It is February 25th, and tomorrow our Outdoor Rec Adventure Based class at Feather River College will begin our four day winter camping trip. This trip is the culmination of everything the class has learned thus far in the Spring 2016 semester, and it marks the end of our class official skiing season. The snow will not be leaving the mountains, but the Adventure based class will be shifting its focus from snow sports to whitewater sports.


Since we have reached this important milestone in our class I figured it would be a good time to do a quick recap of what Adventure Based has been through thus far.


 The semester began with introductions to cross country skiing. We learned basic techniques for moving uphill and also a few for going down. Every time the class went out on a trail for a cross country ski day we staggered up the hill in a ridiculous gaggle looking like a group of drunken geese that couldn't figure out their V formation. Everyone would occasionally fall on their face, have no idea why, and then get up after refusing help and try to race around the 'established' line to regain their place. It was a total mess. Eventually we did begin to get the hang of sliding around on cross country skis, and as soon as we were nearly comfortable our skis were taken away and replaced by big, fat, scary ones.


The first time I wore telemark skis they felt massive and unwieldy. They were difficult to push uphill (using skins attached to the underside of the skis) and terrifying to come down on. On our first day with tele skis in the backcountry at least half of the class obtained knee trauma. Fall,  knee bend, pop, ouch, get up, keep skiing (falling). Regardless of this, when the first telemark day was over everyone was excited about the new faster skis. Next we went to a ski resort and practiced the difficult telemark skiing style under instructor supervision. At the resort we began to understand how turns on skis really feel when linked together correctly. We also became aware that skiing wipeouts can get really gnarly. After our time at the resort we spent nearly every class day skiing in the backcountry around Plumas County and had two more beautiful ski days at resorts in Tahoe.


Throughout this semester we have learned many snow skills including how to build snow caves, how to obtain information regarding avalanche terrain, avalanche rescue techniques, winter camping techniques, and of course, skiing techniques. My fellow student Sierra Speer created a wonderfully edited video documenting our class's struggle in learning how to ski as well as how amazing skiing can flow once it's done correctly. Look for the author to be stuck in a tree for the majority of the video.
                                                                       
                                                                                                            Written by Jonathan Simenc

Video Credit: Sierra Speer
*Here's the Youtube link if Weebly doesn't let the video work: 
​https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NxBJGJhsphI&feature=youtu.be

Have you ever heard someone say that they couldn't live in a small town because there 'isn't enough fun things to do'? I often find this to be a humorous statement. I am fairly certain I could list off countless more 'fun things' to do in a small town than a large city, but I am rather biased. I live in a small town that is in the perfect location to allow maximum daily fun in a mountainous outdoor setting. Four adventure buddies and I proved this fact when we participated in four separate outdoor sports in the same day.

Our four sport day was a kind of tribute to the beauty of Plumas County. There are few other places I know of, where a similar feat could be accomplished with the same short amount of driving time. We are quite fortunate to have access to these wonderful activities offered by the town of Quincy, and its close proximity to the surrounding area of the Plumas National Forest. Biased or not, I'll leave it to this small town to discredit any large city from having more 'fun things' to do.

*The five adventure buddies are:
​          Chase Cowen, Izak Lederman, Alec Leonardini, Jonathan Simenc, and Lauren Tango

"Got enough American cheese on your ankles there?" My friend and gear room co-worker Chase pointed at my feet and we shared a laugh. He was right, every piece of the ridiculous tape job I had done on my ankle joints looked exactly like the ready packed cheese squares a lazy sandwich maker may purchase at the supermarket. Ugh. The next day and a half was going to hurt. The time had come for the Adventure Based class at Feather River College to venture out into the snow for a day and a night. This event is called the Winter Shakedown, and the entire class was stoked. The Winter Shakedown's purpose: to discover what adjustments must be made to our packing choices and practice the skills necessary for a longer snow camping trip which will take place later in the semester. Though I recognized this objective, the only thing I could imagine was spending a day and a night in the ankle crushing agony of the torture device known as the 'telemark ski boot'. I know that sounds a bit dramatic, but my poor bony ankles really felt like these boots had it in for them. Luckily, this awful feud between my ankles and the blue boots of death was soon to be removed from the forefront of my mind as an even greater adversary was about to present itself to me, and every other member of the class.

