| It was a simple plan, and it was a day that rewarded simplicity.
Simply put, it was a great day, spent in an great place, with great friends.
I had heard about the Teardrop Trail years before when I was a grad. student
at UVM studying geography. A guidebook listed several backcountry
trails that the "locals" had hoarded for themselves for years. The
author was certainly on the shit list of many backcountry affectionados
all over New England for publishing their secret stashes to the masses,
and try as I might to feel some pity for him, I was on the receiving end
of that info and was damn grateful.
For those not familiar with the Teardrop, please allow me to digress for a moment. The trail was cut in the 1930's by the legendary Civilian Conservation Corps. It starts at roughly 2200' feet and ends up at 3900' (although you could ski from the nose formation for a few extra feet if the snow isn't blown off) It's a rip roaring 1.2 miles down the west buttress that joins the forehead after it leaves the top of Mount Mansfield. It's guaranteed to pretty much put teardrops in your eyes from the speed, leave you breathless from the excitement, and make your voice hoarse from whooping it up. The plan was as simple as the blue sky. Just slap on our climbing skins, hoof it up and then turn around and drop the knees all the way back down. AHHHH ..., simplicity. I'm a big fan of simplicity as simplke things tend to work out better and fail less often. This day was to prove no exception. I was to meet Matt, Breck, and Margaret at the local feeding hole in Richmond, The Daily Bread, where we'd load up on some tasty calories before our merry little adventure. We actually got there a bit early and had to sit around drinking hazelnut coffee before the kitchen opened. Can't say I'm too opposed to a hot, relaxing cup of hazelnut before a cold day out in the woods. After a fresh, tasty, and filling breakfast was gobbled down, we headed out to hit the trail. A short drive over the river and through the woods from Richmond will bring you to Underhill State Park where it was time to boot up and get going. Seems we were far from the only ones with an idea this great and we were in the company of several parties all getting geared up for a jovial day of backcountry fun. Although the groups all had smiles on their faces, it was obvious from the casual haste everybody was making what we were all thinking... "They're gonna wreck OUR fresh powder!" Lucky for us our group was small and experienced. Our gear was out, loaded and we were underway just before a much larger group could get underway. AHHHH ... OUR powder has been saved! The trail was very well packed and the skins pretty much pulled us up the trail to some fresh, dry, Colorado style powder! As we were skinning up Margaret noted there was a side trail she thought we might want to give some thought to going up. Since she really didn't seem very convinced herself, it didn't really look all that well traveled, and the map we had (from our "trusty" guidebook ... oh well...) didn't show it, so we decided to bypass it. BIG mistake, but more on that later. We trudged up the summer road and found the sky just getting bluer and bluer. The snow was staying dry, and the nip in the air seemed to go away with the effort. So began the trudge. Now to a lot of people Backcountry skiing may sound very exciting, adventurous and romantic with its visions of powder covered hills, sublime moments of surreal winter majesty, and magazine quality photos. But it involves a huge amount of pure old fashioned grunt work. You gotta "earn those turns, baby!" sounds very cool and hip when your waxing poetic over a pint of Otter Creek, but you're out there sloggin' up a hill in a pint of stinky sweat and you say that, you're more likely to get a swat, the finger, or a good ole' fashioned "Fuck you, shut up and keep going asshole!" than any sort of jovial jocularity or philosophical discourse on the topic. Although we weren't in the outback of the San Juans or Jackson Hole, we were hoping for the best. All of us had lived out west for a number of years, and had quite our share of epic ski days. We knew what amazing skiing was and weren't the types to kid ourselves about the grand height or epic steeps of Mt. Mansfield. Although Vermont has great skiing and I choose to leave Colorado to be here, it's a very different type of skiing than you get out west. As we crept up the sun got higher in the sky but we all gladly noted the absence of the normal warming trend. As we saw it, we were working and keeping warm, and the colder air was keeping the snow cold and dry for our own photo perfect descent. That was our hope at least. The further along we skied the deeper the snow got and it was all we could do to stop ourselves from sounding like complete idiots as we repeated "Wow!" and " I can't believe it!" and " Holy shit ... Look how deep it is!" in as many similar sounding ways as we could think of. In our defense though it WAS good snow though. Soon enough the CCC road ended and we found that we should have indeed taken the trail that Margaret had spotted earlier. It appeared that there was a hoard of ski tracks that came up a small trail and other skiers voices could be heard above us now. Most likely the large group that we tried to race out of the parking lot. Another big clue that we had gone the wrong way was the fact that we were breaking trail for about then entire end of the CCC road. After the turnoff for the Sunset Ridge Trail, we were pretty much on our own. So we started up the trail proper and REALLY started to sweat. As we switchbacked, we asked our climbing skins to give a better grip and begged out thighs to pump as we rapidly gained elevation. The snow was holding its part of the bargain of staying light, crisp, and dry but the simple fact was that it was butt cold. This is a meteorological term I know, but as technical as it may be it gives a good picture as to the "atmospheric conditions" at that moment in time. As we climbed up the ski tracks that various groups had made for us, I was glad that we didn't have to break trail and slog up this hill. That would be no fun at all. The Teardrop may not be Jackson Hole backcountry, but it is still uphill all the way to the top. A fact of geography not lost on many skiers that day at all. The last time I checked, up is up in Wyoming, Utah, Colorado, and even Vermont. (I understand it was repealed in Texas though) Gravity is a simple but universal law of physics and the simple truth is that these laws are unavoidable, unrelenting, and apply to every living creature equally. Gravity sucks when you are hiking, but being unavoidable and a necessary evil for skiing, it is therefore acceptable. No gravity, no skiing. Speeding tickets however are not a universal law, and no amount of whining about fascist police giving you unnecessary, arbitrary, subjectively enforced speeding tickets that in no way control driving behavior and only contribute to a resentful mistrust of the authority of the law enforcement community will revoke this law. Speeding laws just plain suck. One reason the the Teardrop is so great is that it has a constantly changing fall line and lies in that classic New England serpentine path. It was easy to get a turn ahead of the other members of the party, which meant that you got a moment of rest and prime view-looking time before they came into view and you plod along again. We all got into our own sweat groove and went at our own pace. Nobody was ever to far from help after a bizarre slip or fall put them in trouble.
