The mountains call, and I must go.

For Whom the Crust Tolls

Yeah, this site originated as a two-wheeled venue, but I have to say my stoke for sliding on two slats is at a premium right now. So documentation of the adventures in the high, snowy hills will continue.

Yesterday I went crust nordic skate skiing for the first time ever. I got an impromptu email from Nathan, the owner of Boulder Nordic Sport, that a crust nordic adventure was in the works, and that I should expect to break equipment. OK. I'm happy to report that no equipment was broken, and that the skiing was stellar. I've been of the mindset that nordic season runs from mid-November to early-April, but what with this crust skiing revelation, it can go much, much longer. As I commented to Nate, crust skiing is actually more fun than normal skate skiing, as you can pretty much go anywhere, and go there quickly. Case in point: the skin up to Lake Isabelle usually take an hour-and-a-half...yesterday we busted it out in 50 minutes. And descending was thrilling, and included the skiing equivalent of mountain biking over skinny bridges: hopping over 4-5 foot wide creek beds from a running (or I guess skiing in this case) start. Good fun, except for the time I caught my tips on the opposite bank and took a nice chest digger. Anyway...crust skiing...I recommend it highly. Here is a link to some photos from the day and a bunch of tips to get started. Go crust skiing young man and woman...you won't regret it!

Another benefit of the crust ski session was I got to scope out the lake road and, more importantly, the mountains along the Continental Divide that provide so much skiing joy this time of year. The road is closed for another 2 weeks, which should keep the riff raff out. The snow up high, however, is as open as you are willing to work to get it. Today, a classic, Mount Toll. I love skiing Mount Toll, and I don't think I've ever had a bad run on this hill. Today, while the boot pack up the face was a bit post-holey, the ski down was about as perfect as corn can be. The Ski Trabs performed wonderfully - light and fast is the way to go - and a feeling of oneness with the mountains, with the environment, was prevalent.

Found a resident Marmot too...living in a hole in the snow. Curious little guy. A few years ago a marmot ate a pair of my nice hiking boots. This character today seemed to be sizing me up to see what gear of mine would make nice dining. Not to be fooled twice though - I high tailed it out of there before he could set his chompers to work!

Tomorrow, onto the land of the Crooked Couloirs (photo below)

Death Crust on the Northwest Couloir

It's a true, but scary observation. There is a ton of snow in the high country. More than I can remember for the past decade or so. We really have not had spring yet, and the snow hasn't started melting. When, however, that inevitable summer switch turns on and the mercury erupts: look out. Rivers will run over, dams will break, towns will flood. Chaos will reign. Personally, I'm sort of looking forward to it.

I've had a couple pretty stellar ski adventures the past three days (yesterday was a rest day with a hike with the pups up the hill). On Sunday I rendezvoused with the Summit Country ultralight rando crowd (which is shockingly similar to the Summit County Montezuma's Revenge crowd) for an early morning ski up and over a few ridges and mountains. I used ski crampons for the first time in my life, and saw and experienced terrain that is wild, desolate and good.  The weather was more like Nova Scotia than Colorado, with fog whisking in and out of the towering  monoliths, turning the light flat one minute, sunny the next.

Our main destination of the day was the Northwest Couloir of Torrey's Peak, a 2,700 foot crampon boot pack up and a thigh destroying, hop-turn session back down. Our leader of the day, Pete, set a...uhhh...quick pace, breaking trail up the couloir and we all followed as best we could. Pete's brother is arguably the best nordic skier in the United States, and it's apparent VO2 max capacities are blood line connected.

