the temperature dropped fast—maybe 15 degrees—as we layered up I wondered if my furry friend would’ve become part of the wardrobe in another era.
The decent was exciting. Dave would come flying past me while I held the shutter down. Skiing the backcountry is a different beast—no groomers, no signage, just instinct and friction. Every turn has consequences, every direction a guess. Cruising through that gully, flanked by trees and soft snow, I imagined early Chinese skiers on their ancient “shoeskis,” gliding across Siberia in pursuit of the wild beasts of the time. Our version wasn’t quite as primal, but it still felt wild.
Our momentum was evaporated on what seemed like a small frozen lake. Just to the right Dave spotted nice pitch and taught me how to sidestep my way up an incline hill by turning sideways and digging our edges into the hill one step at a time never crossing your feet. This is where I saw how much faster backcountry skis transition compared to splitboards. Dave was off and climbing while I was still clicking bindings and piecing my board back together -fiddling. Skis transition fast. Splitboards… not so much. But hell, I’ll get faster. I have to. The last guy who slowed the group down probably got eaten.
Back down at the frozen lake, I learned what I call “skate mode”—splitboard is split, no skins, kicking and gliding like cross-country skis. Fast, efficient, and fun—until you hit an uphill.
That was short lived before we rejoined the trail, and I locked into snowboard mode and pointed downhill. Narrow. Fast. Burning thighs. Two straight miles of catwalk death ribbon, and every turn felt like a gamble. I wiped out a few times just to rest.
It was a great 4.61 mile adventure. Fire. Dinner. Storries. Rest
Empty the ashes out of the stove, do the dishes, and sweep the floor. That’s about it before skinning back to our cars to unload the heavy gear and scout a trail across the road for one last hit. This terrain was more open and mellow. We found the steepest hill around and headed towards it. Along the way, we found a wide-open slope with a 30-degree pitch—perfect for climbing and descending.
On my first attempt to follow Dave’s track, my board plowed into the powder and buried me waist-deep in snow. I dug myself out, tried again and buried myself in the same spot but deeper. Beautiful. Exhausting. Humbling. These are the growing pains of learning a new sport but it’s also one of the best ways to spend time—with the right people, in the right places.
Our ancestors were adventurous because they had to be. We do it for different reasons. But sometimes I like to think they had fun too — some raw, ridiculous moment where they looked around and thought: Hell yes. This is living.
MAKE A STOP’S
Buc-ee’s – I wish there was a Buc-ee’s on the way to every camping trip. They have all the snacks, great tacos, and even a pillow for when you forget to pack one.
Poudre’s Pub – A great place to grab a bite before or after heading into the wilderness. Normally I take a photo of my food but the burger looked and tasted so good that when it hit the table I scarfed it down forgot I was on the job.
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