Late last winter I built a sled system for hauling gear on backcountry trips. It was a simple design made from about $25 worth of stuff; some purchased from the hardware store down the street, and the rest scrounged from my gear closet. The season got away from me, though, and beyond a short test in the woods behind my house, my new sled rig never got a real wilderness workout.

That all changed a week ago, when my friend Dick and I decided to head into his cabin on a remote lake in northern Maine for a four day retreat (I can't say just where under threat of serious injury!).

I packed a pretty healthy load of gear together, loaded it all onto the sled and bungied it down, and skied off into the wilderness. It was a four-mile trek across the lake to the cabin, and despite the heavy load (which included beer, wine, munchies and a frozen pizza!), the sled performed wonderfully.

Skiing into the wilderness last weekend with my sled in tow.

Sleds are ideal for hauling critical gear along on your winter adventures!

Other than having to take a small amount of slack out of the connecting ropes, I had no problems whatsoever. Since the sled is constructed of inexpensive materials, I'll no doubt have to pay attention to wear and tear (e.g. frayed ropes, cracks in the PVC pipe or the plastic sled) prior to setting out on big trips. But it should provide miles of good service for not a lot of money. And it sure beats carrying all your gear on your back!

Special thanks to reader Ed, from St. Cloud, Minnesota, for sending along information on his winter sled design called a "ski pulk". Ed has even written a book on ski pulks that you can download from his site. Check it out. You'll no doubt want to build a sled of your own!

Uh oh. This is not good.

Eastern Mountain Sports is moving their South Portland store to a location right across the street from where I work, on Marginal Way in Portland. In fact, I need only lean my chair back slightly and, yep, there it is. In big green letters. Just a stone's throw away.

Isn't there some kind of law that prevents this kind of thing? I mean, after all, I'm a certifiably addicted gear head, and here they've gone and located an outdoor store within a 1,000 feet of me! What will happen to me now? I'm doomed.

Oh yes, I'll probably avoid it for awhile. But then, one day I'll stop in "just to look around." I'll pick up some small item, batteries for my headlamp maybe. Then I'll be back for a stuffbag or two. Then a new ice ax. Then a new, lightweight tent that I just have to have. Then, then... my lunch hour will be over. For that day.

Oh, the humanity...

But it gets worse.

In just a few short months, Bleacher's Restaurant & Pub, my favorite watering hole for post-adventure recreation (hell, for any damn reason at all really), is also moving within sight of my office.

Uh oh. This is really not good.

The Great Red Shark has made its last road trip through the desert night. And Gonzo and his attorney have had their last high-speed, hallucinogenic adventure. There will be no more Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.

The definitive wildman and literary adventurer, Hunter S. Thompson, is dead.

It's strange, but I guess it makes sense how it ended--with a self-inflicted gunshot wound to his head.

Many of us grew up following Thompson's escapades in the pages of his books. He took a real close, very raw look at the madness of life and captured much of that madness, and his own, in those pages.

After hearing the news yesterday, I pulled a few of his books from my shelves and traveled back in time for a few moments, recapturing the essence of this tremendous writer and his wild exploits. It was an entertaining, albeit brief, journey.

Raise a glass to Hunter Thompson, and give your accelerator an extra kick in tribute. The spirit of Gonzo lives on...

"It was almost noon, and we still had more than a hundred miles to go. They will be tough miles. Very soon, I knew, we would both be completely twisted. But there was no going back, and no time to rest."
--From Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, by Hunter Thompson.

Eco-Challenge, X Games, Raid Gauloises... Move over! We've got our own adventure race coming to Portland this summer! Racing Ahead Inc. is organizing the Discover Portland Urban Adventure Race on Saturday, June 11th. It's going to be 6 hours of mountain biking, canoeing, urban trekking and navigation on a course in and around Portland.

This is a great opportunity for adventure racing rookies (like me!) to give the sport a good try. It'll no doubt be very demanding, frustrating and exhausting (sounds like fun, eh?!), but I bet it'll be a whole lot of fun too!

Registration is already open. I know it's only February, but getting a team together and training for a race like this will take some time. Best to get in now and get on with the regimen. You're going to be paddling and biking and hiking anyway, so why not? Besides, the better shape you're in, the more pizza and beer you can put away without guilt. So c'mon all you outdoor fanatics--get your team together. June will be here in no time.

