The mountain, and the myth: Mt. Bohemia. It looks a lot smaller (and, easier) than it really is...
First of all: I'm totally sorry that I haven't posted in quite some time. So, what's my excuse this time? I was planning and preparing for my week-and-a-half trip to Mt. Bohemia, in Michigan's Upper Peninsula. It's fast becoming a yearly pilgrimage for me to go up there, because if you want to do some serious backcountry snowboarding without the drag of a million fucking lodge-dwellers and Barbie-clone ski bunnies, then Mount Bohemia is the place for you. It's definitely the place for me...
This map shows the Keweenaw Peninsula, relative to the state of Wisconsin. The Keweenaw is in the red square at the top of the map.
This is a detail view of the Keweenaw Peninsula. Mt. Bohemia is almost at the end of the point, while The Porkies are at the far left of the map, on Lake Superior. It's about a two hour drive between them, but that drive is absolutely gorgeous.
Located at the end of the Keeweenaw Peninsula, Mount Bohemia seems like it's located at the very end of the earth. There's no fancy resort at the base, no jacuzzi, no whirlpool, no five-star dining, and no bullshit. If you go up there at all, you're probably going up there strictly to snowboard (and/or, ski), and maybe do some sightseeing. It's very no-frills, so you're basically "roughing it" up there. I brought not only my snowboard gear (board, boots, clothes, hats, etc), but I also brought:
- A full survival pack, loaded with waterproof matches, fire starters, a compass, maps, flashlights, knives and sharpeners, etc;
- Dried paper and kindling;
- Three weeks' worth of canned and frozen food, cokes (can't leave home without those!), and water;
- Multivitamins, and Aleve;
- Cooking and eating utensils;
- A sleeping bag, and a pillow;
- My camera, a tape recorder, etc;
- And, my personal hygiene stuff (soaps, toothpaste, deodorant, all the way up to hand and bath towels).
That's a big list. The Econobubble was pretty tightly packed, and there was probably a solid month of preparations that ultimately went into the week-and-a-half-long trip.
The drive up was a real adventure. It's normally a 12-hour trek... but this time, I ran headlong into a massive storm system that brought a ton of rain, ice, and snow. The rain lasted from Indianapolis, to the Wisconsin state line or so. That was the easy part. After that, the temperature dropped quite suddenly. That's bad: It was an ice-skating rink all the way to Union Grove, where it abruptly turned again to thick, heavy snow (with ice underneath). There were accidents everywhere; I saw a car doing 360's down I-94 in downtown Milwaukee. I stopped a few times to catnap, and it was really slow going the rest of the way. I left Indy at 6 pm, and arrived at Bohemia at 2 o'clock the following afternoon. The grand total?! Twenty hours! Yeesh...
It was still, way worth it.
The covered wagon hubcap-deep in a sudden blizzard; I-94 north, Union Grove, Wisconsin.
Niagara, Wisconsin. Just before crossing into Michigan. Here, the snow began to taper off a bit. Thank Gawd.
Photographic evidence of the 1/4" of ice that the covered wagon collected coming up I-94. Niagara, Wisconsin; not far from Iron Mountain.
The drive to L'Anse, Michigan, from Iron Mountain, Wisconsin, looks just like this the whole way. Nothing but desolate forests for miles and miles. (You can still readily see the ice on the windshield-wiper arms that I collected through Wisconsin. Harsh!)
First sight of Lake Superior; L'Anse, Michigan.
The snow the covered wagon collected. L'Anse, Michigan. You can clearly see all those supplies piled high in the back.
The trail map. Little did I know how inaccurate this really is.
The biggest things that continually impress me about Bohemia are the regular snowfalls, the wide variety of terrain, and the stark and rugged beauty of it all. I've been up there three times now: The first, during The Holiday Season of '08; the second, a couple of weeks between jobs in March of '09; and then, this trip. Every time I go, the mountain gets a solid couple of feet of fresh snowfall. It's never groomed, because there's no way in hell to even get a snowcat to 99% of the mountain. So, every day is essentially, a fresh powder day. It spoils you. And it feels really, really good.
