‘Chicks With Stix’
Outfit offers women-only backcountry ski trips
Two hours into the long, slow slog up the 3.5-mile trail to the OPUS Hut, I pause to consider my sanity.
What was I thinking when I signed up for this all-girls ski trip into the backcountry of Colorado, where I’d strap an avalanche beacon to my chest, stuff a shovel and probe into a backpack, then trudge from one offthe-grid, solar-powered hut to the next?
My chest heaves like an old-fashioned fireplace bellows. Snow sifts from the sky like flour into a mixing bowl.
I’ve never done anything like this. I’m a solid skier — comfortable on black runs at maintained ski resorts. But here, in the ungroomed forest of southwestern Colorado, I suddenly feel timid and fretful. Because I’m not used to the high elevation, I’m also gasping like a guppy.
In front of me, Angela Hawse pulls off the trail. Ahead looms an open, treeless stretch of terrain. Repeated avalanches over the years have left a chute several hundred feet wide, and we’ll cross it one at a time, in case the snow slides again.
That’s not likely, Hawse tells us. An avalanche forecaster, a certified guide with more than 30 years’ experience and coowner of Chicks Climbing & Skiing, she pored over weather reports and inspected the snow this morning. The snowpack remains stable.
Still, I relax a little more when I’m across the “avi gully” and once again trudging up the mountain on a pair of skis with sticky fabric attached to the bottom and special bindings that let me lift my heels.
Chicks Climbing & Skiing bills this Chicks With Stix adventure as an introduction to the backcountry for female intermediate resort skiers. Kim Reynolds created the Ouray-based guiding company in 1999 with the idea of empowering women through mountain sports. At first, it focused on ice climbing in Ouray’s famed ice park. In 2009, it expanded to include rock climbing, and last year it added backcountry skiing.
To get here, I flew into Montrose, Colo., then hitched a ride to Ouray, a small Colorado town and adventure hub tucked in the mountains and known as the Switzerland of America. The next morning, we drove 30 minutes south on U.S. 550 to a solar-powered building just below Red Mountain Pass called Artist Cabin.
There, equipped with gear provided by Peak Mountain Guides, we learned how to use our beacons, which send signals to rescuers in the event their wearers are buried in snow. To practice our skills, Hawse hid a couple of transmitters under the blanket of white and we tracked them down and dug them out with collapsible shovels.
This morning the real adventure began. The trek up to OPUS Hut takes us about four hours and covers about 1,500 feet of elevation gain. When I finally shake the snow off my hat and lurch into our home for the night, at 11,765 feet of elevation, I feel like I’ve summited Mount Everest.
Soon I’m slurping hot soup and warming my toes by a potbellied stove, my frustration long since evaporated. I peer out the window and feel a surge of happiness. It’s so beautiful here inside this real-life snow globe.
Bob Kingsley wanted to create the European hut skiing experience in Colorado when he created OPUS Hut. He spent 20 years looking for just the right place to build for the off-the-grid lodge, where visitors could ski in the winter and hike, bike, practice yoga or look for herbs in the warm months. The lodge opened for business in 2012.
Rooms are communal. Sleeping bags are provided, but guests must bring their own sleeping- bag liner or rent one for $5. The solar-powered cabin is equipped with indoor composting toilets and a rainwater-collection system; staffers melt snow in the winter to wash dishes. Accommodations are basic but comfortable. Meals — enchiladas, chicken pot pie, curry or stir-fry — are designed to fuel long days on the mountain. A separate building houses a sauna, where guests warm their swimsuit-clad bodies, then leap into snowbanks.
But the biggest draw is access to big mountain skiing. When visitors roll out of bed in the morning, they can snap into their gear and take runs right out the door. This isn’t resort skiing, in which a lift carries visitors up the mountain after every downward plunge. Skiers skin uphill for an hour or two for every downhill pass.
“It’s definitely work,” says dental student Amanda Brown, 30, of Denver. “But today is what you do it for.”
She glances out the window, where snow still falls from the sky. I’m content grabbing a book, but the other women in my group can’t resist the lure of waistdeep powder. As I curl up in a cushioned nook surrounded by pillows, they head back out into the storm, returning a few hours later ruddy cheeked, exhausted and smiling.
After breakfast the next morning, we strike out again. The skies have cleared to a crystalline blue, and a smooth white carpet flocks everything in sight. We check to make sure our avalanche gear is working then begin our climb. We cut our own path through the snow, spending the next hour and a half zigzagging up toward a ridge. Hawse skins alongside me, coaching me through the foot-tangling kick turns required to make the steep ascent.
At the top, we snap down our bindings. One by one, we drop down the mountainside, skimming through fluff. Fifteen minutes later, we regroup, glance back at the snow, which suddenly feels less like powder and more like paste, and decide it’s time to push back to the trailhead.
When we reach the car nearly two hours later, I feel energized and confident. I dance a tiny jig and dream about my next backcountry adventure — one featuring my best girlfriends.
I also think about what Dawn Glanc, a co-owner of Chicks Climbing & Skiing, told me a few nights ago. Men organize guys’ trips all the time, she said, but women rarely plan adventure activities. “For some women, it’s their first opportunity to be in a learning situation like this,” Glanc said.
I’m one of those women, and my head is bursting with the thrill of it.
One thing I learned? Don’t try to keep up with anyone else. Set your own pace, especially if you’re not acclimated to mountain elevations.
More important, I realized that given enough time, and a group of encouraging (and much more skilled) skiers, I can do things I never thought I could do.