Last week I flew into Colorado and met my brother and cousin for an overnight trip to the Sangree Froelicher “hut” outside of Leadville. It was my second winter backcountry trip, about 3.5 miles into the San Isabel National Forest on an amazing rented pair of dps skis. Truth be told I was not in particularly great shape for this trip, but I managed to weekend-warrior my way through it with no damage beyond an impressively large blister on my little toe.
Sangree’s hut is part of the 10th Mountain Division Hut Association network, more than three dozen chalets tucked into the backcountry around Colorado. It’s hard to describe just how magical the “huts” are — multi-story, multi-room log masterpieces with wood stoves and ovens, bedrooms with mattresses, sinks and cisterns and permanent outhouses, propane burners and solar lights. Arriving at one after a day skinning into the silent, snow-covered forests and hills is like stumbling into some crazy Narnia/Wardrobe situation (minus the White Witch).
The association is named in honor of the 10th Mountain Division of the US Army, famous for operations in the Italian Alps during WW2, and which dominates the history of skiing in the United States — at least sixty-two modern resorts were founded by folks connected to the 10th, including Aspen, Vail, Sugarbush — even my hometown favorite Crystal Mountain. Sangree Froelicher, for whom our hut this year was named, was killed in action during the Italian campaign. Evenings in the huts lend themselves to a bit of reflection, and to the conflicting emotions of being thankful for the sacrifice of brave people, but also frustrated at the stupidity of those that created the need for it.
Anyway — while the place was amazing, of course there’s no “staff” or anything — so there are plenty of chores to do. The four of us shared our hut with another group of eight up for their own annual trip, and I couldn’t help but notice that the dynamics shared a lot in common with the workplaces I inhabited for so many years. People are people, and it’s always interesting to see what happens when we’re thrown together.
1. Tortoises and Hares
I tend to skin quickly and take frequent breaks. My cousin and her husband are slower but steady. My brother is fast AND steady. The differences caused us to spread out along the trail, but as we all came back together at the hut, it was clear that everybody had had their best day. Being alone in the backcountry is about remembering just how big the world is — and that despite being pretty insignificant at the end of the day, we’re a part of it, and we belong. Sounds corny, but the utter, complete, snow-covered silence is really special.
Travelling at your own pace is also a great exercise in self-motivation. Three and a half miles doesn’t seem like much, but for an old guy shuffling uphill on skis with a pack — it’s plenty. And there’s something to be said for doing it on your own. Most of our accomplishments in the modern world are parts of a larger whole, which is a-ok. But it’s nice to be able to take end-to-end credit for once! 😉
Most of all, we all made it, in our own way. And in plenty of time for a beer before dinner.
2. Leaders, Followers and Slackers
The huts are amazing — but there’s also a lot to do. Wood needs to be split and carried inside. The stoves need to be tended, and snow brought in to melt and boil for drinking water. Since COVID there are enhanced (and appreciated) cleaning protocols, especially for sleeping and kitchen areas. Snow needs to be shoveled, food prepared, dishes washed and bleached.
But unlike most day-to-day situations, there’s no official hierarchy or assignments, within or between groups. Inevitably, a few folks self-identify (not necessarily explicitly) as “leaders” and start organizing things. Usually this leads to a too-many-cooks situation, as differences in style show themselves or people simply bump into each other trying to do the same job. But as long as nobody is a total a**hole, it usually works out just fine.
Having spent the bulk of my career as a “leader” (oh how I hate that word) — these days I revel in being a follower. I put in my share of work and then some, but much prefer to be labor and let somebody else call the shots. I’m the guy carrying in the wood and rinsing the dishes; somebody else can figure out how to adjust the flue on the wood stove and take the rap when it’s too cold overnight!
Of course, there are always one or two folks who are happy to just skate by without helping at all. And over the course of only one or two nights, it’s pretty easy to “hide” and take advantage — I only tend to notice thanks to years trying to optimize my software teams. But I have learned to delay judgment a bit — there are many legitimate reasons people hold back (lack of confidence, shyness, physical issues, etc.). The ones that are just lazy confuse me; do they really not feel bad? It’s weird.
3. Sharing and Mansplaining
There’s a bunch of technology in the huts — the woodstoves have a million ways to fine-tune them; there’s a big pot for snowmelt; a rooftop cistern and hand-pump at the sink; solar lights with a battery bank; wood-fired ovens and propane burners; you get the idea. There are also plenty of traditions and social expectations about sharing bedrooms and kitchens and drying racks and such. It can actually be a bit intimidating, especially for a first-timer trying to pitch in.
Most folks who come on these trips love to share what they know, and do so generously. But sharing “styles” vary dramatically, I’m sure often with people completely unaware of their effect on others. The women in my life have a lot to say about “mansplaining” — and in this situation there couldn’t be a better word. My personal approach is to just let it ride — if I learn a bit and never see these folks again, I’ll take the net win. But you can really see it eat at folks too, and that’s just a shame.
I love to share things I’ve learned too … it’s why I write this stuff down! And I’m sure that when I get on a roll, I can sometimes forget that other people know things too. Watching the dynamics in the hut is a great reminder: read the room, folks!
4. Us and Them
Segmenting people into groups seems to be wired into our brains. It’s surely a remnant of evolution — always assessing our environment to predict what is helpful, safe, dangerous and unknown. My brother and I were playing a game listening to the radio: how many songs are based on some vague “them” that said “we’d never make it” or whatever? There’s always a bad guy. I mean, this is how right-wing media (and to a much lesser extent all media) keeps our attention: be scared, be afraid, they’re after what is yours!
This even plays out — in a far gentler way — in the hut. There’s a standard set of ice-breaking questions between groups: Your first time here? Where are you from? How’d you like the hike in? Cold enough for you? Sometimes there’s an extrovert that tries to create connections (my friend Jim is a grandmaster at this), but more often we keep largely to ourselves except for shared chores and a few low-stakes exchanges. And people are different, of course. Perhaps one group is overtly religious and the other is not. Or one likes to stay up late with a drink and the other turns in early. And of course there’s politics, although thankfully it seems like the backcountry is understood to be a no-fly zone for that insanity.
In any case, a cozy, warm mountain hut is an excellent place to try to think differently — so I gave it a shot and offered my Chips Ahoy across the aisle. A major accomplishment for introvert Sean!
I really, really don’t miss people management at work. But I do miss the people. Sitting quietly in a corner of Sangree’s hut, watching folks figure out how to live and work together in a shared, special place — it made me a bit nostalgic for the great startup teams my friends and I created out of nothing. Everyone should experience just how awesome that can be. Even with a wicked blister and some dude on the other side of the room mansplaining how to properly store your skins overnight.
