PaddyO On The Road: Mount Bohemia

Mount Bohemia:

A Midwestern Powder Day, A Storm of Gratitude

The thought crept softly into my mind like Sandburg’s fog and sat proudly on its haunches in silent profoundness. It was January 18^th. A year ago I was in Telluride, physically only. The rest of me bobbed adrift in dark seas, no lighthouse illuminating the shoreline. The beauty of Telluride and my passion for skiing was all but completely lost. The 18^th and 19^th of last year’s January would seem to be the jumping off point yet I still had many miles to go on that journey. The 18^th of this January found me on Mount Bohemia’s main chairlift in the dumbfounded realization of the tenderness and beauty of the moment.

The Mount Bohemia Ski Resort sits at the northernmost tip of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula on the edge of the Keweenaw, in the middle of the Lake Superior Snow Belt. 1,000 million years ago lava flows cut the landscape, depositing copper ore, and giving the entire peninsula a dramatic pronounced look. More notably, these flows created the mountain that is sandwiched between the Great Lake and Lac La Belle. The 900 feet of vertical offered by the Mount Bohemia Ski Resort is the most in the Midwest. 400 acres, 85 marked runs, of which 75% are gladed, Bohemia extends endless amounts of exploration on terrain that sees 300 annual inches of lake-effected snowfall. Compared to Western resorts with furious storms of the ever pursued “champagne powder,” 300 inches does not sound like a large number. Yet during a storm cold winds travel a long fetch over the expansive Lake Superior, typically accompanied with strong winds, and slam into the leeward Upper

Peninsula from almost every direction. Snow can accumulate in feet per hour in such conditions. Snowfall measurement sticks in the U.P. stand 40plus feet in the air. Snow racks up in droves on Bohemia’s terrain which has a pitch in the mid to low 30s at its steepest. Simply put, the Upper Peninsula has a snow problem (Mt. Bohemia made it to the Final Four in Powder Magazines 2014 Ski Town Throwdown), a welcome issue for me, a skier whose passion was born in the steeps and deeps of the Lower San Juans.

I first heard rumblings of this Midwestern ski oasis while I was living in Telluride. Minnesotans and Wisconsinites I worked with as a Lift Operator and later as a Ski Patroller would tell tales of epic ski days at Bohemia, the challenge of the terrain, and the incredible amount of snow. As a native Chicagoan, I knew the Midwest saw its fair share of snowfall and blizzards. But as a skeptical Colorado transplant I was tentative to bite yet eager to chew if given the chance. A few weeks ago a group of friends and I were skiing at Afton Alps and the plan was hatched to make the 7-hour trek from St. Paul, MN to Copper Harbor, MI.

A little past 6:30 on Friday night, the 17^th, Michelle pulled up to my house in “The Adventure Bot,” a 2006 Nissan Ultima that has a tendency to blow through stoplights, stop signs, and end up in Wisconsin when aiming for St. Paul. I met Michelle, a native Minnesotan, in Telluride through common friends. She moved back to the Twin Cities to pursue a career in fashion design a little over a year before I left Colorado. Since May, she has been my MN tour guide, ski partner, and beacon. Her friendship is among the most cherished results of my move down from the mountains, both physical and metaphorical. We loaded “The Adventure Bot” with my gear and headed into the moonlit chill toward our night’s destination.

We arrived at our friend Will’s family cabin on Round Lake in Hayward, WI, a bit after 9:00. The woods were soft, still, and quiet. Will is a polite, sociable, and energetic Minnesnowta adventurer. He had previously visited Bohemia on a motorcycle trip but never skied there. He is quick to drop the knee in a tele-turn and quicker to drop bathroom humor, a characteristic I share and celebrate. Over dinner at the Sawmill Saloon, the three of us laughed and spoke excitedly about the prospect that was Bohemia. We retired to bed with full bellies and full hearts. Bohemia was on the horizon.

The morning saw its fair share of joyous commotion. It started with an intimate bathroom experience that involved the previous evenings Chipotle Burger, Will’s Japanese “future” toilet, and a button which read “Gentle Rear Cleansing.” With a lightness and airiness I have never felt before, we loaded Will’s truck and headed north on 63 for breakfast at the best kept secret in the foodie world, the Delta Diner. This gem in the woods is a typical diner only in its appearance—white collar recipes for blue collar prices, a staff and customer base that fell out of a Norman Rockwell painting, and the perfect mixture of sass and charm (ask for Mary).  After arguably the greatest breakfast of my life, we headed up and out through the sunlit Chequamegon National Forest on 63, hit the blue of the Bay on 2, sped up 41, and finally arrived at Mount Bohemia.

Our first taste of Bohemia came on the heels of a storm which had deposited 14in. over the previous 7days. The time change had escaped us. We had only a few hours until closing, though posted hours of operation are liberal guides. I jittered with excitement and over-caffeination. I raced to buy a lift ticket, grabbed my bag of ski clothes, my boots, and burst into the bathroom yurt to change. I felt like Bruce Banner trying to contain the Hulk—Paddy smash! We skated over to the main chairlift, ironically painted green and purple, and ascended toward the first run of a desire birthed years ago.