After an hour of kick-step-kick-step straight up hill the weather really turned sour, pea soup thickness fog, wind, grapple, the works. Because of the flat light and the impossibleness of discerning sky from snow, one of the members of the crew experienced significant dizziness so we negged summiting - made it to around 14,000 feet - the summit would have been silly anyhow since you couldn't see ten feet in front of you. A snack, the necessary equipment adjustments and we began the long, sight by braille, descent down what may have been the worst backcountry ski condition I've ever skied. Crust, on top of wind blown powder, zero visibility and a 40° pitch. The crust would have been perfect if you weighed 80 pounds, but since we are not 13-year old gymnasts, it was a roulette game guessing where the snow would hold and where it would break. Took one crash when the crust broke, popped my ski, and was very fortunate it didn't go pummeling down the entire 2,700 foot gully. The cool thing about skiing though - you're constantly adapting your technique to the mountain and the snow - and on this day I learned a thing or two about skiing breakable crust suitable for an 80 pound gymnast (avoid it?).

The day wasn't done yet - these Summit County folks don't mess around - as we had to work our way up and out of the basin.  I was stoked though - felt pretty strong for being five hours into the ski. Hit the last summit and savored a long corn snow rip session down Dave's Wave, back to the car and onward for Mexican food in Breckenridge. Good skiing, great terrain, better people. Again, sometime soon.

When discussing crusty spring snow, there is good crust and there is bad crust. Monday, on the Northwest Couloir, I probably experienced the worst of crust. This morning, however, at 6 am with a band of five nordic skate skiers, I experienced the best that crust can give. But that will be another story...

Such Great Heights

On some days, the aromatic cinnamon rolls at the local bakery in Silverplume are fresh off the oven, the frosting is fresh, and the coffee is on the house.

On some days, the jeep road up through the pungent pine forest to the trailhead is clear, and rough enough to make us jolt and laugh.

On some days, the tight rope bridge across the icy creek is firm, narrow and perfect.

On some days, the skin up the treeless basin is inspiring, the snow hard and the going quick.

On some days, the mountain side goes straight up, the crumbling scree is loose and tricky, and you are thankful that you are young and strong, and places exist to challenge you.

On some days, the ridge line is jaw-dropping, the choice of lines endless, and the feeling of being a god endless.

On some days, the conical summit at 13,200 feet above sea level is warm, the view of Torrey's sparks the imagination of future adventures, and the awesomeness of the place makes you forget everything bad.

On some days, the company is perfect.

On some days, the first turns down the face are sketchy as hell, and you get to adapt or crash trying.

On some days, the wide open bowl flows, hop-turn to hop-turn, and you feel at one with the mountain.

On some days, the Italians skinning up the mountain (late start of course) actually talk to you, but never smile.

On some days, you arc turns to the bottom, turn around, look up at your track on the giant, remote mountain you just skied, and giggle because you did that.

On some days, like today, you find perfection at such great heights.

Cracked and Clammy on the Baking Tarmac

Been doing a bit of riding lately. Two straight days from Boulder back to Ned town. iPod rides, tuned in, uphill, trying to get some cycling fitness before diving into the singletrack woods full time for the next six months or so. Yesterday's ride went well enough - wasn't fatigued much at the end. Today I got crushed. Call it a combination of a few factors. Fatigue. Eating a bowl of $4 greasy Lo Mein 30 minutes before starting the climb. More than anything though, it was the heat. Augh, the heat. I have not spent much time in the past five months in anything over 45 degrees (and more commonly below 32°), so 80° air temperature, who knows what tarmac temperature and zero breeze just wilted my system. Everything felt uncomfortable, sweat pouring in my eyes, clammy chamois (TMI?), light headedness. I'm not a big fan of heat. And yes, I'll take a little cheese with my whine now.

I've decided it's time for the single. Love the Moots, but all these parts! This suspension fork (my fill-in until my  650B fork from IF shows up in the mail), these disc brakes (I guess they are nice, but I was perfectly OK with V-brakes - it doesn't really rain here), those gears. It's all too much. Time to get the Johnny Rotten going tomorrow - full rigid, 34x18 goodness. Simplicity in bikes is the way I like 'em.

