Snowy White And As Green As Green Can Be

Take only pictures, leave only ski tracks ...


By STEVE FAGIN
Day Staff Columnist, New London, CT
Published on 3/7/2004

Beyond a glistening meadow, on a morning so frigid and dry that skis squeaked in packed snow, the majestic summit of Camel's Hump, Vermont's third-tallest mountain, penetrated an azure, cloudless sky.

Aside from the skis and the occasional “Gawk!” of a raven, silence reigned.

Except for narrow ski tracks that meandered across the meadow before bending into a copse of spruce, and a whiff of wood smoke from a distant chimney, no hint of humans intruded.

Cross-country skiing upholds the tread-lightly credo embraced by environmentalists who seek not just to experience the rugged outdoors, but to preserve it. Take only photographs (or memories); leave only footprints (or ski tracks).

Of course, cynics who argue that any human presence in The Great Outdoors is destructive may have a point. First of all, unless you're a member of a nomadic tribe, or don't mind covering long distances on foot or bicycle, you have to drive to get to the wilderness, thereby burning fossil fuel and discharging greenhouse-effect emissions.

Next, you have to find shelter, and whether you're staying in an unheated yurt or a luxury condo with a hot tub, chances are some forest product has been felled, some soil has been compacted, some woodland creature has been displaced.

Then, of course, you have to eat — taking care to consume every morsel, lest a stray crumb encourages animals to rely on human food, or a stray seed inadvertently germinates into a non-native species. And we won't even get into the issue of waste disposal. So just because you're not roaring around on a three-wheeler, clubbing baby seals, doesn't mean you're not screwing up the planet.

Here in the Northeast, states seem to have different ecological attitudes. Maine calls itself Vacationland, and to be sure it boasts a rocky coastline, pristine lakes and expansive forests filled with bears, moose and other wild critters. Unfortunately, these same woods are filled with guys wearing international orange and carrying loaded shotguns.

New Hampshire may have the magnificent White Mountains, but its “Live free or die” motto also seems to apply to snowmobilers. Rhode Island's idea of an outdoor experience is to light fires in containers on cement-lined rivers in Providence while crowds stroll along the banks listening to New Age music. Massachusetts and Connecticut are all for preserving open space, but only in tony towns where locals want to keep out affordable housing. As for New York: Fugghedaboutit.

That leaves Vermont, the Green Mountain State, as the greenest, and a visit to the Sleepy Hollow Inn in Huntington, located between the capital of Montpelier (smallest in the nation) and the funky college town of Burlington, reinforces this image.

The inn's Nordic ski and bike center offers free trail passes to those who drive there in a hybrid vehicle; its 18 miles of trails, spread out on 870 rolling acres in the foothills of the Green Mountains, are designed to minimize erosion, and are groomed using a tractor that runs on vegetable oil.

“When it goes by, it smells like french fries,” says Eli Enman, whose family has owned the inn for four years and who is the brainchild behind its Friends of the Earth Program

“We try to leave as little an impact on the surrounding area as possible,” Enman says, after wolfing down some Vermont-milled whole wheat blueberry pancakes made by his sister, Molly. The two, both graduates of Middlebury College, where they raced on the ski team, help their parents, David and Sandra Enman, run the inn.

Eli, who is building a nearby house “off the grid” — powered by solar cells, heated by wood and not connected to power company lines — also drives an electric car that hasn't quite adapted to the rigors of Vermont's winters.

“His idea of energy conservation is to bum a ride with members of the family,” Molly teases.

The inn's proprietors hang up washed towels in the laundry room rather than use a clothes dryer, they keep the half-mile entrance and parking lot unpaved to minimize runoff, and they use energy-efficient appliances and light bulbs.

“We do whatever small part we can to help the environment,” Eli says. Of course, energy-efficient just means economical — which is exactly the point.

Unlike other winter recreational activities, such as, say, downhill skiing — which requires power-gobbling chair lifts, carves up huge swaths of mountainside, drains watersheds to manufacture artificial snow, and attracts honky-tonk development — cross-country skiing, and its first cousin, snowshoeing, are relatively benign outdoor activities.

Most of the guests at Sleepy Hollow appear to advocate this ethos, though amid the Subarus with “Inherit the Earth” and faded “Dean for America” bumper stickers in the parking lot were a smattering of Jeep Wagoneers and a Chevy Suburban.

Still, the lot was nothing like the acres of macadam adjacent to a downhill ski area in another part of the state, which was packed with SUVs and even a few Hummers.

As if one needed a further demonstration of the yin-yang differences between downhill and Nordic skiing, the following gas station encounter took place between a motorist in a fuel-efficient car returning from a cross-country ski outing, and a motorist in a Ford Bronco with downhill skis clamped to the roof:

The driver of the cross-country ski car, which happened to have Connecticut plates, arrived first, pulled up next to the economy pump and began filling his tank with 87-octane regular fuel.

The driver of the downhill ski vehicle, which as it turned out had New York plates, gestured angrily at the Connecticut driver.

The Connecticut driver sauntered up to her window and was told, “Move your car. I can't get to the (high-test) pump.”

The Connecticut driver politely told her that she would have to wait, because if he moved, the hose for the economy gas wouldn't reach his car. He then set his stopwatch and continued filling his tank while the New York driver seethed.

When he had finished fueling, the man moved his car, and then, against the urging of his wife, stopped and got out to address the woman in the SUV. He looked at his watch and said, “I'm sorry I delayed you for 30 seconds.”

He then drove away, whistling.

s.fagin@theday.com