e-mail
	comment

SNOWMAN: 11-year-old Jesse Swarm doesn’t let a little wipeout stop him. —photo by Tanya Laing Moore

BIG SMILES: After her inaugural ride on a snowmobile, author Tanya Laing Moore was unable to wipe the grin from her face. —photo by Rusty Gahr

PLAYLAND, WONDERLAND: The trail to Roman Nose Peak provides amazing opportunities for natural sledding adventures and scenic views. —photo by Tanya Laing Moore

I get it now.

I wrote my first snowmobiling piece in November of 2006. It was an interesting task as I had never been on the back of a snowmobile before. I did my best to sound convincing and knowledgeable as sledheads discussed their favourite trails and the sheer joy of opening up the throttle and plunging through powder. I attempted to convey that I knew exactly what was being said when a contact told me about “boondocking” or “highmarking.” I wanted to understand their enthusiasm, but I failed miserably.

That is, I failed until I was finally outfitted in winter gear just a tad on the large side and ordered to hang on as friends resolved to take me up a mountain in Bonners Ferry, Idaho, and show me what the big deal about snowmobiling really is.

Do you want to go faster?
The day started on a fairly relaxed note. Coffee first, a bit of breakfast and preparations for the day. My guide in all things, Rusty Gahr, is a member of the U.S. Forest Service at the Bonners Ferry Ranger District and patrols caribou habitat using snowmobiles. I observed as he loaded up the sled with survival gear and supplies: collapsible shovels, multi-tool, rope, fire starters and lighter, beacons, avalanche and caribou habitat information, radio packs and ramen noodles. I was assured that the noodles were truly for emergency only, and if we broke into them, things were dire indeed.

Mid-morning, we met with Rusty’s friends, Jim and Nadine Colegrove, and fueled up sleds borrowed from Judy Colegrove and Pat Bennett. Pat broke his foot earlier in the season when he flipped his snowmobile and so can’t ride yet, but he still perks up at the sound of a snowmobile engine in the same way a cat perks up at the sound of a can opener. Judy also provided me with a proper helmet. It fit, but I looked like a storm trooper wearing it.

The day was lovely; it had snowed heavily the night before and there was a low-lying cloud cover in the valley, but the sun was starting to peek through the fog. Jim declared it a perfect day for sledding.

We set out at a gentle pace to start as we followed a back trail that would connect us with the main Roman Nose Peak Trail. Rusty instructed me to lean with him when we turned, and to ignore that instinct of mine to counter the tilt of the machine. I learned on my own how to hang on when he punched it.

One doesn’t like to cast aspersions on people one has just met, but it’s quite possible that Jim Colegrove is certifiably insane. While Rusty and Nadine elected to stick to the trail as we climbed toward the peak, Jim turned his sled toward the steep and deep and headed straight uphill at full throttle. He found every bump, jump, turn, dip and dive. He also buried his snowmobile regularly and I found out why the collapsible shovel is necessary.

The main congregating spot on Roman Nose in the lakes area. Far above the cloud cover and up a steep incline, the lakes provide trail access, bowls and chutes, along with open access for full-throttle thrills. Rusty told me that to get there, we were going to have to gun it uphill. He worried that the speed might scare me a bit.

He need not have worried. I was hooked.

Up at the first lake, we met Jesse Swarm, an 11-year-old daredevil. I noticed him first because he seemed smaller than many of the other sledders at the lake. I noticed him again when his sled found a buried boulder, sending him and the snowmobile cartwheeling through the air in opposite directions. Both landed solidly right-side up, mostly unscathed, and even though 20 adults rode to help him, Jesse was still all grins as he pulled off his helmet. Jesse has been on a snowmobile for most of his life, and after being dusted off and checked for bumps and bruises, he wanted to jump back on the sled and keep plowing the powder.

Jesse wasn’t the only one testing the limits of gravity at the lake. Sledders vying for the highest mark on the hill were pushing their machines hard to take top honours. One of them rolled his sled on top of himself in the attempt and had to be dug out by others. He was unhurt, and the snowmobile didn’t suffer for it either, so both man and machine continued to make the attempt. But Jim’s highmarking aspirations surpassed those of the other sledders at the lake. With sheer determination, an open throttle and the obvious insanity to which I earlier referred, Jim pushed his machine past all other marks to the top of the ridge. Nor did he hesitate on the ride down; it turns out that Jim is addicted to adrenaline.

Now it was my turn. Rusty insisted that if I were to truly understand why snowmobilers are so dedicated to their favourite pastime, I was going to have to ride alone.

We took a quick spin around the lake so that I could get a feel for the machine. This is the throttle. This is the brake. I probably wouldn’t need the brake much because I likely wouldn’t be going that fast. Nice and slow. That’s the way to do it.

No, I don’t think so.

Rusty jumped off and I jumped on. And with Jim leading the way, I finally got to open it up all on my own and, face frozen in a grin, I felt the full exhilaration of flying over the snow. I leaned into the turns, kneeling on the seat with one knee to make a sharper turn. I whooped with excitement as I charged up a small incline and felt the sled dig in to maintain the speed. And I thrilled at the promise that we would do this again soon.

The trail ride home is about half an hour, though it’s longer if you stop to play—and because we had Jim with us, we did. Running through ravines and steep hills, Jim careened and crashed through the powder at every opportunity, stopping only to dig out his sled. Nadine, Rusty and myself hugged the trails, though, and flew down the mountain, headed for home.

The experience was unforgettable, and has certainly given me an understanding of why snowmobilers are so passionate about their hobby. So much so that I’m already planning a similar outing this winter. Perhaps we’ll check out some of the trails around Cranbrook. Or I hear there’s some good sledding east near Fernie. Bull River has some decent riding, I’m told. . .