OK, onto less pessimistic musings. Here's a cool film from the newly acclaimed film maker, Meriwether himself, of our ski on Bancroft last week. I expect Meriwether to be debuting in the Banff Film Festival this winter. Enjoy the outdoors wherever you may be roaming.

Unlock the Key

When I was a kid I used to read this book called "Banner in the Sky" incessantly (a dozen times? maybe 20?). "Banner in the Sky" was a story about a 17-year old boy named Rudi Matt who lived Zermatt, Switzerland in the 1800's.  Rudi worked as a dishwasher, but his true calling was the mountains. The biggest mountain in this area is the Matterhorn, which at the time of the story had never been climbed. Through a series of events, this 17-year old kid gets to be part of the first climbing expedition ever up the Matterhorn, a boy alongside two climbing legends. The highlight of the book comes when Rudi, because of his small physical stature, is able slide through a rock chimney that the others could not, and then top rope his companions up the cliff face. The author refers to this move as "unlocking the key to the mountain." (Speaking of the Matterhorn...check this out. This guy has my dream job.)

I felt like I unlocked a key to a mountain today. There is a grand massif just north of my home that I have dabbed around with on skis, but never fully explored. Odd, because when I head home each day I look to the right and see a ton of snow up there. Problem was, I never really figured out how to get to the good stuff.

My solo mission today was to figure it out. Shunned the bike this morning in favor of the skis. As is often the case when one enters exploration mode, things were a little stupid in the beginning. Tons of slogging through dense old growth forest, followed by a completely unnecessary snow climb up a 47° slope. And then, a long ski that required me to remove my skis a half-dozen times because of long patches of snowless, wind scoured tundra. Don't get me wrong - it was fantastic and brilliant - but not the picture of pure efficiency. After a couple hours of this, I topped out on a non-descript, breezy peak simply labled on the map as point 13,038.

Great views, but where was the skiing? Scanning the mountainside, I spotted something. A long gully, heading due east, that was definitely snow-filled as far as I could see. Took a chance and followed it - who knew where it might end - and was rewarded with a 3,000 vertical foot uninterrupted run of pure spring skiing corn goodness. The snow up here - scoured by winds - was much more consolidated than Bancroft and the grade was such that the skiing was fun and mellow. Better yet, when I got to the bottom I found a lone set of snowshoe tracks that followed a fairly obvious trail that went right back to my car. No bushwhacking through soft slop...a simple glide home.

The key to this close-by area is now unlocked, and I'm excited about the possibilities it offers. The endless winter continues.

Funky Goodness on Mount Bancroft

13,250-foot Mount Bancroft is new terrain for Meriwether and I. It's a nice peak, smack dab on the Continental Divide, with a huge, maybe 35° bowl that allows for skis off the summit. The predictions called for super warm temperatures today, but oddly enough Bancroft was - for the most part - shrouded in fog, lending the day a mystical, Scottish feel.

Skinning into the clouds. Not an easy climb by any stretch, due mostly to a couple factor - heavy, unconsolidated snow for a top layer and stagnant, sauna-like feel in the air. The summit of this peak is kind of interesting...when ascending, there is a jagged, obvious top. But then you get up to the ridge, and you find out there is another summit higher up, and quite rounded...non-dramatic. The whole thing was a little disorienting thanks to the fog and gallons of sweat pouring down my face on the hotter-then-hell skin up.

It's pretty rare you get to spend much comfortable time on an Indian Peaks summit (and I guess technically this isn't Indian Peaks) but on this day there was not a breath of wind. The fog was rolling in and out, and after figuring out where to go and more importantly where not to go, we got a nice break in the fog for our run. Here's Meriwether pointing down the spine of the Continental Divide north towards the next adventures.

Meriwether dropping down the east flank of the Continental Divide. Nice turns up top before it turned into a sloppy mess of slow moving slide concrete. Love the clouds in the background here.

