As a kayak guide, my friend Adam had hero issues. Meaning, he liked to do heroic stuff, whether or not people wanted him to. Case in point was the time he and I and our friend Ken were on a private sea kayak expedition in the Islands of Loreto in southern Baja. It was dinnertime when a commercial group paddled into our bay and made for the other end of the beach we were camped on. The wind was blowing directly in and there was a bit of surf — maybe two feet high. Big enough to get the clients anxious, because when the first boat came in for a landing, the poor fellow visibly tensed up. His kayak curled sideways across the wave, and he capsized. He was helped ashore by one of the guides, embarrassed but unhurt. Suddenly, though, our friend Adam leapt up, shoehorned himself into his shortie wetsuit and dove into the water to help. Ken and I exchanged amazed looks as Adam, clad in his superhero-esque suit, swam each kayak to shore.

We were stunned. Not only was his solution overkill, but it undermined the group’s guides. How could the clients possibly respect their guides when, on the first day of their trip, some total stranger on a deserted island had to leap into the water to save them?

When Adam returned to our camp, we immediately began razzing him. After some resistance, he allowed he might have been overeager, which didn’t stop us from saddling him with the nickname of Captain O’Neill after his brand of wetsuit. Whenever his heroic tendencies arose, whether on the water or merely in the grocery store parking lot, we’d trumpet out a little fanfare and call out, “Captain O’Neill will save you!” Sometimes this kept him in check.

(Here’s a situation where an overhero might be welcome.)

More recently, I had a chance to experience the overhero situation from the other side. A group of us were exploring sea caves in California’s Channel Islands with my friend Bill, who occasionally guides trips out there for a commercial outfit. The wind was very strong, and the seas mostly too rough to be ducking into caves (lest our heads be cracked against the cave ceiling’s by surging waves). We launched anyways, and stayed out of the caves, but had a nice time paddling around.

We were on our way back to the launch point, fighting against 30-knot winds, when I spotted a guide from another commercial outfit out there — let’s call him Bob — heading our way, paddling with the righteous, upright bearing of an overhero. Even the tilt of his hat was cocky. I gave him a nod as I made my way toward the beach to help our group land (trying to convey, in effect, “We’ve got this under control”), but could see him circling.

He sidled up to the trailing member of our group, Anton. Though not the most experienced paddler, Anton was a college athlete, and was bringing up the rear largely because the sit-on-top he was paddling has approximately the same aerodynamics of the Underdog balloon at the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. For every two strokes forward he took, the wind blew him backward one stroke. Bob offered to tow him in to shore.

Anton declined, but Bob was insistent. “You’re not less of a man if I tow you,” he said.

I was offended on Anton’s behalf. It was not as if he were Ed Gillet, barely washing ashore in Hawaii after nearly starving in his kayak during 63 days at sea. We’d been out for two hours, we were 300 yards from our destination, and Anton was 10 yards behind the group. “Look,” he replied, “You aren’t more of a man for towing me.”

Unflapped, Bob prowled off to give someone else in our group some unsolicited advice on her paddle stroke. Everyone managed to land their kayaks on the gravel beach despite the surging waves, and Bob was nowhere to be found when his help would have been welcomed — lugging our kayaks up the shore, or helping pitch tents in the continuing gale.

(Trust the captain! Capt. O’Neill wasn’t needed in this Snake River rafting flip in Hell’s Canyon:)

I’m all for safety, but I also believe people should have their own adventures whenever possible. That means letting them screw up sometimes, even when you, as a bystander, know better. How else are they going to learn, except from their mistakes? It’s a fine line; often rookies can’t anticipate the danger they’re getting into, but it’s a question of approach. Bob and Adam weren’t very observant about the situation at hand and inserted themselves where they weren’t wanted.

I say never jump in to help people unless you ask them first if they want it. It’s a first-responder basic: Establish the victim’s permission to give aid (with unconsciousness implying consent.) By all means, if people ask for help, be ready to give it, but if they aren’t asking, please, be unobtrusive, and keep your ego out of it.

What do you think? How do you know when to step in with aid? And does this differ in various environments? In the water? On snow? On rock?

Last year Congress designated as wilderness some 300,000 acres along the Owyhee River in southwestern Idaho. The high desert is pocked with steep basalt canyons eventually winding toward the Snake River in Oregon.

