News has reached me that Cannonsburg (the ski area of my youth) has been sold.  The decrepit area is now the possesion of a lawyer from Petoskey.  I don’t have any clue as to how this will effect the day to day operations (this whole post is an excuse to post the picture above), but knowing how the previous owners seemed content to let the place rot I can’t imagine things will get much worse.  I’m only worried that Cannonsburg traditons like breakless rental skis, groups of five riding a quad chair, busses of Indiana drunks, meth smoking lifties and derailed T-bars may become things of the past.  (Hat Tip to First Tracks)

Each year when I return home to visit my family in Michigan I manage to get in some skiing, despite distractions like drinking with old friends, eating my mom’s food, and the chance surgical procedure.  At Christmas Michigan usually struggles to keep snow on the ground for more then 5 consecutive days, but this year they have had snow on the ground here since early November, with three to four foot snow banks now lining each street.  I am also in possession of my usual ski gear (I normally have to scavenge some boots and skis out of my parents garage) because I plan on driving and skiing my way back to Alaska,  so I had high hopes for some entertaining if not quality skiing, with the ability to travel with skins a rare possibility.

Cannonsburg and the moat

Cannonsburg and the moat

Thursday, celebrating my first day of vacation, I drove to Cannonsburg with my cousin Brian to meet my cousin Jim and revisit a childhood ski scene for the first time in 5 years.  Growing up I used to spend 6 days a week lapping the 135 foot vertical foot ex-sand pit, and for as long as I can remember Cannonsburg’s perpetual state of disrepair has been a constant joke, so it was reassuring to see that very little had been fixed or changed during my long absence.  The collapsed T-bar that laid for years on the skiers right of the double had been removed, the quad chairs were evenly spaced (some even padded), and one of the rope tows had been removed, but the weird smell, the dysfunctional snow guns, ratty buildings, meth addict lift operators, and shady rental equipment all still remain.

michigan skiers often forget to get off the lift

michigan skiers often strugle to get off the lift

Growing up I was always constrained by having a season pass, as the threat of having it taken away by an angry ski patroller kept our antics in check.  This time however I had a lift ticket which I really didn’t mind having taken away, so Jim, Brian and I started in with little fear on all the stuff that used to get us in trouble.  We poached the Plunge (which was closed), skied the steep bank between the Face and the Double, and jumped over the rope tows.  I even attempted to jump and grab one of the moving double chairs without a rebuke.

the Plunge, Cannonsburgs premier run

the Plunge, Cannonsburg's premier run

We were having a great time, but things slowly wound down so I decided to complete a life long goal and gap the creek that sits between the lodge at the lifts and functions as the area’s moat.  Big Mike, who has been the area bouncer / ticket checker for as long as I  can remember by patrolling the bridge, checking tickets, and providing access to Cannonsburg’s lifts, was working on the bridge, so we had to keep things mellow to  avoid getting noticed or shut down, so we didn’t so much build a jump as pile up a couple ice chunks left over from the snow guns.  The whole game of building jumps and skiing like an idiot while trying to avoid harassment brought back fond memories of my youth.  I tucked from the Face and flailed my way across, landing happy to have something new to add to an endless list of stupid stuff accomplished at “C-burg.”  Before we could go for a second round of jumping the creek, ski patrol bashed the jump with a snowmobile, which didn’t stop Jim from trying, but with the jump now just a large chunk of ice, he lost a ski on take off and landed across the creek sideways on his recently separated shoulder.  Content with a good days work we headed home.

The next morning I woke up on Frick’s ex-girlfriends floor, lost my hat, and wandered outside to find 18 inches had fallen, and spent the rest of the day diving around watching cars stuck in the snow with Frick.  That night, hoping to take advantage of the rare Michigan powder, I drove with Hunter up to Chris Idema’s grandparents house in Cedar, where we met both Chris and Al Green, with the idea of skiing the no longer operating Sugarloaf Ski Area.

Hunter and some Michigan powder

Hunter and some Michigan powder

The next morning we were up early, with vodka clear skis, Lake Michigan glowing candy blue, and views of North Manitou. We drove 5 minutes in ski boots and skinned up the resort (600 vertical feet) in a few minutes.  All the lift shacks and lodges remain but were boarded up in their original location, and most of the chairs were strung on the lifts.  The snow was deep and extremely light, although in places you could sense the wind crust underneath, a reminder that the area’s incredible view’s come at a price of serious gusts.  We took our first run down Awful Awful (the one time “steepest run in Michigan“), took a run off the side, and then returned for our third run, again down Awful Awful.

We returned to the house for lunch, before we set off towards Glen Arbor hoping to complete our Leelenau Peninsula trip with a little ski tour around Sleeping Bear Dunes, where we found a sign (thanks NPS) warning us of avalanche danger.  We had been enjoying a rare day of skinning around without beacons, shovels or probes, and decided the danger could be managed and set off in spite of the sign.  We toured around, finding firm windblown snow, pockets of light powder, areas of blown sand, and a few mini cornices.  There were even steep rollovers on top of the miniature slopes that I could definitely imagine avalanching.  I got three steep short runs in before leaving when Al found a deer skeleton on our ski back to the parking lot.  A rare day of Michigan powder skiing under our belts we returned to Grand Rapids content.

