Cross-country skiing is great winter exercise
Slowly awakening, I noticed the sounds of the early-morning train seem muffled from my place near the Kootenai River. The running well water in my bathroom sink is a tad colder than usual. Sunday mornings are always special.
I realize how special this one is as I gaze out my kitchen window and welcome a fresh, new snowfall. It’s about time. I know that with the warmer temperatures lately, this several inches could melt off by noon, or at least be sticky. I dress in layers quickly, and head out to breakfast. It’s one of my favorite things to do in Libby.
The interiors of the local cafes genuinely reflect the cultures of the outside surrounding area. A sharp-featured red-faced young grandfather straps his grandson into the compact, new-wave collapsible nylon folding highchair. Smells of coffee and baked goods float between the taxidermy and mountain artworks.
Sounds of local accents and terms set the stage for deciphering the more nonfamiliar or tourist dialects as two young couples dressed in colorful nylon ski outfits talk excitedly about Turner Mountain.
Waitresses hustle about, dishes clacking, as the wind picks up outside and flags flap.
It’s a beautiful dilemma as to where to go on my morning cross-country ski tour. Should I hit Timberline or Flatiron Mountain up the Pipe? How about Bear Creek or Flower Creek. Maybe just go on up to a gated road and start into the forest. “It’s rough in the west,” smiling I think to myself.
Cross-country skiing originated in Fennoscandian countries in prehistoric times as a practical method of moving through an area and also hunting members of the ungulate, or moose, deer and caribou families for nutrition, clothing and tools. This style of skiing has been used by explorers as a means of locomotion. I actually went to high school with a kid named Friend Amundsen, who was an exceptional athlete and rumored to be a distant relative of that famous explorer Roald Amundsen. Roald led a party who’s mastery of icebound ships, skis and sled dogs ensured rapid and fairly trouble-free travel. They arrived at the South Pole on Dec. 14, 1911, five weeks ahead of Robert Falcon Scott’s group, which they later discovered had perished on their return journey.
Nordic armies have ski-trained infantry for winter operations and history notes this additional fluid mobility enabled the Finnish army in small groups to help defeat larger Russian armies. In more ancient combative contests, Finns and Karelians were armed with crossbows and ski poles which had a spearhead on the other tip. In Northwestern Montana, we have a few very talented ladies who train Karelian dogs to haze and repel grizzly bears from inhabited areas to prevent any negative incidents. I believe the 10th Mountain Division, which had several Montana guys who operated in the Italian Alps during World War II, also had ski-trained troops that were extremely light, mobile and effective. As part of the Nordic skiing family, I am hoping that this winter’s Olympics might include contests in ski-orienteering and the biathlon event that combines skiing and rifle marksmanship.
Cross-country skiing is a great workout and one winter outdoor activity that utilizes all muscle groups. My ski tours are pretty mellow these days. I like to meander along, look at tracks and let the snowflakes tickle my nose. But I do remember a time up on Flatiron many years ago that with the sweet stupidity of ill-perceived immortality, I attempted an Olympic event myself. There was about four feet of nice powder, and when challenged, I took a shot at a 360-degree flip. Well, I dang near had her done, when my right ski came loose from the binding and soared away over a rocky outcrop. I remember catching my breath and burrowing out of the deep snow to the muffled sound of invigorating laughter from my friends, to which I eventually joined in. They said I looked like a confused ermine, popping up not knowing which direction to look.
Take your sweetheart on a cross-country ski tour. It’s great exercise and may be good for a few laughs, too.
(Brian Baxter is an outdoorsman who writes a column for The Western News.)