Both Meriwether and I are on a lightweight set-up. Great for going up, powder and corn, but it requires diligence when the conditions were sloppy like today. But, that's part of the fun - doing more with less.

Drop the knee, not bombs brah! Meriwether slaying Bancroft.

There was a bit of...ummm...wet slide action out there today. Slow moving concrete that would probably remove your femur from your torso if you got caught up in it. It's definitely NOT consolidated out there, and probably not that safe for the next 3-4 days until things set-up. Lesson learned.

Despite the tricky conditions, Bancroft was good to us, offering some spectacular mountain surroundings, funky fog, zero people, a summit descent and invigorating snow conditions. What more could you ask for? Stoked for the next adventure!

Rudi Speaks...and I agree!

"Without a doubt, the summer months in the mountains are as close to my heart as the finest powder in the world. In the end it is not the light powder, it is the mountains – the way I accept their treasured beauty and how I can find myself having fun in their serenity. It is not just a grand playground – more than that, it is the frame of my life."

Ruedi Beglinger, Selkirk Mountain Experience

Dawn Patrol Yields May Powder

First ride home up the mountain tonight. Thank god for the 7th and 8th gear on the 1x8. Limits the ouch factor a bit. Feels good to do it though...a sort of beat down, meditative pain that provides clarity.

They say if life gives you lemons you should make lemonade. Lemonade this week was in the form of a dawn patrol ski in the land of the peanut with Mr. Meriwether. Powder in May? You betcha. A pretty fluffy eight inches of it altogether.  The Duo Trabs have changed my style from Chugach Mountain Guide to the Intergalactic Pilot himself - so that's what it feels like to turn. Meriwether also has a nifty light weight set-up, so we are able to cover lots of ground with minimal effort. Light and fast - you can never go wrong with that combination.

The highlight of the day - besides the good company - was watching the clouds rage into the heart of the Indian Peaks Wilderness. The mountains - Audobon, Navaho, Apache, Arikaree, Toll - they all looked primed for a good spring and super dramatic. The mountains call, and I must go. Tomorrow, an early start for the mountain of the bank!

The first four images are mine. The rest were taken by Meriwether.

Well then, why put the skis away at all?

Check it.

The mist moves in

Nothing huge today. Just a nice, contemplative, cough-filled uphill jaunt in the misty sleet with two of my best buddies in the world, Zuma and Sasha. The leading edge of what might be the last snowstorm of the season?  (ha!)  The pellet-like sleet creating a pattern on the ground, like powdered sugar spilled on a carpet. Wetness everywhere, the trees dripping, the snowdrifts rotting, the rocks glistening, the downed logs a dark teak brown, slick, organic. It felt like the moisture was coming up as well as down. My wind pants, getting wet, seeping through my long johns, my coat soaked but doing its job of keeping the water out. Hair matted outside my sponge-like hat, wool gloves a lost cause on wetness. And the creek...the lifeblood of May...brown, gurgling, rising, getting ready for the onslaught in the coming two months. Spencer Mountain bliss.  What can I say?  I like my pack and I like my territory.

James Peak delivers skiing bliss and variability

A lot of factors have converged to make the last three to four weeks a near complete wash in terms of outdoor goodness. A hectic Chinook trip followed by a pretty bad bout of the Colorado crud relegated me to maybe a half dozen easy mountain bike rides and a few sessions in the gym. Pitiful, I know. However, now that I'm not really sick (I still have the Mount Everest hack but that's no big deal) it's time to get back at it.

Today was my first ski in a month. Normally that would put me in a dour mood, but it's all relative. Whatever - I initially planned to head up to the area near Moffat Tunnel and some of the non-descript classics, and I even got out of my car, strapped on my boots and started heading on the trail near the tunnel. But something clicked there, and not in a good way. Maybe it was the knowledge of the slide in this very area a week ago, or maybe it was the raging winds and the historical awareness that the terrain I was planning to ski is avalanche prone...I have witnessed a slide here...or maybe some sixth sense...whatever, I had a bad feeling so I turned tail for a new destination. You have to trust those instincts if you're going to survive in the mountains, especially if you plan on playing this game solo.