Just stopped in to Roy's Shoe to pick up my mountaineering boots for this weekend's x-c ski and sled trip. Had them restitched here and there, and had several eyelets replaced. They're just like new again. Well, almost. Good enough for another few seasons in the snow and ice anyway.

My trusty old Asolo boots, good as new again...

Steve Lentz and his son Dan, the owners of Roy's Shoe, run a good shop. For years now, I've been bringing my used and abused footwear in to them for much needed care and fixin' up. From rock shoes to hiking boots to x-c ski boots, to tarps and wallets and belts, whatever. They seem to be able bring just about anything back from the brink with a few stitches and some TLC.

I like that. I like the thought of a cobbler nearby who cares as much as I do about making good, serviceable (never mind sentimental) gear last a little longer.

If you get a chance and you have some hiking boots that need some tending to, stop in and see Steve or Dan at Roy's Shoe, 500 Stevens Ave., Portland. 774-1612. They'll take good care of you.

Okay, okay. Enough already. I've had all the the-snow-was-awesome-
where-the-hell-were-you? e-mails that I need, thank you very much.

While you all were out on the slopes this weekend, tearing it up on the best snow of the season, I was home yucking it up with the flu. You know how much I like staying home on a weekend. Well, tack on a nice fever, headache, runny nose and all that good stuff, and you're talking some kind of fun.

Fabulous!!!

Tons of snow!

Ungroomed trails to play on!

Fun stuff!

Awesome.

...in hog heaven!

That's it. Rub it in. You people make me, well, damn jealous!

Hey, at least my house is clean now. And my bills got paid. And I organized my kitchen utensils. I did manage to get up and about enough to do that. And to look out the window at the fresh snow and the blue sky...

Damn. You just wait!

In early January, Carl Natale, an avid winter hiker and MaineToday.com editor, was hiking up Wildcat Mountain in New Hampshire's White Mountains with an experienced party of MOAC friends. The group was on the Wildcat Ridge Trail, which leads from Carter Notch to the summit.

Part way up, the route crosses an open slide with a significant drop-off down toward the notch. It's one of those spots where you say to yourself, "Geez, I really wouldn't want to fall here." It makes you think, but then you gather yourself together, step carefully, and make your way across without incident.

On most days.

On this day, though, Carl started carefully across, but snagged a crampon, stumbled, and went flying. Downward. At a high rate of speed. And with his dog Burly sliding right behind him. The pair sailed down some 200-300 feet, over a 20-foot rock ledge and into the trees, narrowing missing some large boulders. All while the group at the top watched in horror.

Immediately, several of the group descended to Carl, while others went for assistance. Carl was found at the base of the cliff, alive, alert, but injured. A miracle, really, given such a fall! A group of physicians who were hiking in the area quickly arrived on the scene and began to administer care. Carl's group was quite first-aid knowledgable, but these guys were g-o-o-d! With help from the AMC hutmaster at nearby Carter Notch Hut, rescue operations were started. In all, though, it took 12 people more than 6 hours to package Carl up and evacuate to the trailhead, a distance of about 4 miles. There, Carl was rushed off to the hospital, to be treated for a broken femur and ankle.

I saw him for the first time since the accident at the MOAC meeting a week or so ago. He appears to be recovering well, thankfully. Of course, everyone wanted to know the details, so Carl very eloquently recounted the highlights to a hushed room of adventurers.

Rather than dwell on the incident itself, however, Carl focused on a few of the lessons that he learned from his brush-with-death day in the mountains. They're good ones. I took copious notes. You might want to to also.

Here they are, paraphrased from Carl:

1. Everybody who goes out in the woods should have some kind of first aid training. You've got to know what to do and how to get somebody out if they get hurt.

2. Carry a bivouac bag and sleeping bag in your group. It can take a looooong time to get somebody out of the woods. You need to have the means to keep an injured companion warm and dry during that time.

3. Carry hot liquids. Nalgene bottles filled with hot liquids (e.g. water, Gatorade) carried in insulated sleeves are essential for hydration and for providing critical, body-warming fluids in an emergency. A Thermos of hot tea or soup is an added bonus and may be a real lifesaver.

4. Hike with other people, experienced people. Potentially serious trouble can occur at any time, anywhere. You've got to have companions that are woods savvy who can handle emergency situations. And you've got to have numbers. Enough people to care for the injured, while others go for help.

5. Carry an insulated "sit-upon" pad to, well, sit on during rest breaks and for use in an emergency. Sitting on cold snow is silly and saps precious heat from your body. And for the injured, you must have a way of insulating them from the cold ground, especially when help is many hours off.