Earlier this month, Forrest McCarthy, public lands director for the Winter Wildlands Alliance and hardy packrafter, set out to paddle one of the Owyhee tributaries with Mark Menlove, the group’s executive director, and friend Andy Wells. While McCarthy is a veteran of packrafting expeditions down places like Cataract Canyon, Menlove and Wells were new to the lightweight boats, which the men carried on their backs during a 10-mile hike into the wilderness. In three days and two nights the group covered more than 30 miles, including 20 or so by raft, and was impressed by the Owyhee’s rugged character.

The exact stream shall remain unnamed, as McCarthy says, “I don’t want to steal the excitement of wilderness exploration away from future adventurers.”

In conjunction with the Outdoor Alliance, McCarthy is helping promote the America’s Great Outdoors Initiative launched by the Obama administration to promote recreation on public lands and a healthier lifestyle for kids. This video is a great plug.

Winter Wildlands also is the sponsor of the Backcountry Film Festival, which tours the West every winter. Entries are now being accepted for the upcoming film tour. For details, click here.

As a parent I struggle with what I should and shouldn’t let my kids do.

In the past, I tried to look at each incident as it happened. For example, can they ski that line safely or am I asking for trouble by letting them? Can they climb that route without falling and swinging into a wall or dihedral and getting hurt?

First and foremost, my wife and I are climbers. We’ve been at it for a long time, and I like to think I have a pretty good handle on it. Even after an accident claimed a lot of my body, a climbing accident I might add, I still feel like it’s a good pursuit and one that really fills a void in my life.

Last season, though, was a tough one to figure out and a tougher one to look forward from. Three climbing friends died in China. I didn’t know them well, and I felt really off when it all happened. They had a lot of experience like me, yet when the time came, they were gone.

Toward the end of summer, I got a call in a hotel room that I never thought I would get. My close friend Craig was killed while climbing in the Northwest. Craig was one of the first people I met and climbed with when I moved to Colorado 16 years ago. He was a kind and gentle guy who could climb almost anything. He taught me a lot and was a great friend. Recently, he had a new girl in his life, his daughter Guila, who he and his wife adored. Craig was a guide and made his living being safe; in fact when he died, he was training for a safety test he needed to take to keep some of his guiding credentials up to date. Again, when it’s time, you get slapped pretty hard and there is nothing you can do about it.

It’s with these thoughts I trudge into the mountains again on Saturday. My wife and kids are ahead of me, and all the parental stuff rolls around my head like a storm front. The pain in my leg and back are all-too-real reminders of what can go wrong, and they also remind me that I have no control of this life. It’s that thought that allows me to hand my 11-year-old the sharp end of the rope at the base of our first climb. The sharp end refers to the fact she will be leading up this climb first, so if she falls, she will FALL to her last bolt. The bolts are spaced at about 10- to 15-foot intervals, making the falls roughly double if she were to fall at the blots. She is nervous, and I am more so. I tell her she can do this, and that she has all the skills to hike right up this thing. With that, she casts off into a sea of granite rising above her like a wave frozen in time.

Once she makes the first clip, I feel better. This means she shouldn’t hit the ground if she were to fall, but she is still a long way from the top. She climbs quietly. Her focus is sharp, and she cruises bolt to bolt with little or no hesitation. It’s over in less than 10 minutes. She clips the anchors and lowers back to the ground, where her mom and I high-five her. I have a weird mix of fear, joy and pride that swims inside me as I look at her untying. Could she have gotten hurt?

Yes.

Would I do it again?

Yes, in a heartbeat.

Why? Because in life, I figure we really don’t have any control, that the things that are going to happen, either good or bad, are going to happen. And if I can give my kids some skills to cope with life and stress in the form of climbing, well, that’s a good thing.

The day passes fast, and before I know it we are walking out to the car. They both have climbed today, and well. Will didn’t want to lead yet, and that’s OK; I think he will be ready next year. Mayah felt great, she climbed a few more routes on top rope, and then read a book in the sun.

Now all I have to worry about is the boys she’ll meet in school. And I know I’ll struggle with that way more than her climbing.

Craig DeMartino is one of Cloudveil’s Inspired Mountain Ambassadors.

We don’t usually think of New Jersey as bear habitat on par with, say, Yellowstone or Alaska.

