Hut-to-hut Cross-Country Skiing in Oregon

The First Day

      My friend Holly, and I had noted with relief that two other people had signed up to ski the hut-to-hut Sisters Backcountry cross-country ski trip in the Central Oregon Cascades on the same days we were going. We met Katie and Emily, who had come all the way from Rhode Island for this trip, at Three Creeks Sno-Park, from which we would be shuttled to Dutchman's Flat, on Mt. Bachelor, to begin our trip. We were all glad the others were there. The skiing would be easier with four of us than with two.
      We put on our skis at Dutchman's Flat. The shuttle driver said good-bye and have fun. We took a deep breath, shoved our poles into the snow, and were off on our adventure.
      Almost immediately we were in trouble: ski tracks went up the mountain and, more flatly, ahead. Which way was our route? Knowing we had to gain altitude, we followed the upward tracks, but very quickly Holly and I knew this was too steep for cross-country skiing. Only skiers with skins on their skis could have made these tracks! Later, a close look at the map showed that that route led to the top of Tumalo Mountain. Katie and Emily laughed. "What do we know?" they said. "We thought this was cross-country skiing in Oregon!"

      From there we skied more gradually, and therefore more sensibly, up the mountain (not Tumalo). The snow was deep, the skiing superb, the woods and hills beautiful in their deep snowcoat. 

This picture is actually from the third day, but it shows how beautiful everything was.

We skied for hours, farther and farther from other skiers, deeper and deeper into the wilderness. We took turns breaking trail. We took strenuous herring-bone steps up one hill after another, the last being the steepest, longest, and most exhausting hill I had ever herring-boned up. We side-stepped up other hills. We skied down some difficult slopes that felled everyone but Katie.

The most treacherous downhill, at the end of the first day. I am the closer skier, Emily in front of me.

 As the day wore on, I began to get tired. I fell again. I admitted to being tired. Everyone was tired. When we got to the Happy Valley Nordic Hut (6,489 feet), I sank into a chair with relief. So did everyone else.

Happy Valley Nordic Hut

        Recovery was quick. Soon we were all doing chores – starting the fire in the wood stove, scooping snow into pots to melt for water, laying our sleeping bags on the mattresses in the upper bunks, getting food from the cabinet for our pasta dinner, heating water, setting the table. 

Over dinner we learned a little more about each other: that Emily (27) was a high school science teacher, that Katie (28) was a Physician’s Assistant in an emergency room, that Holly (58), as I already knew, was a certified fiduciary. We played bananagrams, then went to bed early.

      The wind howled all night. Snow fell voluptuously, in sparkling crystals that gleamed in our headlamps when we went to the outhouse during the night.

The Second Day 

       The world was beautiful in its new 12-inch layer of snow. The skiing was superb, beginning with a long downslope with a lapis-lazuli sky to our left, then offering roller-coaster skiing (glide down, glide up, glide down again; glide down, glide up, glide down again), and then a series of switchbacks, zig-zagging turn to turn, turn to turn, up the mountain  At the top we stood on our skis for a few minutes to eat a snack, then pushed off again.

           Our hearts were singing. Everything was so beautiful – 

the various skies, from blue to black to roiling grays; the deep soft snow; the motion of skiing; the forests we skied through; the deep solitude. It was seven or eight gorgeous miles to Lone Wolf Hut (6,451 feet). We arrived in fine spirits and, as before, set to the chores. Dinner that night was rice and beans.

Emily and me. Note the snow melting on the stove.

The Third Day

      Again about a foot of new snow fell overnight.

      I got up early, hoping to start the fire and warm the hut before the others were awake, but Katie was up shortly after me. As I was stoking the fire, she called me to the window, and we watched together as a dark brown mink scooted into view, then leapt away through the snow.

        This day’s ski was mostly downhill, an easy ski for exertion and just as beautiful as the trail on the first two days. The clouds lifted at last to reveal Cascade peaks. We skied through a burned-out forest in which every tree was painted with ice crystals, and the forest, whether close-up as we skied through it or as a panorama at the top of a hill, was utterly beautiful. 

            It was 1:00 when we skied into the Three Creeks Sno-Park, exhilarated and thrilled. It had been a wonderful trip – three days of skiing as the only way to get anywhere; an accomplishment for skill; a challenge for trail-finding; an entrance into an enchanted world of snow and solitude; and a camaraderie of deep, though new, friendships with people who flowed easily into rhythms of work, conversation, and shared physical exertion. We had started the trip as strangers; we had ended as close friends. We hugged each other tightly as we parted.

        “See you next year,” I said to Emily and Katie, and they said, “Yes. We’ll be here.”

At the end of the trail, back at Upper Three Creeks Sno-Park (front to back: Holly, Katie, Emily, me)