My new course was the Southeast Face of James Peak, via Jenny Creek. Super mellow, but I've never done it before. Seeing as how I'm coming off a cold, and had new skis to boot...well, it was a good choice. Despite a lot of people, including an outward bound-type group practicing self arrests on a 15° powder slope (not super realistic thinks I), it was a nice day. A great day, really. As Swenson says, any day above timberline is a good day, and today, as I was skinning up a huge cirque surrounded by mountains, whiteness and a blue ski, I hit a level of ecstasy that I have even come close to feeling for the past 48 hours.  And it was good.

My new skis and boots - Ski Trabs with Scarpa F3 boots and Dynafit bindings is stupid light. Feels like a nordic skate ski. This was fortunate, because my fitness and energy level is a low ebb. I can't imagine how much fun it would be if I was fit. Well, that's the goal for the next 2-3 weeks! The approach via the southeast ridge is long but aesthetically satisfying - dramatic if you will. I took the ridge route and checked out the spot where Meriwether and I almost died last year. Le grand drop into nothing. Definitely not doing that today, and I was probably hanging to close to the cornice to make Lou Dawson happy, but oblidioblidah. Lots of false summits on that ridge, but finally, two hours later, the summit was reached. A relatively calm feel after the raging winds of the morning.

Back down was interesting. For a lot of reasons. Skis had something to do with it. I have not been on a ski with a waist smalled than 110 mm in a long time, so the 70-some-odd waist on the lighter than light Ski Trabs was, ummm, odd. On top of that, conditions were ridiculously variable. Mid winter powder up top with a nice 2  inch wind crust. Rock solid crust a little further down. Then maybe 3 turns of powder, followed by about 10 turns of honest to goodness corn. Further down, and it turned to total deep slop. Ahh, the realities of 2,900 foot descents on May 11. Got the hang of the skis by the end (note to self...bevel to tip and tail) and think they will be the perfect ski for more solid corn and Dead Dog Couloir-type terrain. They are so light, you could pull a hop turn like Kobe!

It was good to get back out there. Life is tough right now, and it's super important to maintain the discipline of getting into the woods and mountains each and every day. I'll end this with the story of the Taoist farmer because it applies well now. A little message about how what seems good isn't unnecessarily so, just as those events that seem unconditionally bad almost always have a shining end:

This farmer had only one horse, and one day the horse ran away. The neighbors came to condole over his terrible loss. The farmer said, "What makes you think it is so terrible?"

A month later, the horse came home--this time bringing with her two beautiful wild horses. The neighbors became excited at the farmer's good fortune. Such lovely strong horses! The farmer said, "What makes you think this is good fortune?"

The farmer's son was thrown from one of the wild horses and broke his leg. All the neighbors were very distressed. Such bad luck! The farmer said, "What makes you think it is bad?"

A war came, and every able-bodied man was conscripted and sent into battle. Only the farmer's son, because he had a broken leg, remained. The neighbors congratulated the farmer. "What makes you think this is good?" said the farmer.

Red Tailed Drifted Slog

clear, breezy, mid-20's. Well, there are really two options. Sit around, mope and die, or get active. Made a choice yesterday to follow the path of the latter. Not exactly prime conditions for it either. Four inches of snow fell the previous night and during the day. Slapped the 2.7 Timberwolves with the SnowCat rims back on the Moots and headed into the land of Mongolia to check out the scene. The scene is...well...snow drifts. Gigantic snowdrifts larger than man and beast combined. Well, OK, they  we not that big, but I was also sticking to the jeep roads while making my way to the southern crossing route. Despite the large quantity of pushing, and the obviousness that I was out here about three weeks too early, it was fun. A Lewis and Clark style adventure if you will.