But the Garden State has a surprisingly high number of encounters between bruins and mountain bikers, only an hour or so from the skyscrapers of Manhattan. Entrepreneur Alex Tiger of Newfoundland, N.J., was seeing black bears so regularly on his rides that last winter he and a few friends created an iPhone application, ScareBear Trail Companion, designed to ward off bruins.

Here’s the description:

“This application is perfect for hikers, bikers, walkers, birdwatchers, and anyone who’s trekking outdoors. It’s the only application that replicates bear bells, which for years have been recommended by safety experts and widely used by experienced outdoorspeople. Once activated on your iPhone, ScareBear Trail Companion emits a steady audible warning to alert any creature (animal or human) in your immediate area or up the trail of your presence and to prevent them from being unnecessarily startled and angered. Choose from 3 sounds – bells, clapping, or rock-filled can. Additionally, this application provides you with an air horn, recommended by safety experts as an effective means of scaring away any animal (for example, a bear, mountain lion, or coyote) in your path. This application is no substitute for using your common sense in the outdoors, so be smart and safe!”

One of Tiger’s partners, John Dowling, showed off the application at the Stagecoach Bar in Wilson while on a visit to Jackson Hole last winter. It seemed more likely to impress girls at the ‘Coach than scare bears on the trail, but now that bears have emerged from hibernation and snow is melting, perhaps we’ll get more field testing in the wild.

ScareBear generated a buzz of publicity after the release, reaching its logical culmination in an appearance on the Colbert Report, whose host is a noted enemy of bears:

My girlfriend refuses to go skiing with me again. It’s not because I give her unasked-for instruction (at least not anymore). It’s because she assumes disaster will befall us.

The first time we went skiing together this year was on Christmas Day. The skiing was fine — we skinned up beside the lifts at Timberline Lodge* on Mount Hood on a crystal-clear day — it’s what happened afterward that triggered our fight. On our way home at dark we encountered a huge line of cars backed up on Highway 26. Taillights for as far as we could see. We assumed a wreck, but when we took a shortcut that paralleled the highway we arrived at the police roadblock that was causing the traffic stoppage.

Turns out there had been a murder in the town of Sandy in the early afternoon, and the killer was still on the loose. So they decided to close the highway for 10 miles in either direction. Homeless guy killed his own mother. There was a detour, a single-lane back road, but it was blocked by downed trees. So the choice was to drive clear around to the town of Hood River, an extra hour of travel time, or to wait it out. We were supposed to meet some friends for a big dinner Kate had planned. It felt callous, knowing someone had died and that we were irritated about it, but …

After waiting 45 minutes, we ended up driving back up the mountain to a rough little roadside bar that was clogged by fellow travelers. After an hour’s wait, our Christmas dinner consisted of grilled cheese and fries (Kate is a vegetarian) and we still ended up driving all the way around because the road was still not open. What was the fight about? That I hadn’t honored her request to look for a better restaurant. No one wants their Christmas dinner to consist of fries.

The second incident was worse. She and I and another friend went skiing at Teacup, a small Nordic center on the flanks of Mount Hood. After two hours, we returned to the car only to find that the driver’s side window had been smashed and a bunch of our stuff stolen. They grabbed my pants, containing an iPhone and my wallet, Phil’s pants, which contained his wallet, his down jacket, and a brand new camera I’d just bought the day before. Kate’s duffel was the bag they apparently stuffed everything into because it was gone, along with all the clothes it contained. Our dogs sat to the side and looked sad as we stomped around, cleaning up glass and assessing our losses.

Once we reached cell reception and called to cancel credit cards, we discovered that the thieves had already charged $10,000 worth of goods at six different stores, all in a line along the highway heading back to Portland, all electronics. Worse, in the confusion and hurry to drive to cell phone reception (to call and cancel credit cards) we drove off without loading Kate’s skis into the car.

I was bummed, of course, but haven’t had much theft so wasn’t too upset. Phil, on the other hand, has had his car broken into three other times, and it was his car that was now missing a window. “That’s the last straw with Oregon,” he said. (He’s currently looking for jobs in his home state of Wisconsin.)

We made some pretty obvious mistakes that led to the theft. The Hood County Sheriff’s Office, where we filed our report, says the incident occurs frequently, usually in spurts as one criminal or another gets a taste for the easy pickings. Our mistakes?

• We’d parked not along the road where traffic would deter thieves, but in an overflow area out of sight of the main road.

• We’d left items like pants and bags in plain sight.

• We left small and easily transportable items like cell phones and wallets in the car rather than bringing them with us.

