Beartooth Kite Adventure: High Winds, High Mountains and The Man
Yesterday was my second day of snowkiting for this winter. It was all over the news that the Beartooth Highway was going to open on Friday, October 7th at ten in the morning after a summer of serious road repairs due to rockslides. With Montana’s recent snow and a tight isobars forecast I was sure that I would get a session at 10,000 feet.
Lots of dignitaries were going to be there to cut the ribbon and say their words. Because it was blowing so hard, these politicos would be off the mountain ASAP. As I drove up from Red Lodge, sure enough, down came a long procession of government types.
Getting get up to the top of the Beartooth Plateau, I was psyched! The immense view says one thing to me: snowkite heaven. Snow and wind is everywhere. It’s blowing 35 to 45 and there’s plenty of fresh powder. It’s blowing so hard that the plow truck keeps making passes just to keep the road open.
My first session is with my 7 Frenzy and I’m seriously overpowered in the gusts. After ten minutes, I drop down to a 5 and find that it’s perfect as the gusts are hitting 50+. I know that there is no option for screw-ups in this environment, there’s conspicuous grey mounds under the snow: granite. These boulders are easy to steer around, but I definitely don’t want to t-bone one.
The kiting was superb. Super lit on my 5, I could climb with ease. The descents were scary fast. With the kite just off neutral, the wing would build huge amounts of apparent wind, propelling me down slope faster and faster. I would rip into the bottom of the basin and crank carving high speed jibes. I was possessed. Powering back up the slope, laying hard into my edge, I’d boost lazy, floaty air. Over and over. I’m shredding smooth wind-laid powder, dodging rocks, boosting on the lulls and finessing the gusts. It’s my personal snowkite nirvana.
After a while, I kite back up to the truck, take a break, eat some food and chat with the snow plow guy. He says that it sure looks like I’m having fun out there. I agree. He also tells me that he’s going to lock the gate six miles down and that I need to leave by 1:30 p.m. Since I’m fully provisioned, I say, “Is there any problem with me spending the night up here?” He says, “No problem.” and off he goes, down the mountain, plowing the wind drifts. Later on, he waves. Now, it’s just me and the mountains for the night. Ya mon!
So I go out for another session and it’s as good as the first, maybe a little better as I’m really getting tuned. It’s such a rush to be up there, no one around for miles, redline snowkiting.
Session three comes around at 3:30 p.m. and I know that this will be my last one of the day, and probably my longest as I want to milk it for all it’s worth. The wind seem even stronger as I triple check my lines before pulling the trigger. It’s another first class session. The gusts are dangerously powerful, blowing snow completely obliterating the view of the ground in front of me. I rage throughout the basin, ignoring the occasional core shots. Boosting with the 5 Frenzy is intensely cerebral. Hell, it’s just a little bigger then a trainer and I’m flying! Kiting in gusty mountain wind takes a sensitive touch on the bar and an acute awareness to the kite. There is no room for error. Rhythm comes from having done this so many times. It’s not for everyone, but I like it.
After two hours, I cruise downwind towards a small pass and find another ballroom of powder waiting for me. I'm having one of the most extreme high wind sessions of my life and all of a sudden: sirens go off. Literally. I look over towards the road, a half a mile, away, and there’s a Montana Highway Patrol car and a truck from the DOT, too. Their lights are flashing, the sirens whooping and I’m getting the message. I’m thinking, “They aren’t applauding my kite skills. They probably would like to see me, up close and personal.”
So, knowing that the show will be over soon, I take off, out of view. I kite around a small peak, enjoying the last bit of snowkite paradise. I go further around the peak and come up on them from downwind.
Arriving at the MHP car, I drop my kite and am greeted by a big cop who says “Let’s see some I.D.” He’s been watching me for at least an hour; he’s already run my license plate, so he knows who I am. But, he wants my driver’s license anyway.
With no outstanding warrants, he tells me that I have to get off the mountain and that I am to follow the DOT truck down and he’ll follow me. My party of one is definitely over.
The DOT guy is in charge of plowing. He tells me that with the high winds and an impending snow storm, the road will probably not open tomorrow. There’s a chance, but not much. I can camp below the gate, and I do. By nine the next morning, I’m sure: There’s no kiting for me today. Off I go, back to Bozeman.
Now, the rest of the story…
I’m getting on Interstate 90 by Columbus, MT and a Montana highway patrol car pulls out in front of me. He’s going 80, and I settle in at 75. After about ten miles he starts to slow down, 70, 65, and 60. He’s in the passing land so I nervously pass him in the slow lane. Right away, he pulls in behind me and his lights go on. He’s pulling me over! Now what? So, he gets out of his cruiser, and walks up to my passenger side window holding a brown manila envelope. Now I’m really wondering, “What’s up”?
“Good Morning Officer.”
He says, “Do you remember me from yesterday?”
It’s the same cop! I say, “Yes.”
“When you were out on the mountain I was trying to find out who you were and I got this magazine from the back of your truck. I was going to mail it to you today, so here you go.” He then hands me the envelope, addressed to me, with postage, ready to mail.
Apparently The Man had gone into the back of my truck, opened a cargo box and lifted my latest issue of SBC Kiteboard! Not only that, he kept it overnight!
Now I’m wondering if he’s gonna’…
…start kiting?
See ya out there,
Noah
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