A brief lunch was made briefer by a biting wind that was keeping the cold Canadian air flowing over new England that day. It was a lunch where you dug in a pit to get out of the wind, ate as fast as your frozen jaws would let you, and get going again. The one problem with getting ahead of the group really seemed to be that two of us had to wait for the others to get to the top, and the warming hut at Stowe was a bit to far to trudge over to. Besides, we were proud and tall "BACKCOUNTRY SKIERS!!" and didn't need any sort of namby pamby warming hut. No way! We weren't any sort of slackers or fair weather gravity slaves here! We were tough, macho (Yeah, even Margaret could probably kick your bum), stoic, rugged ...... and you know, BUTT COLD skiers who were shivering as the wind blew away any warmth there was to be had on that road. No there was no lodge, but at the time though, I would have dashed inside with few, if any, worries indeed! While the others gobbled GORP, I took the chance to run up to the top of the mountain for a quick view. The cloudless sky gave a fantastic 360 degree wraparound of the Vermont landscape.
However, the gale force winds that nearly made me into the human kite were kind of fun, but as there was nobody else there to pretend we were in a big-deal-macho man-do-or-die-life threatening-danger man- tough guy scenario, it was just a bummer. A quick self portrait at arms length to mark the, amazingly, astounding view. The problem with pictures in big windstorms is that you can't really see wind. If there are no big trees bent over, objects flying across the sky etc., it just looks like some guy standing on a mountain top with a puffy jacket. The ski back was worth any sweat we might have even thought about, let
alone produced. The top of the trail that accesses the long Trail is a
rip-roaring bobsled ride down a one lane path that has no room for a skier
to bail out if need arises! It's always fun to watch and see how everybody
will stop themselves once they see that the skier up ahead has had to bail.
I ended up head downhill with my telemark skis stuck well in a twisted
stunted pine. It was quite comedic, even for myself, mostly because once
we were out of the winds on top the sun shone down on the brilliant powder,
making is sparkle as the snow on all good backcountry days should.
The ski down was marred by nothing. The falls were all wonderful and planned, the skiers we met hiking up to us all had smiles and gave up a whoop as we swooped on by, and the powder was simply a delight. Simple plan, hike up, ski down. It seemed to be working!!
The trail is noted for it's classic line down the mountain. In New England skiing jargon, that means a kick-ass twisty-turny ride! It swooped and curved, dropped and rolled with the mountain, all the while maintaining a euphoric high that will be hard to beat. It seemed that every other knee drop would scoop up a face shot of the freshest, coldest, sweetest powder I've seen yet. Stopping to catch your breath, it was a joy to watch the others swoop
down with big goofy grins on their faces. The cold didn't seem to bother
anybody though, it was just to perfect a day to be bothered with.
The run out to the car was noteworthy because the trail once again closed in with shrubs etc. lining the sides of the trail and it was flat enough so that you could just let 'em ride and really get some speed up. The hiking trail spits you out onto the main road and its a loooooooong thigh burner all the way down to the end of the line. Everybody seemed to have a HUGE smile on their face as they kicked off their skis and threw everything into the car. backs were tired, and thighs were about to give out. Bust most of all, our cheeks were tired from smiling so much. Don't tell anybody about how good the Teardrop feels or they'll make it illegal for sure!! The winter proved to be a lousy one for sure, but this day will be singled out as one beyond comparison. A simple day with a simple plan. What could simply be better. |
Gradually
the trail leans back and the thighs get a well deserved rest. A nice water
stop by a big fat boulder pretty marks the top of the downhill trail, but
the access trail continues on north along the ridge until it joins the
access road at the top of the nose. I'd recommend that anybody going up
go the extra distance and make it out to the road. Not because of the chance
to go to the top, as the Nose isn't the high point of the mountain, but
for the ride back over to the trail. The great part of this last bit of
trail is that it is still just up from flat. Although it seems relatively
flat and boring after making it up the switchbacks cutting up the west
face of the Teardrop, it has just enough pitch to send you careening down
a narrow, twisty turny tree lined, bobsled, luge ride of a ski back down.
The lines all seemed plausible and the "turn or die" of higher up was quickly
replaces with one of "I'll turn where I darn well please thank you!" The
snow was still dry crisp powder that only made turning that much easier.
The falls and face plants were still planned and deliberate, as we would
never actually fall do to any lack of ability. No, no, no, we fell as more
of a general expression of our glee and profound joy in the moment... Well
actually we just kept biffing as normal but anyway...