Some people go so far as to leave their cars unlocked at trailheads (assuming there are no valuables stashed inside) so that thieves wouldn’t break out a window to find that out. The problem is worse, of course, for people heading out on extended backcountry expeditions. One good suggestion I’ve read for those heading out on multi-day trips is to pay a nearby business (gas station or such) $20 to store your car on their lit premises.

I did wonder if this was some sort of karmic retribution for stealing services at Teacup. You see, I hadn’t paid to ski there. In fact, I’ve never paid to ski there in the half-dozen times I’ve skied at Teacup. That despite the fact that a season pass is only $55. I’d intended to pay it, but in three seasons, never had, mostly out of laziness.

The aftermath wasn’t so bad. Phil wasn’t responsible for the fraudulent charges on his card. Getting a new license was fairly painless, I only had to pay $100 for a new phone, and miraculously, American Express, with which I’d paid for the camera, will reimburse you if the purchase was within 90 days. Kate still hasn’t agreed to go skiing again, though. Think I’ll pay for a Teacup membership now. Maybe she’ll change her mind.

*Timberline has a liberal approach to sidecountry visitors. It is very common to see uphill skiers, snowshoers and even hikers on the relatively gentle and wide-open slopes tramping their way upwards on the big volcano. Dogs seem to be welcome. It probably has to do with the fact that the Lodge is the main Forest Service trailhead for climbing Mount Hood.

(Broken glass photo by Tim Samoff, via Flickr; break-in shot via The Goat)

Frederick Reimers is a freelance writer, skier and paddler who lives in Portland, Ore.

Yesterday we awoke in Jackson Hole to fresh snow on the ground. It was actually a strange sight, after all the spring-like weather March has brought.

Last week, with the sun softening up corn on the slopes, Sarah, the winner of the Cloudveil winter 2011 jacket contest, made a tram lap in her bikini, as promised.

Her friend Sandy donned swim trunks and accompanied her as a wingman. The two “casually dropped trou” in Corbet’s Cabin atop the 10,450-foot summit of Rendezvous Mountain.

“When we stepped outside, we were both a bit surprised that it was actually pleasant outside (sans culottes),” she writes. “A guy named Larry took a mid-run picture for us, since neither of us had a fannypack for a camera. Because it was St. Patty’s Day, we celebrated the run with car bombs. Definitely worth a jacket.”

Sarah now has a toasty Hooded Inversion Jacket to keep her warm after her next bikini run.

Sandy gets extra props for wearing what appears to be an old Hartford Whalers jersey.

We’re still waiting on the video of Ashley, the contest runner-up from Aspen, boogieing down in that Sasquatch suit.

———————————————————————————–
• Meet Your Jacket-Winning Bikini Skier (Feb. 17, 2010)
• Time to Get Furry, or Nearly Naked. Or Hitched. (Feb. 16, 2010)
• What Would You Do to Win These Jackets? (Feb. 11, 2010)

Forrest McCarthy, Exum mountain guide and public lands director for Winter Wildlands Alliance, recently set out with a few wilderness advocates to explore Idaho’s Salmon River country in winter.

The group skied into the Frank Church River of No Return Wilderness with their boats on their backs — in this case, lightweight Alpacka rafts. They floated the Marsh Fork to the Middle Fork of the Salmon, in all covering about 75 miles in seven days.

Forrest, who serves on the Teton County Planning Commission, has been pioneering descents with pack rafts for years in Alaska, Wyoming and the desert Southwest. He and his mates usually combine paddling the lightweight (under 5 pounds) rafts with multi-day climbing or hiking excursions for a rugged, hybrid adventure he calls “ski raft-aineering.”

Believe it or not, the logistics and challenges of this trip are a lot easier than deciding the proper zoning for development.

(Cross-country skiing in Grand Teton National Park.)

February was a month with a shallow snowpack, a mix of weather and increased light as the rays of the sun track back to the Northern Hemisphere. About 300 inches of snow have fallen in the mountains, and water content remains at about 60 percent of average.

As days lengthen and winter begins to wane, I reflect on past years and compare them to this one. Last year, we had numerous robins that remained in the valley. This season, I have not seen one.

A herd of about 20 pronghorns has remained in the Jackson Hole valley instead of migrating south and east in the state. Pronghorn have never adapted to a deeper snowpack, so as the valley becomes white, they can’t find food. This year, with little snow cover, some might survive. Why didn’t they leave?

