Words and Photos MATTHEW TUFTS Captions MATTHEW TUFTS AND THOR RETZLAFF “ ALL gas, no brakes, am I right?” Few solvents work as effectively (and are as readily ac-cessible) as gasoline. A pre-dawn rinse and wipe solved the skin glue residue issues on the way up to the Pass. Just another day in Colorado’s Redneck Chamonix. Photo: Thor Retzlaff I chuckled at the comment. No one has ever accused me of skiing fast. Uphill, maybe. But I’m far from a freeride charger, as my brakeless gram-counting minimal bindings showed. I’ve done a lot of ridiculous things on skis. Well, perhaps I ought to say with skis. Often, they’re on my back—catch-ing every branch, ledge and bush like a giraffe attempting an army crawl. Far from snow, but close enough to seem plausible, carried through bush, desert, talus and rivers. But this was one of the more ridiculous things I ever did to my skis. The smell of gasoline was overwhelming, particularly at quarter to five in the morning. I pressed the lever again, shooting low grade petrol (premium is for Summit County ski-ers, we joked) onto my ski bases—and all over the pavement. Isaiah Branch-Boyle, a Silverton, CO, local, laughed as I wiped away resin-like climbing skin residue with a paper towel. “No better solvent than gas-o-line,” he said, enunciating the word like in the eponymous pop song. I wondered if the gas station had a security camera. But in these parts, it’s unlikely they would gripe. Just another day in skiing’s Wild West. The Silverton side of the San Juans maintains a cowboy-ish irreverence despite (or perhaps in spite of ) its proximity to Telluride’s opulence and Durango’s recent influx of Texans and technocrats. “Redneck Chamonix,” the locals call it. If you’re looking to get into hanging ramps and closeout couloirs while wearing Carhartts, the moniker fits; if you’re looking at access, well, there’s something to be desired if you come expecting the Aiguille du Midi and find dilapidated mining infrastructure. Between Molas Pass (just under 11,000 feet) and Red Mountain Pass (just over 11,000 feet), there are enough high-altitude roadside attractions to keep the weekend warriors satiated. But if you want to get away from the highway lines and the classics, there’s not a lot of beta. The locals prefer to keep it that way. Silverton is a place where the best deal on pizza comes from the gas station. Where the town’s culinary offerings (which, according to any true local, fervently includes the petrol depot) range from pizza and beer to beer and pizza. Where majority unpaved streets host more salvage-titled Ford Rangers than new, POW-stickered Tacomas. 042 The Ski Journal
The Ski Journal Volume 18, Issue 1: Page 43