6. Luck. A little of this goes a long way for sure. How lucky are you when you take an ungodly screamer down a mountain, crunch yourself up pretty good, and there's six (count 'em) six doctors on the scene within minutes. Carl can tell you how lucky. Pretty damn lucky.

Every single one of these items came into big play during Carl's accident and rescue: First aid knowledge, bivy bag, sleeping bag, hot liquids, people of all experience levels, a foam pad, and a heavy dose of good luck.

Backcountry travel in winter ups the safety ante considerably. Remember that this happened only 4 miles from the road, not too far from a hut, and on a popular hiking trail on a weekend. Change these factors a little--a more remote destination, a mid-week day, a group of only two--and the outcome might be different.

Be safe. Be prepared. Be smart. Hook up with the experienced folks at the Maine AMC or MOAC or other outdoor club. Take a basic wilderness first aid course, like those from SOLO or Wilderness Medical Associates.

We're glad you're up and about Carl! And hoping for your quick and full recovery. And we're happy Burly came through okay too!

Check out today's Sugarloaf snow report! Need I say more?

Wherever you're skiing in Maine (or New England, for that matter) this weekend, it's likely to be one to remember after this big storm.

Have fun!

Last weekend was the umpteenth annual Big Chill. For the uninitiated, this is the weekend each year that my UMaine college friends and I dedicate to downhill skiing (and food, beer and general bad behavior (otherwise known as 'fun'). And not necessarily in that order.

Our base of operations for this fine event is Karen and Ralf's house in Lancaster NH. Sleeping arrangements are whatever and wherever you can make them in the house. And with twenty-something people and a mountain of duffle bags and ski gear, finding space can be quite a task. But we make do, although it does get a little gamey in there after a few days. Thank goodness for the hot tub!

The drive up Friday evening along Route 302 was beautiful, with the White Mountains a vivid pink and purple as I passed around North Conway. And as I crested Crawford Notch, the Big Dipper stood brilliantly on its handle, framed by the rugged mountain walls. I arrived to find the Big Chill ski party heating up nicely...

Despite the late night yukking it up with friends, a big pot of coffee and bagels got us off to a good start Saturday morning on our way to Vermont. A quick stop at East Burke Sports ("just to check things out") turned out to be expensive, but worth it. I picked up a new set of backcountry skis for trekking into Baxter State Park in a few weeks (more later...). Then it was up to the mountain.

If you haven't been to Burke Mountain, you need to go. But shhh! Don't tell anyone! It's one of the hidden gems of New England skiing: Steep, narrow, wooded trails; great glades; and no crowds and no lift lines. Ever! I don't know how they do it, but every year they're still open for business. And I hope they continue, so we can continue to make our annual pilgrimage.

It being "Big Chill" weekend, we are usually blessed with bone-chilling sub-zero temps and biting winds, but not this time. It was like spring skiing! We enjoyed very comfortable temps in the high 30s (maybe low 40s), clear blue skies and tremendous trail conditions. And we got one helluva day of good ol' Burke Mountain Vermont skiing in. We cruised Willoughby and Upper Dipper; wound through the woods on Powderhorn and Wilderness; and carved up some all-natural cover on Mountain Marsh and Lower Doug's. All good. And all the while with that terrific view out across the pastoral Vermont landscape to the spectacular notch at Lake Willoughby.

Happy "Big Chill" skiers enjoy spring temps and conditions last weekend at Burke Mtn, Vermont.

Back in Lancaster, a mondo dinner of lasagna, salad, bread and a few beers finished up off a fine day. A nightcap and a good soak in the hot tub and it was lights-out.

The place cleared out (and aired out!) late Sunday morning after Big Breakfast, and we were off to catch an a half-day's turns at Attitash on the way home. Bear Peak was nothing but warm sun and blue sky when we pulled in. And conditions were prime. We flashed our passes and made a go of it on Avenger, Illusion, Wandering Skis, Kachina Falls and many others, 'til we out legs went wobbly.

We slunk home, tired, happy and sunburned... But there was no rest for the weary on this day. It was Super Bowl Sunday. And we know how that turned out!

... Beer!

Leave it to fellow adventurer and connossieur of all beers good and bad, Carl, to come up with proof positive that beer is, indeed, an essential item in the outdoors. In fact, your very survival could depend on it!