On my way back, pushing into the wind, I saw a red tailed hawk swooping and swirling in the current, skirting over and elk meadow and then hovering and diving over an aspen grove. So free, so fiery. I envy the red tailed hawk...actually I envy all animals, for while their life is hard, their life is also practical and simple and elegant.

Today, a ski. Somewhere up high. A peak - maybe Radiobeacon, Flattop, James...who knows. All in the quest to be like the red tailed hawk, at least for a few moments.  Gotta go, gotta go.

Colorado Love

This is one of my favorite sounds. The pitter of rain outside my window, mixed with the creek gurgling in the background. The world is wet and misty, a swirling mass of fog and clouds. My favorite weather. When I was a little kid my parents lived on a rocky beach in northern California for one year. We had a tiny house literally right on the edge of the beach and the Pacific Ocean. I used to love it at night...I shared a bedroom with my mom and dad, and had my bed situated in a little alcove jutting out from the house to the west. When the storms raged - and they did often in the winter - the brunt of it would blow directly against my large picture window. The waves from the ocean would crash literally 20 or 30 feet from my window, a scary but addictive natural phenomenon. I'd peer out through the sill, as the streaks of water coated it as the wind ripped through, pounding, pounding, pummeling. Point is, I've always loved storms and rain - I feel at my physical and mental strongest when conditions get heinous.

A fantastic mountain bike ride today. Still lingering with the cold, but no matter. A mix of trails and dirt roads, starting in Happy Valley and ending in Boulder. The light...ahh the light. That low angle beautiful shine that we get in the Colorado high country about an hour before sunset. Stopped in a greening valley, checking out the blooming pasque flowers, soaking it in. And then, back on the saddle, a quick few peddle strokes to get back up to speed, along the moist, perfectly tacky dirt. Flowing, left, right, up, down, at one with everything. Pure joy really. I've learned by now that the bike and the woods are a great cure for anything that ails you, and I also came to the realization that the place I live in now is pretty darned nice. I love the "color red" state in all seasons, and early May, when everything is coming to life and a misty fog is the norm, is no exception.

Visit the woods. You won't regret it.

The Skier’s Ten Commandments

1. Thou shalt have no other sports before ski.

2. Thou shalt not take with thee any showshoes, neither any snowboards, nor any other means of transportation, from the heavens above to the earth beneath.

3. Thou shalt have no friends, nor girlfriends, nor boyfriends, nor husbands, nor wives, nor fathers, mothers or siblings on powder days unless said individual can keep up.

4. Remember the winter time and keep it holy; in the summer thou shalt labor and do all thy work, but the winter is the season of the ski, the Lord and master. In its evenings thou shalt not fritter away thy time with backgammon, nor with cribbage, nor Nintendo, X-Box or Wii, nor tiddlelywinks, nor jig-saw puzzles, but in the sweat of thy brow shalt thou polish and wax thy skis. For in ten hours shalt thou labor and climb up the hill and in ten minutes shalt thou be down again.

5. Carry thine own skis and thy knapsack, that thy friends shall not avoid thee, and that thy days may be long on the ski trips that thou makest.

6. Thou shalt not dither.

7. Thou shalt not commit sitzmarks.

8. Thou shalt not swipe thy neighbor's ski wax.

9. Thou shalt not bear false witness of thy downhill runs, nor thy jump turns, nor thy Telemarks.

10. Thous shalt not covet thy neighbor's climbing skins, nor thy neighbor's agility, nor his Stem-Christiana, nor his Closed-Christiana, nor his Open-Christiana, nor any Christiana which is thy neighbor's.

Don’t Help….Yellowstone geotourism map

May 1, 2008 — Brian Ertz

National Geographic Society’s Center for Sustainable Destinations, in partnership with several conservation and tourism organizations (click here to see full list ), most notably Wyoming Travel and Tourism have launched a giant “geotourism” program for the Greater Yellowstone Region (click here for the main page of the project website). The effort is intended to “celebrate and help sustain the world-class natural and cultural heritage” of the Greater Yellowstone region (click here for the press release).

