God of the North Wind

Posted on a wall of the cabin nestled into a windy gap of the Colorado Rockies was this assessment: "Few places can match the harshness of winters at this pass named for the God of the North Wind."

No shit. Welcome to late January at the Section House hut at Boreas Pass, elevation 11,482 feet, straddling the Continental Divide. The cabin was originally built in 1872 by the Denver, South Park & Pacific Railroad Co. for workers building and later maintaining an isolated section of track crossing Boreas Pass. Five friends and I tested our resolve by skiing six and a half miles from the trail head to this spot at the crest of the continent, confronting as much winter harshness the God of the North Wind could throw our way.

It was a blast.

This is fifteenth year our group has embarked on a winter pilgrimage to the Colorado Rockies as we work our way through the entire 10th Mountain Division hut system, a non-profit organization that operates numerous back-country Colorado huts accessible in winter only by ski or snowshoe. Our group has its origins in North Platte, Nebraska, where a long time ago I spent a few years of my misspent youth writing for the local newspaper, The Telegraph. Back in the late 1990s, our ringleader, Kim, a North Platte eye doc who would have made an excellent ski bum, cooked up the idea of putting together a group to explore the 10th Mountain Division huts in the winter. The idea clicked, although a few of the original members opted out following  infamous Year Two™ when we pulled a total rookie move and took a turn up one drainage too soon. The result was a long night huddled in the snow on the side of a mountain when we should have been sipping hot chocolate in front of a blazing wood fire at Janet's Cabin. The next day we made it to our destination and everybody survived with all of the fingers and toes they had started with. That's pretty much the standard by which trips into the Rockies in the winter should be measured.

I’ll spare you the complete history of the origins of Colorado’s world-famous hut system, but the U.S. Army formed the 10th Mountain Division during World War II to train infantry troops for battle in the mountains of Germany and Italy. Young men with mountaineering or skiing backgrounds were assigned to the 10th Mountain Division, where they trained at Camp Hale, Colorado, to wage war in extreme winter conditions in mountain environments. The hut system named in honor of these soldiers (some of whom returned to Colorado after the war and launched the Colorado ski industry) is better understood as a system of well-equipped back-country lodges rather than primitive mountain yurts. You must melt snow in stainless steel vats on cast-iron wood stoves for water, but solar panels provide electricity and propane burners provide fuel for cooking. The huts feature fully equipped kitchens (bring your own food), dining and sitting areas, sleeping bunks (bring your own sleeping bag), and enough split firewood to outlast the longest of winters. Plus at no extra charge, spectacular views and access to winter wilderness touring and back-country skiing (bring your own avalanche shovels, beacons, and probes).

This year was disappointing in terms of snow. What existed was icy and crusty. Patches of bare ground at eleven thousand feet in January is not what we were hoping for. But while conditions limited the allure of skinning up the skis and climbing nearby peaks in search of virgin powder, conditions were optimal for catching up with old friends, reading next to a toasty wood-burning stove, or trash-talking during our annual cut-throat card-playing competition (bring your own cocktails). And to be honest, I’m much better at trash talking, card playing, and whiskey sipping than I am at back-country skiing. My telemark turns are not a thing of grace and beauty. My late step-father Larry once (accurately) described my skiing style as "monkey humping a football."

Six of us made the trip this year. The North Platte contingent included our leader, Kim, along with George, Ken, and Eric.  My buddy Dave, another former North Platter, and I came out from Idaho. Kim and Eric, a physician, both have medical training, which is always handy in the back country. George is a professional photographer who travels the world taking pictures. Dave and Ken work for Union Pacific Railroad and are the best and most experienced back-country skiers in our group. The two members of our group not able to make the trip this year, Jim and J.D., like Eric, are North Platte physicians and experienced outdoorsmen. I bother to mention this because what I bring to the group is this: experience as a journalist, historian, and lawyer. I am confident that if we ever are stranded for too long on the mountain, I would be eaten first. I get this. So, over the years, I have been quietly laying the foundation that we have more doctors than we really need in an emergency and that liberals probably taste bad (one of my roles is to argue from the left in all hut trip political arguments).

While snow conditions were not optimal, our 2013 expedition was a success.  After a late-morning start from the trailhead just outside Breckenridge, we made Boreas Pass by mid-afternoon. The God of the North Wind was active - violent gusts swept though the pass, but the hut was solidly built and provided refuge. We had the place to ourselves until well after dark when a guy showed up alone. He was either the most interesting man in the world or a first-rate bullshitter. Either way, a good hut mate.  “Zach,” we learned, was thirty-three, had quit college because he was making too much money as a self-taught software programmer, had spent two years living in Siberia but couldn’t tell us why because “it’s a long story." He also said he was living in his pickup in Breckenridge while training for an ascent of Aconcagua in the Andes of Argentina, the highest peak outside the Himalayas. He denied that he was CIA (naturally). He also said he spent several months this year as a crew member on a sailboat sailing into Antarctica. Zack fearlessly joined our Hearts game that evening and was a good-natured loser in his first exposure to the game. We should have played for money.

The next night a newlywed couple from Denver and two sisters from Denver and San Diego arrived at the hut. Zack showed up again after dark following a sixteen-mile training hike off-trail through waist-deep snow from the cabin back to town to move his pickup to a different parking place ( it's a long story). At the Section House, we shared stories with our new hut mates and later Kim, an accomplished musician, singer, and songwriter, used a cheap guitar someone had once upon a time left at the hut to put on an impromptu concert and sing-along. Kim is ridiculously talented. I made a mental note to later remind the group that fancy musical skills don't make you more useful when you're starving on a mountain side. And that musically inclined people tend to taste like chicken. 

After two nights hanging with the God of the North Wind, we skied back to the trail head. Before we parted ways, our party agreed that next winter we will return to Janet's Cabin, the scene of our navigational shame. But we have learned much from our early days. Namely pay attention to the map and trust your GPS to avoid the awkwardness of voting on which of your friends would go best with trail mix.