Sleeping Bear Powder

my Sleeping Bear powder turns

I’m still in Grand Rapids, and it hasn’t quit snowing.  There are only a few times I’ve ever seen the town with this much snow, so I’m hoping to get out and ski a few more times before heading back to Alaska.  Maybe we’ll get in a day skiing Mt Garfield, and I’m pretty positive there will be some more skiing (and cannon shooting) done when I’m up at Sawkaw for my brother’s film festival.  Until then I don’t know what I’ll have to talk about, back here it’s mostly been detailed beer discussions and strange nerdy conversations amongst my friends discussing the variations in NPR programing in our corners of the country.  At least I’ve got stories of Hilltop being overrun with coyotes from back home to confuse people with. Until next time you can enjoy some lake Michigan sand dune scenery.

Lake Michigan

Lake Michigan and North Manitou Island

There is a a divide amongst team Dongshow over the worth of early season skiing. On one side are people like Mania (despite a broken femur attributed to the cause) and myself, who suffering from autumnal apathy can not wait to make mediocre turns after the first dusting thick enough to disguise the rocks. We feel a summer of boredom and a fall of getting fat watching football justifies destroying a pair of skis in search of forgettable skiing. The opposite side are the Wilsonites, who refuse all ski before Christmas, out of principal, regardless of snow depth. This dispute has ragged on since the early Utah days, before Radical was a fugitive and before Politics was an ex-con.

Today, in the office, dreaming (sunny this morning) of some early season turns, I stumbled across this article and was prepared to have a good laugh at Colorado’s expense. I carry a grudge against that state, based on the number of times my Utah complaints prompted the annoying Michigander question, “Why don’t you just live in Colorado?” But as I was getting started I couldn’t help but think of lift served November days in Little Cottonwood that were scarily similar, so after some brief contemplation I realised that the key statement“No doubt, resort owners know they can make more money by opening early, as many skiers and snowboarders gladly accept the crowds for the chance to go down the few runs the snowmakers make possible” is a fair statement when applied to skiers everywhere, and that rather then writing the ‘woo! Colorado sucks!’ article we’re eagerly awaiting Dave to finish, I’d be better off ranting about the stupidity of North American skiers in general.

Now, I’ll concede that I grew up skiing in Michigan, and that without the motivating skiing snow guns provided, I could find myself about to lose my job at a car plant. So I don’t really have any gripes with artificial snow, but I do question it’s necessity in places like Utah, Alaska, or even relatively snowless Colorado. Ski Areas everywhere waste oodles of money snowmaking hoping to open by Thanksgiving, only to close in early April with 80 inches on the ground due to a lack of interest. What is wrong with skiers? Well if my usual skiing experience invovled sharing a single icy slope with “2,400 riders an hour” i’d quit before spring too. Then there are places like Alyeska, which despite getting upwards of 800 inches on any given season, and having a tram that renders the lower mountain obsolete, will spend thousand of dollars making snow so a few fools can ski to their car on a rainy day in December. Rather then operate at a loss in late spring to provide a quality skiing when it’s hard to find but extremely sunny, they’ve decided to throw money away to coddle the delusional fantasy that winter in Alaska means snow at all elevations.

Whats possible with fake flakes

What's possible with fake flakes

Now I also fully understand that many ski areas are facing severe economic and climatic difficulties so look to make money or snow whenever possible. But at the same time I’d expect them to look after their product a bit more; not go the route of the micro breweries who despite brewing fabulous stuff have their reputation forever tainted by over carbonation and distribution issues. After seeing the conditions many areas open with, can it really be surprising people become disillusioned before march? It seems that quality can overcome a bad economy but does this sound quality?

Most ski areas post ski patrol and volunteers to remind guests to maintain safe speeds, but armed with only whistles these sentries are serving tough duty. The large orange SLOW signs are routinely ignored no matter how far the ski season has progressed.” (via Ski Safety Blog)

Being told to slow down by large orange signs and whistle blowing spastics before being herded like cattle (with strange east coast accents) while waiting in line so some burn out from east Texas can scan the bar code that lets you ride the lift is exactly the reason I don’t spend much time at ski areas. The whole affair reminds me of something I read from Matt Taibbi in an epic Sarah Palin rant earlier this fall. “Only 21st-century Americans can pass through a metal detector six times in an hour and still think they’re at a party.” Replace “at a party” with “on an exotic alpine adventure” and you have my thoughts perfectly.

Skiing should be good (for early season) the next couple days, and in the pass I shouldn’t have to worry about mass congestion, but with the 18″ from Tuesday night on top of the hoar and facet sandwich we saw last weekend I think we’ll have to keep it pretty safe. Whatever happens, I should have some (good or bad) stuff soon.

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