Then, we have the "trail map" above. I used the quotes, because only a very small percentage of Mt. Bohemia's marked trails, are actually listed on that map. And then, there are several runs on the mountain that don't even have names at all. That map is, at best, a loose guideline. But, nowhere near an all-inclusive or definitive listing of every trail available. There's a lot of "going out and finding it for yourself" potential, and it makes for a real adventure.
And then, there's the overall scenic-factor of the whole experience. Mt. Bohemia is a very photogenic place. Some of the runs seem much more like a surreal, heavenly experience, than a typical snowboard run down a mountain. I imagine that when I die, I'll be very happy to go to a place that's half as beautiful as some of Bohemia's backcountry glades. If you get up there, check out the chutes through Goldilocks and upper Polar Bear, and you'll see what I'm talking about.
Mt. Bohemia panoramic, from the lower parking lot. Heaven Awaits.
Another panoramic, from the upper parking lot, overlooking the cabins (left), the yurts (center), and Lac La Belle (just to the right of the yurts).
My accommodations: A panoramic of the Hostel I stayed in.
My living quarters for the next week. Comfy!
Life at Mt. Bohemia, isn't "easy" in any sense of the word. I actually joined a gym in June, to prepare myself for the physical hardness of the experience. First, there's the struggle of actually snowboarding on the mountain. That one's obvious enough. What's not-so-obvious, is the 50-yard hike to the bathroom in the middle of the night, in windchills of 20 below. It really makes you think hard about how badly you really need to pee, and how long you just might be able to put it off for. Likewise, just making breakfast meant a hundred or so yards to the car; packing up my backpack with my food for the day; and then, another hundred yard hike uphill to the common room to actually make it, and eat it. And, I even had it fairlyeasy, being in the hostel. There were dudes there that we camping in these conditions! Camping!! Now, that shit's hardcore, folks. Bordering on insanity, really...
Mt. Bohemia offers "winter camping" sites. I never would have guessed that anyone would be crazy enough to actually camp in 0 degree weather. Note the firewood, and the stovepipe (being held up by a branch).
Note that this guy is even more hardcore: No stovepipe, no wood. This dude must be freezing; the hostel is plenty cold enough for me.
The Yurts at sunrise.
The Base Camp: The bathroom yurt, with the open face runs in the background.
I first discovered Bohemia while I was searching for somewhere... anywhere... to ride a damned snowboard in the midwest. Having moved here from New Hampshire, I was sick of watching several thousand dollars' worth of snowboard gear just taking up space on my wall, and quietly rusting away in the process. I ended up at Skiernet (www.skiernet.com), which is where I got my first introduction to Mt. Bohemia. I actually thought the whole thing was some sort of a prank; I never would have imagined that this sort of place could ever exist in the midwest, of all places.
These signs are everywhere at the base. Very, very pointed warnings not to go out there and kill yourself.
The mountain, right at the base. To the very left is the bottom of Prospector. The rental yurts are next, followed by the bottom of Claim Jumper; the bottom of Powder Keg; and, lastly, the path to the lift, where that skier is heading.
Mt. Bohemia, at the very peak, looking east toward The Bear Den. Copper Harbor would be right behind the two purple uprights, and that's Lake Superior out there on the horizon.
The peak again, looking southwest. Lac La Belle is on the left; Lake Superior is still on the horizon; the south parking lot is just right of center; and, the runs are Claim Jumper (middle) and Prospector (to the right).
Here's why we go to Bohemia: To race through the trees. Miners' Junction, on the way to Tommyknocker's Plunge.
The bus that brings you back to the base camp, from the Extreme Backcountry runs.
On Saturday the 26th, Mt. Bohemia got some uncharacteristic rain showers, which temporarily made snow conditions extremely icy and hard. We can probably thank mankind's wanton destruction of our environment for that one. Anyway, "Ice" is definitely not something that you want to tangle with on Bohemia; riding Bohemia is plenty hard enough in pristine powder conditions, thank you very much. So, facing a day of either wasting away in the lodge, waiting on snow... or, killing the day at The Porkies, two hours down the coast... Karl and I decided to check out The Porkies. Hey: Riding something beats riding nothing, any day. Besides: We had both purchased the Porkies Combo Season Pass (For the humongous sum of $25 bucks, no less!)... so, we didn't have to pay one single red dime to go check it out. Minus a few bucks in gas, and a gorgeous drive down the coast of Lake Superior.
