Packed With Fun Group Of 12-Year-Olds Tackle Backcountry On Skis

I’ve been to some of the most remote backcountry niches in the world, but none of my outdoor experience could fully prepare me for this expedition.

“Twelve-year-old girls!” one woman friend blurted after I described the plan. “That’s pretty adventurous. They could be sweet as syrup, or they could eat you alive.”

Indeed, there are challenges in taking seven young girls on their first winter ski experience with backpacks.

“I didn’t want to say anything in front of the group,” one mom said after our pre-trip meeting to explain the itinerary and menu. “But my daughter won’t eat any of the food you plan to bring, including the spaghetti or tacos.”

“I don’t know why you suggested bringing two pairs of underwear,” another mom said. “My daughter never changes her underwear when she goes camping.”

Two moms brought up the potential for girls of this age to have their first you-know-what while in the charge of two dads six miles from the nearest road and 12 miles from the nearest women’s restroom with a vending machine on the wall.

“It always happens in a situation like this,” my wife warned.

A bit shaken by these and other situations not covered in our Boy Scout manuals, Scott Redman and I pored over the possibilities and came to the only sensible conclusion.

“We won’t ask the moms for any more advice,” he said.

Agreed.

The most important factor of all was in our favor: These were no ordinary girls.

For years, they have met for eight Saturdays during the winter to ski cross-country at Mount Spokane with the Inland Empire Nordic Club’s program for kids.

Even at this pivotal age, sweat is not a foul word. Winter is not a curse.

They’re anthing but wimps.

To ski regularly at Mount Spokane, one has no choice but to become comfortable with the average day of drizzle, sleet, soupy fog and numbing wind.

Nordic skiing families don’t raise snow bunnies at Mount Spokane. They rear wild hares.

These girls could be buying lift tickets at the alpine resorts or spending the afternoons in more mainstream amusements at the malls. Instead, they have chosen the road less traveled.

Cross-country skiing is as close as a sport can come to real life. Rewards are preceded by determined uphill efforts.

They have made the grade as skiers. Only one body part was yet to be tested for the ultimate freedom of cross country skiing.

Their backs.

Once they get the hang of carrying a backpack on skis, there’s no snowy goal on earth beyond their reach.

For this first trip, however, we stacked the odds in our favor.

We had reserved one of the Rendezvous Outfitters huts near Winthrop, Wash. The huts have wood heating stoves, propane cook stoves and lamps, pots, plates, utensils, a loft and an outhouse.

The five huts in the Rendezvous area are on the groomed Methow Valley Sports Trails system, which ruled out a slog in unpredictable backcountry snow conditions.

But the girls still had to ski roughly six miles in, uphill all the way. They started in a wet snowfall that was only one degree from a drizzle. Adults at the trailhead were donning expensive Gore-Tex parkas to ward off the elements.

The girls donned garbage bags.

“Now this is a fashion statement,” Shannon said.

“We’re the girls in black,” said Jamie, as they cinched their packs and swarmed up the trail.

They learned to moderate their pace and peel off layers of clothing to cope with the exertion of the climb. The rules were simple: try not to sweat too much, and wait for the entire group at every trail junction.

Scott and I were far back when the girls reached the hut that afternoon. They had the sleeping pads arranged and were checking out conditions for a snow cave by the time we arrived.

Although the temperatures dipped just below freezing, we didn’t have to light the wood stove at night. Seven 12-year-olds can generate enough body heat just by braiding their hair to keep the place toasty.

“Those braids look so cute,” said Brook, admiring her work on her bunkmate’s mane.

“But I’m in seventh grade,” Adrienne frowned. “I don’t want to be cute.”

I was craving Advil just watching the contortions Hannah endured to win the evening’s Twister championship.

Scott broke a sweat watching Shannon wield an eight-inch blade to slice veggies while carrying on two different conversations - over her shoulder.

Cari’s T-shirt read, “So I’m not perfect - ADJUST.”

Nine people living in a one-room hut requires adjustment.

It’s unbelievable how one pack can hold so many little things that can be misplaced. It’s surprising how wet clothes won’t dry if they’re not hung on a peg.

Order comes quickly in the morning among seven girls with a one-hole outhouse.

“It helps to get up first,” Chelsea said.

By 9 a.m. the next morning, the girls in black bags were off, making tracks in new snow to explore the Rendezvous area. I returned to the hut by 1 p.m. to have lunch ready, but they still weren’t back.

The hut seemed so quiet and empty, even though it was a warm reprieve from the wet snowfall for other skiers touring the trails.

Around 2 p.m., two ladies in their 50s and a fortysomething couple, all from Seattle, were sipping tea with me and chatting about the gloomy conditions. I had warned them that the atmosphere could abruptly change. They nodded knowingly.

Minutes later, the mob of girls gushed into the hut like a flash flood, filling every corner with chatter and ribbing and giggling and a rousing clamor for food.

The visitors sidestepped around the ruckus and worked their way to the door. They smiled and twiddled their fingers at Scott and me as we began answering the call of hunger.

The hut loft gave the girls a retreat, where they could lounge in their longies while their outer clothes dried. There they would read books or huddle four or five at a time to read a juicy part from a teen magazine.

But never for long.

By 3 p.m. they were outside building a snow cave. After dinner, they were skiing through the night, using headlamps to chase down clues for a scavenger hunt.

They stopped singing in the loft by 10 that night.

“It smells like feet up here,” Adrienne said.

They slept like dogs after a chase.

The packs went together beautifully on the last morning.

“This is amazing,” Cari said dragging her pack out of the loft. “It’s the fourth day and I’ve finally figured this out.”

Snacks and waterbottles were no longer buried in the packs where they weren’t accessible. Sensible clothing combinations had been chosen.

We were leaving the hut, but the girls had arrived.

I thought back years ago to the first time I had braced for my first serious downhill wearing a backpack and nordic skis.

My knees wobbled. My ski tracks were three feet apart. I squeezed my ski poles and clenched my teeth.

These girls took about two minutes to adjust.

They screamed in every manner of the word as they schussed down the Little Cub Creek trail.

“This feels a little weird, skiing with a big pack,” Brook said. “But it’s cool to have all my stuff on my back.”

“You girls are awesome,” I said.

They all agreed.

As we descended into the lowlands, where the snow was slushy and the fog was thick, some adults were understandably grumpy about the weather they drew for their three-day weekend.

With seven girls beaming and chattering under the burden of weather and packs skittering down the trail, the adults had little option but to cheer up.

“They are the only sunshine I’ve seen all weekend,” one lady said.

, DataTimes ILLUSTRATION: 3 Photos (2 Color)

MEMO: This sidebar appeared with the story: ROUTES For a detailed description of the Rendevous area huts and ski trails, see Classic Trips in the Inland Northwest/G2