(Photo by Harry Engels, The National Audubon Society Collection/Photo Researchers)

We have a herd of about 100 bighorn sheep that live on the Teton peaks. Due to loss of winter habitat, they remain on the high peaks, surviving this harsh season by limiting their movements and possibly eating lichen. What an existence. Limit your movements, lose calories and wait for spring. Biologists are concerned for this herd. Habitat loss from human encroachment confines them to the high country.

The talk around town is definitely spring. The snow is heavier with our warmer temperatures, but Old Man Winter hasn’t quite let go. During the last week of February, overnight temperatures were below zero.

Light penetrating the snow will become stronger, causing bears to rise, rodents to mate, and the start of the growing season with the first spring blooms. I am awaiting the change and have enjoyed the longer days, lighter gloves and thinner long underwear.

I recently read in our daily paper that bear sign has been spotted. They are up earlier than usual but not uncommon for a milder season.

What’s in the woods:

2/2 — Shadow Mountain: herd of about 50 bison
2/3 — Gros Ventre River: elk feeding in river bottom
2/6 — cold
2/9 — Gros Ventre River: female moose
2/14 — backyard bird count: magpies, ravens, northern flickers, downy woodpecker, goldfinch
2/16 — Moose Creek: wolf tracks and howling wolves!
2/17 — Fox Creek: mature bald eagle
2/18 — Snake River: female moose
2/19 — Teton Canyon: Townsend solitaire
2/19 — Alta, WY: mature bald eagle
2/23 — Darby Canyon: horned larks, three rough-legged hawks
2/25 — Driggs, Idaho: mature bald eagle
2/25 — backyard: gold finches, chickadees, downy woodpecker, magpies

Tour Suggestion

A monthly highlight was a cross-country ski tour up Moose Creek in Teton Valley, Idaho. I was the only one in the canyon with my three canine companions. As I skied along, I noticed canine tracks in front of me that were a lot larger than my friend the black Lab. Wolf tracks? Well, yes they were. I stopped and listened. I was near the creek but could clearly hear a wolf or two howling above me. What a feeling! It was awesome. I turned around because wolves are territorial, but I wouldn’t have traded the experience for anything. Moose Creek is fun to explore at any time of the year. It is an easier ski, but you have to take your skis off to cross some small creeks.

To access the trailhead, you will see a sign for Moose Creek Ranch off Highway 33. It is on the east side of the road and 3.5 miles from Victor (heading east) or a quarter-mile past the Mike Harris Campground turn-off if coming from Jackson. Turn onto the paved road and turn immediately left, then right. Follow the signs to the ranch. In the winter, the road will dead end at the ranch. Have fun! Look for large canine tracks and listen.

Working as a school counselor I get some awesome breaks. Flying from Rochester, N.Y., to Denver last month to meet up with friends, I dreamed of my first telemark powder turns. In my mind I tried to experience the up-and-down bouncing I see in the Powder Whore videos.

My friends Dave and Jenn, both experienced backcountry skiers, set up a four-day, three-night hut skiing trip in the Aspen backcountry. Fortunately for us, Aspen received a lot of snow in late February and we were in for what was shaping up to be a great hut trip.

As I reflect on this trip, I feel my body beginning to shake with excitement. The first day we drove four hours to Aspen and skinned three hours to the Markley hut. This was my first time skinning, the air was crisp, the snow was deep, and the views were expansive. Arriving at the hut, we started the wood-burning stove, put snow in the pot to melt for cooking and drinking water, and prepared for our first run before sunset.

Dave set me up with skins and skis the width of water skis to float in the powder. The skins were half the width of the skis, so a lot of ski base was exposed and on the steep skin track up I could not gain traction and kept sliding backward. In the interest of safety, as it was going to get dark soon and I didn’t want to put anyone in danger, I decided to return to the hut. Although I told myself not to be disappointed, I was. I committed to charge hard the next days and I was happy that I made a responsible decision, as safety is always number one in the mountains.

The next day Dave was awesome and sacrificed his skins for me, cutting them into split skins with a knife on a cutting board. We skinned six hours to the Goodwin Greene hut, and we were all tuckered. Jenn (culinary excellence incarnate) put together a snack and we gorged on fruit, nuts, and chocolate before dinners of pasta with shrimp; turkey, mashed potatoes and gravy; and bean, chicken, guacamole, cheese and salsa double-decker hard/soft shell tacos. I ate better on the hut trip carrying the food on my back than at home with the convenience of a refrigerator.