It rained on Saturday the 26th, so Karl and I took a day-trip to The Porkies to kill the day. Here's the lodge, from the inside. Quite an upscale move from the frills-free vibe at Mt. Bohemia.
The lodge, from the outside. Very chic, very pretty.
The cute lunch-ladies working the Porkies cafeteria. Bonus.
The Porkies. A panoramic from the base, looking straight up the lift.
Looking down the same run, from the peak. That's Lake Superior out on the horizon. Beautiful! And, that's my buddy Karl, suiting up on the far left. True: He may be a right-wing Republican skier. But, he's a good bloke nonetheless. We actually met at Bohemia in March. It was just by sheer coincidence that we happened to be up there at the same time, again.
There was a model of The Porkies at the base lodge that showed the runs, relative to the lakefront. I took a pic of it for reference.
Ski and snowboard rental at The Porkies. Everything here is well-kept, and visually stunning.
Every time I go up to The Keweenaw, I try to take a day off, and go explore my surroundings. It's a little scary, as detailed maps aren't widely available, and driving hazards are quite numerous... but, once you get out there, it's not so bad. Slow and steady are the buzzwords when driving around The Keweenaw. Anything more, and you're putting yourself in imminent danger.
This is Lac La Belle, seen from Mt. Bohemia's chair lift. The Lac La Belle lodge is right at the tip of the peninsula, in the middle of the lake; Bete Grise is just a few miles out, on the edge of Lake Superior (seen out on the horizon in this photo).
I started my day at the Lac La Belle Lodge, which is just about a half of a mile from the base of Bohemia. I had to get a few supplies (cigarettes, strawberry daiquiris, postcards, t-shirts, local trail maps... y'know, the necessities...), and while I was there, I got some basic directions and tips from the helpful lady behind the counter. Apparently, during the previous nights' storms, a couple of freighters had anchored in Bete Grise Bay, and spent the night. If I hurried, I might catch 'em before they steamed out. Bete Grise is only 5 miles or so from the lodge, so I made that my first priority. It paid off: I got to spend the rest of the morning watching them slowly sail off into the sunrise.
The Lac La Belle lodge, where we get any supplies that we may have forgotten to pack. In the rear, is The Bear Belly Restaurant and Bar, with it's magnificent views of the lake.
The lodge cabins that surround the Lac La Belle Lodge. That's Mt. Bohemia in the background, visible between the trees.
Mail delivery, Lac La Belle style.
I took a drive to the farthest point you could access by car, on the south side of the point. Bete Grise, Michigan. The end of the world.
These are the two freighters that were tucked in the bay, riding out the previous nights' storms. I spent a couple hours, watching them steam on out. Peaceful solitude.
Changing rooms at Bete Grise. Apparently, it's a summertime swimming hot-spot.
Bete Grise is on the south side of the Keweenaw Peninsula. On the opposite (north) side, is Copper Harbor. Copper is about 15 miles from Bohemia, and is not quite at the very end of the point... but, close. The very end of the point is only accessible by snowmobile, and/or four-wheel-drive vehicles... so, Copper is as close as you can get, via Econobubble. Like Bete Grise, the drive there, as well as the village itself, are immaculately beautiful, and as far from civilization as you can possibly get; Copper Harbor only has a year-round population of 89 permanent residents.
My drive to Copper Harbor, Michigan, on the north side of the point.
A panoramic shot of the village of Copper Harbor, Michigan. The harbor is straight ahead, down the street in the middle of the photo.
A panoramic of the harbor, itself.
Scenes from around the harbor...
The King Copper Motel, in Copper Harbor. Clearly, it was built sometime in the 1950's. It's architectural style just screams tailfins and chrome.
The Tamarack Inn. I eat here at least once, every time I go up to Bohemia. It breaks the monotony of endless Chedderwurst and beans.
Snowmobiles parked outside The Tamarack Inn. Snowmobile-tourism is a huge part of the local economy, here.
Sunset over the south lot at Bohemia.