The project’s centerpiece is, “a community based process will create a National Geographic ‘Geotourism MapGuide’ for the region centered on Yellowstone and Grand Teton national parks, and including communities and private and public lands in the three partner states.” In sum, National Geographic and their partners intend to give Wyoming, Montana, and Idaho an economic shot in the arm, in the form of well-heeled tourists, many from Europe, visiting the Greater Yellowstone region. Clearly, these three states couldn’t be more deserving, right?

Just to review: The three beneficiary states are the same ones that presently manage their wildlife with the welfare of the livestock industry first and foremost in mind. In Wyoming, this has recently translated into scores of wolves being killed as they wander away from the security of Yellowstone National Park. Also in Wyoming, this has translated into the development of over 20 winter feedlots for elk in place of natural winter range, all for the benefit of powerful ranchers. The result is disease among the elk and the transformation of wild elk into a fraudulent summertime display for these unsuspecting tourists.

In Montana, the wildlife management paradigm manifests in an annual slaughter of many hundreds of the nation’s last wild bison as they wander north and westward out of Yellowstone National Park in search of winter forage. This year the Montana Department of Livestock killed more wild bison than in any year since the 1870s. The last wild herd was reduced is size by half, and perhaps much more.

Insult to Injury

As if the irony weren’t rich enough, details have recently come to light showing that more than a few of Wyoming’s officials have ample disdain for tourists. Topping the list of vitriol slingers from the Cowboy State: Wyoming Representative Mike Madden (R- Buffalo). When queried by tourists concerned over Wyoming’s new war on wolves, here’s what Madden, a member of the Johnson County Tourism Board, had to say:

No wolves are being killed in Yellowstone. The very few wolves (12) that have been killed have trespassed on private property and have been eating privately owned cattle and sheep. We have such a thing as private property rights here in Wyoming - what a concept for you Germans. You have gotten incorrect information.

Thank you very much for your promise to never visit here again. We have a very very serious surplus of tourists here it [sic] they are threating the ecological balance we have strived to maintain. - M. Madden

Here’s one from Representative Madden to an Austrian tourist:

How many wolves do you have in Austria?? Maybe you would like to have a few of these beautiful creatures shipped over to Austria so they can kill and maim livestock in Austria too. Of course your have no respect for private property rights so the wolves would become welcome new residents of Austria. Have a nice day!! And please choose to vacation anywhere but Wyoming. - M Madden

As Ralph Maughan illustrated in an earlier post, many such responses from Madden and other officials have been chronicled on an Austrian website. Take a moment, and jump on over to get that good ‘ol Wyoming hospitality. Do you want to help put it on a map?

Had enough?

As National Geographic seeks to boost these states’ green image, it seems instead for the time “the chickens to come home to roost.” Let the folks involved with this geotourism project know what you think about how these states really manage their wildlife. Let them know what changes you expect.

Contacts associated with the Geotourism MapGuide of Greater Yellowstone

James Dion, Associate Director
National Geographic Society Center for Sustainable Destinations
jdion@ngs.org

Brian Sybert, Wyoming Project Coordinator
Greater Yellowstone Coalition
bsybert@greateryellowstone.org

Barb Cestero, Montana Project Coordinator
Greater Yellowstone Coalition
bcestero@greateryellowstone.org

Kyle Babbitt, Idaho Coordinator
Yellowstone Business Partnership
kbabbitt@yellowstonebusiness.org

Diane Shober, Wyoming State Tourism Director
Wyoming Travel & Tourism
diane.shober@visitwyo.gov

Betsy Baumgart, Division Administrator
Travel Montana Promotion Division
bbaumgart@mt.go

Dennis Glick, Regional Director
Sonoran institute - Northern Rockies Office
dennis@sonoran.org