Neophyte Outdoorsman's Metamorphosis In my recent past I was a Los Angelas suburbanite ignorantly blissful in the comfort the city had to offer. Then someone left an Outside Magazine in my bathroom. I read it cover to cover, it was a half hour after that before I had full circulation back down to my toes. My legs had fallen to sleep but my mind certainly hadn't. I found myself daydreaming about bicycling the silk road, hiking in Peru, sailing Antarctica, running the Ididerod, and winter ski camping in the Sierra. Then I would snap out of it and look around; sure I lived in a nice house but the smog seemed to be ready to cave in the roof. freeway expansion sliced my quiet culdasac in half. The freeway noise didn't bother me because I couldn't hear it over the jets slicing through the smog overhead. Outside Magazine had disrupted my ostrich like existence in the southland. I started reading other magazines that covered better environs like outdoor photographer, and cross country skier. I started traveling, camping, hiking and photographing. I had been skiing for years but negotiating the local hills was seeming more and more like spending time in my ex coldasac So I took up cross country skiing, that brought to me the solitude that I had been craving and made me hungry for more. It was time to move. The Rockies sounded like a good idea so it was off to Jackson Hole Wyoming . Not only does it have outstanding mountains and lakes, it has wildlife everywhere. And I'm not talking about The Million Dollar Cowboy Bar. There are 8,000 elk on the Elk refuge outside of town, Big Horn Sheep on the mountain tops, Moose up the side canyons, Deer on the butteÕs, Antelope on the flats, Bears hiding in the trees, Buffalo wandering from here to there, and trophy Trout in the rivers waiting for a worm. On the down side in January it is colder than a mother in-law's kiss, and spring and fall brings financial hardships rougher than a half-round bastard file. Thunderstorms in summer bring winds that blow so hard I have to put the saddle over my horses ass to keep the bit from blowing out of his mouth. All this diversity makes a person feel alive. A place so colorful made me want to become a part of it. So I bought me a Resistol hat and a horse and I tried to blend in the best I could. I rented me a log cabin on Chancy Wheeldon's Mill Iron Ranch and proceeded to learn about western living by trial and error. Chancy is a character of true western tradition. He was a pro rodeo finals saddle bronc rider in 75 and 77. He is quick of wit and quick to laugh, hard working and hard playing. Eager to tease a greenhorn but good enough to teach him a few things. He hired me to help out around the ranch, probably so he could laugh at my antics. His father Clark was cut of the same cloth. he was a master of country rhetoric and couldn't really remember if he went to Penn State or state pen. I could have bought a tamer horse, but I couldn't have bought a prettier one. Besides after getting bucked off so often I walked like a cowboy, kinda slow with an imperceptible limp. But I suppose I might have blended in better had I spent more time on my horse rather than flat on the ground at his feet. But after a while we developed an understanding, he understood that I was green and I understood he was spooky and that my life depended on developing a death grip on the saddle horn. Then I got to see some country. The Gros Venture Wilderness behind my house, I rode all over it that summer and never saw a soul, what a feeling. Looking around me I felt as if I were in a Coors Beer commercial. Summer was over all to soon but what an exit it made. September 9, it was hot, the next day snow was on the ground one week later I was treated to one of the rewards of the people who put up with the rigors of snow country. The snow was gone, but the aspens were gold and auburn, the cottonwoods were yellow and the mountain maples were red and the air had a crisp refreshing taste to it. Soon, enough we had snow on the ground; I put the horse to pasture for the winter and broke out the cross country skis and put in a few trails around the ranch. My cowboy buddies started looking at me funny like I was loco because their way of life is hard enough they don't have to do anything to stay in shape except wake in the morning and do a regular days work. I have to admit I opted for army surplus wool ski wear instead of Lycra to escape impending ridicule had I done otherwise. Before long I was getting into pretty decent shape. I skied 12 miles up to hidden falls to find it hidden under a mantel of snow. I figured that I was just about ready go for my first overnighter. I would have liked to have found someone that would like to go along but by now the cowboys new I was crazy and I hadn't exactly been hanging out with the granola heads. So it was going to be just me and my dog Spot. Spot was a Shepherd so he could pull a sled and lighten my load. Before I left the house I phoned the Avalanche snow phone to check conditions and everything sounded OK, winds in the mountain tops and moderate avalanche conditions to 9000 feet which didn't concern me because I was only going to 7,500 feet. There was a storm coming in but nothing major so me and Spot were off for another sojourn into solitude. My destination was Granite Hot Springs in the Gros Venture Mountains, since I was a neophyte winter camper I chose this place because of the regular traffic it received in case I got into trouble and It was a moderate up hill trip on a well marked route with a hot spring at the end of it. About a mile into the trip it started snowing, moderately at first then harder and harder. I was putting my new space age breathable, water resistant fabric to the test. The snow fell off the exterior, but the sweat condensed on the interior and pooled up around the Velcro closures. I undid all the closures and unzipped all the zippers to make the garment truly breathable but considerable less weatherproof. Considering the fact that I was becoming a soggy mess and the mounting snow was increasing my efforts to get to my destination I decided to make camp short of the hot springs before I had hypothermia to deal with. I pitched my free standing dome tent under a tree and changed into some dry cloths, snuggled into my down bag and proceeded to read my book, Surviving Denali. I would read a survival story then look outside, read another and then look outside and think, well I'm a long way from Elm Street now. It snowed through the night and continued through the morning. Around 8:00 I started filling stuff sacks with stuff. Then I heard it. Out of the west the wind started whistling through the trees being under a tree I put my arms up to support the tent through the impending clumps of snow were about to fall out of the tree. It was more than a gust and I had more to worry about than snow clumps falling on the tent. I hadn't staked the corners or tied any guylines. So for an hour I sat there with my legs and arms spread out doing my best to keep the tent on the ground. The wind was blowing with unbelievable force for what I thought was a wind protected canyon. Spot looked over at me with that what have you gotten us into now look. Then during a momentary lull in the wind I jumped out and tied the tent to the tree and jumped back into the tent to ponder my next move. My worry wort wife was expecting me home today and she didn't want me to go alone in the first place. If I tried to leave right now I could never get the tent into it's sack. The safest thing to do is to stay until this weather blows over but I had neglected to tell the wife that in such a circumstance as this, that would be the safest thing to do. If I didn't show up today she would go to pieces and I would be greeting a search party come evening. I decided that I couldn't have my first winter camping trip end in humiliation so the only course of action was to pack up everything but the tent and head for home. The tent was safer tied to that tree than me trying to keep a grip on it while trying to stuff it somewhere, I would just have to come back for it I skied down to the car only to find that it wasn't going to go anywhere either so I Put everything in the trunk then skied down to the deserted highway to hitch a ride home. After a half an hour the first car came by and luckily picked me up As soon as I got home I couldn't help but phone the avalanche snow phone and see what wisdom it had to pass along. Heavy snows received over the last eighteen hours. 35 to 50 mile an hour winds with 100 mile per hour gusts. Heavy avalanche danger everywhere. Do not go into the back country for any reason. No wonder no one wanted to go with me.