Earning turns was the greatest experience. The Goodwin Greene hut was surrounded by 360 degrees of skiable, wide-open powder gardens. The snowpack was well bonded, and we did a lot of low-angle spanking (Dan’s name for low-angle-slope skiing) as well as 35-degree steep and deep runs. I got my first face shots — from crashing. As I continued to do laps, I was excited to link turns, bounce up and down in the powder, learn the kick turn while skinning up the hill, and experience the peace and joy that comes from being in the mountains and sharing the experience with good friends and new friends. On the final day I did some low-angle spanking before we skinned out, socked in by an incoming snowstorm.

Later on the trip I earned my first real face shots skiing the ridge at Loveland, as I floated over the gunpowder residue from the avalanche control explosives, kicking out my back leg to spray powder. Where will the skin track lead next?

Andy Fleming is a Cloudveil Inspired Mountain Ambassador.

Snow was the talk of the town in Mount Shasta, and pretty much throughout the West. There were rumors that “Storm of 2010″ was en route from the Pacific and was going to dump at least 10 feet of snow in the mountains. According to the National Weather Service, a series of storms was headed our way, carrying a considerable amount of precipitation. People started pulling out their fat skis, getting them waxed, preparing for days off. What people didn’t prepare for was what Mother Nature could really smack down on the town.

Sunday, Jan. 17, Martin Luther King Weekend: Storm is very warm; raining a lot in town. Morale is down.

Monday, Jan. 18: Still raining in town; 2.69 inches of precipitation recorded in town, setting a new record. By afternoon the rain turns to big, fluffy snowflakes at the Mount Shasta Ski Park. Things are looking up.

Tuesday, Jan. 19:  Snow begins to accumulate in town. The energy at the ski park is soaring. People are excited; it is snowing non-stop. The skiing is going to be unbelievable if the snow continues to fall at this rate. More than 3 inches of precipitation has fallen, setting another record.

(Oak trees strain under the weight of the snow.)

Wednesday, Jan. 20: Overnight, in less than 12 hours, a few feet of snow accumulated in the front yard. No snowplows in sight. Trees are bending and breaking with the weight of the rain and snow. Power lines are down. By seven in the morning, power is out through town and at the ski park. Many homes are left without water. State of emergency declared in Mount Shasta. So much for skiing; try shoveling.

Thursday, Jan. 21: More snow, no power, no water. Parts of town look like Armageddon hit. Trees on cars, trees on power lines, cars buried under numerous feet of snow. No skiing.

(Damage on a street in Mount Shasta.)

Friday, Jan. 22: Power is still out. However, snowfall has lightened. Downed trees and multiple feet of snow have blocked access to the mountains and skiing. The sun emerges briefly, and Black Butte peeks out of the clouds. The usually barren volcanic cone is cloaked in snow. The base of the small volcano sits close to town, around 3,800 feet, so access is not an issue. Maybe we should check it out? It looks a bit daunting and possibly sketchy. We take the necessary precautions, are very careful and are rewarded with the best runs of the season. Steep, continuous, 1,500-foot powder runs, practically in your backyard, with no one else in sight; what more can you ask for? Power and water is back on when we return.

Saturday, January 23:  Snowing lightly. The word is out — there is a skin track up Black Butte. The road adjacent to Black Butte looks like Teton Pass; the skin track resembles a human conveyor belt. It is a bit chaotic but fun, and people are all smiles. A day of unbelievable skiing is followed by kegs of beer and live music at the annual Snowball party (a fund-raiser for Mount Shasta Avalanche Center). Community morale is off the chart.

(Hanne and Mount Shasta after the storm broke.)

And so, the storm continued on, with a few inches accumulating every night through Jan. 26. The brunt of the storm was over. However, some people did not have power returned to their houses for over a week. According to the Mount Shasta Avalanche Center, the rumors were correct: From Jan. 17-26 we received 12.80 inches of water and 9 to 10 feet of snow at mid elevations. People are still cleaning up from the storm. Access remains a bit of an issue, but with a little creativity, we have managed to get up into the mountains and even enjoy some sunshine.

Mariah McPherson is an environmental engineer and Cloudveil Inspired Mountain Ambassador.