For one man, it really did. Buried under an avalanche in his car, a man consumed the 60 bottles of beer he happened to have with him and urinated his way to safety.

"I'm glad the beer I took on holiday turned out to be useful and I managed to get out of there," the man said after.

What courage! What determination! My new hero! I wonder if you or I could take such extraordinary measures to save ourselves in the face of such danger. My cap is off to this brave man (my beer cap, that is)!.

Thanks Carl, for the link, and for making my day.

I'm outta here soon for a road trip to Vermont for some skiing. I'll very likely be laughing about this still when I get there. You can bet, too, that I'll be packing a load of beer in the car with me... purely for emergency purposes, of course. You just never, ever know, now do you?

...Africa! But only if you check out this evening's program at the Traveler's Club at Maine Audubon in Falmouth.

Get a taste of the scenery, wildlife and culture of Zimbabwe, Botswana and Zambia with my long time friends and intrepid travelers Josh Royte and Leigh Baker.

Nothing like a little armchair traveling to a warm spot on the globe in the cold of February!

Sugarloaf a week ago. Sunday River this past weekend. It's high ski season and all is good with the world. Well, in Maine anyway.

It was cooooooold up at the Loaf! The thermometer at the Widow's Walk in Stratton, where I was staying with a group of friends, recorded -35F. Ouch! Fortunately, we were all pretty warm and snug inside with the fireplace going and the electric blankets turned way up. Four out of five cars even started. Not bad.

Trail conditions on the mountain were excellent, for what was open anyway. Sugarloaf could sure use a few more good dumps of snow. On the crosscut from the top of the Spillway chairlift all the way over to Widowmaker at King Pine Bowl, that wasn't a single open trail, which really surprised me. I don't know that I've ever seen that happen in late January.

But no matter. The skiing was good and everybody was into it. And luckily, there was little or no wind, so we were pretty comfortable. And the brown ale and mountain chili was as good as ever in The Bag, topping off a fine day.

Hunkering down at the Widow's Walk was a real treat (thanks Nancy, for arranging everything). Jerry and Mary, the innkeepers, are great folks and make you feel right at home, with the dog and the cats and all. I was sad to learn, though, that they will no longer will be taking in AT thru-hikers during hiking season. AT hikers are a transient bunch for sure, and they've come to realize it's just a bit too much to keep up with.

On Sunday morning the TV weather reports blurted out ominous warnings about a snowstorm soon to be raging across southern Maine that would rival the "Storm of the Century." "Don't drive." "Stay where you are." "Keep the women and children indoors." (Well, maybe not that last thing). Geez. How bad could it be? But I bought into it. Instead of skiing I decided on a quick hike, then I would "brave" the drive home.

So I tested out my new MSR snowshoes on a short 2-mile jaunt along the AT from Route 27 to the Stratton Brook Pond Rd. The shoes have a funky harness system that works okay over the boot top, but not so well around the heel of the shoe. They stayed on for my walk, but I'll have to do some tinkering before I head out on the next big trip.

It was a beautiful day for a woods walk...bright sun, blue sky, temps in the 20s. You'd never have guessed that a crazy snowstorm was raging a few miles to the south. Turns out that the drive back to Portland that afternoon wasn't bad at all. Too much hype, dammit.

I was a true slothy season pass skier this past Sunday. Slept through my alarm. Missed a wake up call from a friend. No biggie. I cooked a nice breakfast and hit the road sometime after 9. Ahhh... There was virtually no skier traffic at that hour, so it was open road! WBLM (the 70s at 7) blared on the radio and coffee charged through my system. No complaints here. I was taking my first run at fine hour of 11AM. You got a problem with that? Not me.

I tried to catch up with my ski friends the entire afternoon, to no avail. Tempest chair, Barker triple, Barker quad. Spruce. Nobody. A quick stop into North Peak Lodge. Still nobody. Aurora, Oz, Jordan. Nada.

The skiing was fantastic. And skiing solo does have some upsides. There were no decisions to make, so I could just go wherever. I like that, although I did miss my pals. I did get to meet some cool people, too: An art therapist from Portland, a UNUM insurance rep from Chattanooga with the sweetest Tennessee accent, a wildman banker from Boston. It was fun.

I should have known. When all else fails, where will my friends be? At the Sunday River Brew Pub. Good to know there's some things you can always count on.

Skiers have odd ways of communicating, don't they?!

This coming weekend... Burke Mountain, Vermont. Oh yeah!