Mt. Bohemia is open between 10:00 am and 4:30 pm daily, 9:30 am to 4:30 pm on the weekends. That's only 6 1/2 to 7 1/2 hours of riding, every day. So: Where's the rest of the day go?! Mostly to The Common Room, Bohemia's "lodge" area. Outfitted with a fireplace, a small stove, a few extremely comfortable faux-leather couches, and a satellite-cable-equipped television, The Common Room is the place to go to have a couple of drinks, some dinner, and some late-night movies and comedy shows. New this year was wireless Wi-Fi, so the computer geeks had something to do, too.
My daily hike from the hostel, to the "lodge". It's about 50 yards, straight up.
The Lodge, aka, the "Common Room". Where the off-hours are spent keeping the fire going, getting in a shower, socializing, having a bite to eat, and boozing it up, while watching dish television.
Besides hanging out in the common room, there's not much else to do at Bohemia, unless you want to drive to Copper Harbor, or over to The Bear Belly. Thus, "troublemaking" becomes sort of a legitimate pastime in it's own right. This can include stuff like:
- Setting up snow ramps and jumps by carlight, and launching yourself into the dark abyss (which I saw, but didn't do myself);
- Smoking tons of pot, and drinking gallons of Jagermeister (which I saw, but didn't do myself);
- Getting hammered, and driving your minivan around the base of the mountain, until you get stuck, and maintenance has to come and pull your stupid ass out with a snowcat (which I saw, laughed at, and fully documented... but, thankfully, that one wasn't me, either);
- And, lastly, hiking the Ghost Trail and/or Prospector, and getting a few runs in by bright, cloudless moonlight (which I'll plead the fifth on, because I'm still not sure how legal/illegal that really is).
Mt. Bohemia's yurts, by moonlight. When it's bright like this, you can easily go hike the runs all night long.
I came out one night from the lodge one evening, to find the whole mountain lit up. Huh?! I mean, I knew they had lights and all. I've just never seen them actually on before...
It made one hell of a great photo op, though. That's me, man: Mr. Opportunity At Work.
And, here's the reason why. Some jackass tried to drive his minivan to the lift (?!), and ski patrol and maintenance had to rescue his ass. Funny! Note to all jackasses: Bohemia's lifts do not run at night. Just for future reference, y'know...
The catwalks between the yurts. This was my path to the bathroom each and every morning.
One of the raddest things about Mt. Bohemia is that, due to the fairly "extreme" nature of the mountain, and the conditions that you're likely to find on it... you'll oftentimes see some very rare, unusual, limited-production sorts of "extreme" snow-riding tools on, and around the slopes. Things that you might have seen in a catalog somewhere, but you'll probably never see in an actual snowboard shop. Some of these things are even fairly difficult to find online. I'd know, because I've certainly tried. Things that you'll almost certainly never, ever get to see up close and personal. Well, these things do exist. And, lucky for me, many of them migrate- with their owners- to Mt. Bohemia.
Take the case of Tom, and his Limited Edition Burton Fish... the Burton Fish being a board that is fairly limited, anyway. So, that would make this the "limited of the limited". Outfitted with Burton CO2 bindings, and a very unusual S-Camber profile (designed to keep the nose up in super-deep powder conditions), Tom brought this up for a two-day stretch in which we were expecting between 18 and 24 inches of new snow, very quickly. Note the shallow, swallow-cutout in the tail (which I'd seen), the extremely short tail (which I hadn't), as well as the mondo, super-wide float-nose (which I'd definitely seen, but never appreciated how monstrous that bitch really is)... sometimes, the Burton catalogs don't really do these things justice. I actually had a lot of fun, just watching Tom have fun on this prize of a setup. I also made a mental note, of course, to purchase something quite like it for myself, asap. We can't let Tom have all the fun in the world, now can we...?!
And, here we have it! A rare Burton Fish sighting! Very boss, and very, very sexy, as far as snowboards go.This is an '09 Limited 160, with the S-Camber profile, and The Burton Channel... which allows quick, and unlimited on-the-fly stance adjustments, all with just one screwdriver. Serious powder-riding sometimes requires serious powder-riding tools...
Crystal Falls, Michigan, on the drive home. The drive back was just as beautiful as the drive up, of course. But, truth be told? If I had my way, I would have never, ever left...