We arrived at the Buck's Summit parking lot around noon. The class piled out of the dual wheeled van and prepared to venture off toward an unknown backcountry camp site. Sunscreen was applied and sleds were rigged with camping gear in a fairly orderly fashion. I know it was fairly orderly because there were no comments regarding our preparation speed heard from our instructor, Rick Stock. Once all our gear was properly arranged in sleds and our backpacks were strapped tightly to our bodies we skied off in pairs along the Buck's Creek trail loop. My ankles were crying a bit but they were not weeping as before, when I had been required to walk across the hard asphalt of the parking lot to the snow. For some reason they felt slightly better with skis strapped underneath them. Take that, you villainous boots. 

Rick eventually ushered us off the hard packed snow (ice...it was ice) of the trail and into a large clearing. Before we had left the college Rick had informed us that there would not be snow enough for the class to make snow caves to sleep in. Snow caves require a snow bank wide and deep enough to hollow out into a shelter capable of fitting several people, and there had been no new snowfall for a week or two. Instead of snow caves we were to attempt to build Quinzhee huts (pronounced kwin-zee) in pre-established groups of two. The only obvious difference between a Quinzhee hut and a snow cave is the outer shell. A snow cave is dug out of a ready-made snow bank, while Quinzhee huts require that the snow 'bank' be built before any tunneling may ensue. Luckily the snow in the clearing was sticky and soft, easy to shovel into a large pile. After a quick glance around the clearing myself and my hut building partner Jack chose where we wanted to build our Quinzhee. The majority of the clearing was bathed in early afternoon light. The growing shadows of the trees surrounding the clearing told that our spot would be in the sun the longest, which would provide us with warmth for a longer period of time. It was about one o' clock PM. The time had come to start digging. Jack and I pulled out our extendable-but-still-far-too-short-for-digging-standing-up shovels and took our first few jabs at the snow. 'Crunch'. 'Crunch'. 'Crunch'. Only about a kajillion more shovelfuls to go. 

The next two hours went by pretty quickly. Rick again came by to tell us that we were all meeting at four O' clock and probably wouldn't be sleeping in a hut tonight. No, I thought, we were going to finish. After deciding this I worked furiously with my perfectly-sized-for-digging-laying-down-or-sitting-small-collapsable-shovel as I tapped into my inner mole...or maybe inner worm. At one point a quote from the movie 'Holes' entered my mind: "Moles don't eat dirt, worms eat dirt." Would eating the snow in between sled loads help speed the process? Digging in a cave for two and a half hours can get you to think some pretty weird things. At one point Lauren Tango (a fellow student in the process of building a perfectly shaped Quinzhee hut on the other side of the clearing) came by and shouted to me, "It's pretty intense in there huh?" I yelled back on impulse "Freaking terrifying!" I didn't think about that comment until later, but yeah, it was a little scary in there. 

As the final call went out for the class meeting I put a few finishing touches on the cave: A shoddily dug trench down the middle of the cave for ease in putting on our boots in the morning, a quick scrape of the walls and ceiling to round out their shape so as to keep drops of melting snow away from our sleeping area, and a poor attempt at leveling out the two platforms where Jack and I would be sleeping. I arrived at the class meeting late, but happy and full of pride that Jack and I had nearly finished our hut. We had succeeded! It was then that I realized I was soaking wet, and absolutely freezing. My hands were in a ton of pain as they were chilled to the bone from my sopping gloves, and I was sure my nose was beet red. The sun was almost gone. That day, though full of stoke-worthy success, had been a strange whirlwind of discomfort from feeling strangely hot to being freezing cold and nothing in between save some ankle pain. Ankle pain? In all the excitement and exhaustion of digging a hole in the snow I had somehow forgotten. HA! Take that, boots from hell. 

Some hours later snuggled in my sleeping bag in the relative comfort of the Quinzhee hut I started awake. I recognized I was in the hut I had dug. I felt so proud. Then I felt...ugh. I had to pee. I swung my legs out of my sleeping bag into the trench next to me only to see...them. There they were, blue as ever, tongues akimbo as they smiled wickedly at me. The Quinzhee hut had been vanquished, but the two scourges of ankles everywhere remained, and they had found me in my weakest hour: trapped in a Quinzhee hut needing to urinate with no other form of footwear. Good move ankle crushing boots of death...good move.  

                                                                                                      Written by Jonathan Simenc