I let go some barbaric yulps, I crowed like Peter, I was in a riotous stoke, an outpouring of all the energy built up within me. We skied the lift line, the Copper Plunge. The snow was perfect. The bumps were soft, schmeary, and creamy. The water bars were nicely filled in, perfect to air off of and hotdog for the full lift. The stories of Bohemia brought out west were true, they were declarations, and we had come to stake our claim. We explored the Bear Den and Haunted Valley, where there is a wonderful mixture of tight and gladed trees as well as slash turns, natural jibs and boosts, small gullies and creek beds which turn into natural halfpipes. The terrain is exceptionally playful and inspiring. The afternoon was a blur of fun and pure skiing enjoyment that caused me to overheat and shed a layer for the first time in this Midwestern Ski Season. I breathed heavily and smiled deeply. And then, as gently as a feather floating on a soft breeze, it came to me. The contrast of this day to a year prior was so pronounced it seemed incredible to have not noticed it sooner. My eyes widened and filled with emotion: This is a gift.

We pulled out of the parking lot and drove to our hotel, the Mariner North. Boughs of the trees that lined the road were heavy with snow and folded over the road in a canopy. They were barely in reach of the headlights and cocooned my thoughts. The road wound through the woods as my mind traveled across the divergence. I began to see visiting Mount Bohemia was more than a ski trip. It was a spiritual endeavor, a recognition of the beauty of the present, and a celebration of life.  I pursued the rest of the evening with a physical, mental, and emotional sensitivity as Bohemia served as a mark of benevolence. Manny and Katie, friends of Will, joined our trio and we had a late dinner at the Mariner North’s restaurant. I fell asleep on Saturday, January 18, 2014, contemplative, excited, happy, and overwhelmingly grateful.

Ullr and Mother Nature delivered a 7 in. storm while we slept, and we awoke with a powder fever. Booting up consisted of dance music, coffee, whoops and hollers, and laughter. I saw the storm as an opportunity for recompense to time wasted and atonement of inaction. Again, our first run was center-punching the Copper Plunge. I skipped over soft bumps filled in by the storm, did my best to lean into every turn and get as close to the snow as my 6’5” frame would allow. I felt the float of my skis and the bounce in their flex for the first time this season, quite the welcomed return. It caught my attention from the corner of my eye, and I tracked toward it like a bird of prey: a large, pillowy wind deposit at the base of a lift tower, on the lip of a water bar. As I felt the tips of my skis flex upward, I threw them sideways in my best attempt at a “McConkey Slarve” toward the meatiest section of the drift. Pooof. The air was filled with the soft white and my face and body cut through the wave in ecstasy. A full on, real life, Midwestern face shot. I never knew it was possible, never thought they existed, and had resigned myself begrudgingly to the fact that this season spent in the Midwest would go without the much sought after white wash. A cold, snowy smile adorned my face and the rest of the morning was spent in pursuit of untracked cold smoke in the Bohemia Bluffs, the Bear Den, and Haunted Valley. The morning highlight was a secluded run down undisturbed Black Bear. The five us bombing it together, away from the rest of the public, only stopping to look uphill in raucous laughter.

My teeth are sooo cold ‘cause I can’t stop smiling, Michelle yelled as she skied past me, her brunette braids dancing in the stream of her wake.

After a quick midday coffee and a few handfuls of trail mix, we explored the trees off the Beast and the lift line of Bohemia’s secondary chairlift. The woods on skier’s right had a few fun technical turns to get into and opened up to steep glades we took with speed. Lonie, the fast talking, approachable, and highly stoked owner of Mount Bohemia, and a few members of the Bohemia Ski Patrol told us of their favorite lines in the Triple Black Extreme Backcountry. We were feeling adventurous and curious to ski what could be the only Triple Black in the world. The zone is the best skiing on the resort, steep shots of floaty descending turns, beautiful schmeary banking glades, and line halting views. We jumped all over as Mount Bohemia’s terrain is exceptionally bountiful and inspires creativity and exploration. There is truly no area not worth touching. Even when ending up on the road below the secondary lift, three buses run endless loops and return skiers to the base of the resort throughout operating hours.

The afternoon stretched out. Manny and Katie had to leave and make the drive back to St. Paul. After a few more runs Will’s legs forced him to retire to the North Pole Bar. Michelle and I continued, slaves to an unrelenting powder desire though our thighs were hammered. We jumped back into the Extreme Backcountry; cut left after the Bull Moose sign, and headed fall line. The sun broke the lavender and grey sky and danced through the glade as Michelle and I smeared simultaneous arcs in soft powder bumps. We both let go whoops and laughs in unison as we felt our individual interconnectedness and harmony with our surroundings. This was the run of the trip, the run of the season, and among top 5 in my skiing career. Yes, I have been in deeper snow and in steeper more technical terrain. However, on this run all things came together and created one of the most beautiful moments.  For whatever reason, I was just lucky enough to be aware of it.

One of the buses picked us up and returned us to the yurts at the core of Mount Bohemia. We exited and I lugged my skis back to the snow. Breathing heavily I stopped, smiled, and looked toward the heavens in exhausted bliss. When I began to laugh boyishly, my eyes closed and the weight of the past two days hit me. I looked at Michelle.

We should probably take another run.

She laughed, nodded, and smiled in one motion.

Yeah we should.

I am not a religious man but I have become quite spiritual over the course of the last year of my life. I found myself saying Thank You often on this trip to whatever it is pushing the stream of life. Something magical happened to me at Bohemia. I became keenly aware of the fragility of it all. When we left, I sat in the back of Will’s truck silently thinking of Bohemia like I did with my first high school crush. I rolled through my exchanges with the ski area as finely and intimately as those with that freckle faced brunette I fell in love with my sophomore year. A year ago I had been an unaware vessel; bewildered, taking on water. But now, I was passionate, mindful, and connected. The road meandered through the woods, and we were engulfed in a powder cloud. Our snowy tracks disappeared in the fog that trailed, and we moved forward into the haziness; nothing behind us, nothing in front, and I smiled.

By: Paddy O’Connell

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