We (Emmy, 8, and I) had decided that since we were starting to ski some of the "side-country" terrain at Northstar -- Sawtooth Ridge, which you have to hike to! -- that it might be time that we start to play with the real backcountry. I talked to some of the folks at Tahoe Dave's, and they eagerly encouraged me, and then redirected me over to the fine folks at Alpenglow Sports, in Tahoe City. They, too, were encouraging of this endeavor, but maybe with a little more moderation: they recommended that I pick up some guidebooks (the Backcountry Skiing & Snowboarding: Lake Tahoe guidebook; Snow Sense; and the Avalanche Pocket Guide), and gave us some basic introductions and rented us some gear. We took a flip through, selected an objective ("Mt. Rose - Galena Creek", D5R1 II), and asked if they thought that what we were doing was terribly stupid; they seemed to think that we wouldn't get ourselves too badly killed, and sent us on our way.

After a bright not-exactly-alpine start the next day of arriving at the shop when they opened at 9AM to get skins that actually fit 8's skis and the remaining avalanche gear for Emmy, we made our way over to Mt. Rose, parked, and discovered promptly that 8 had been given the wrong boots. He managed to cram his feet into them (though they were sized for someone else -- someone who called some time later with her feet sloshing around in boots sized for 8!), and after a phone call with our friends at Alpenglow, readjusted his bindings to fit the newly-smaller boots. And off we went, walking the wrong direction down the road, and on the trail skinning away we went, right at the crack of noon!

As we progressed up, we found the need to begin to teach ourselves some backcountry ski techniques. We were glad that we spent a bunch of time reading the night before. Kick-turns, as it turns out, are a mandatory part of how one progresses upwards when the slopes get steep. Route-finding also began to get more challenging, as snow conditions changed. Our rudimentary avalanche knowledge was perhaps over-cautious, and we were reticent to go anywhere near a southern-facing slope, and tried to steer clear of gullies.

We made other discoveries. For instance, we found out that skinning up is an exceedingly tiring operation. The chairlifts make it feel so easy! We had to stop regularly to catch our breaths. We decided that it would be a good idea to have a hard stop of 2pm, at which point we will stop ascending no matter where we are, carefully evaluate our situation, find the safest descent, and execute it.

But until then, we followed skin tracks where we could, and saw a few other folks wandering up and down, which made it seem like we were at least in the right place. The grade got steeper, and we were getting more tired, too.

At the prescribed time, we stopped, and ate lunch. We spent a good long time doing all the things -- we ate, enjoyed not skinning up, and spent a while staring at the topo trying to figure out exactly where we were, and how we were supposed to get down.

On the beginning of the descent, we found that snow conditions were not great. Additionally, we had another sudden realization that doesn't often happen when you're resort skiing: we found that it wasn't, in fact, the case that any way down was as good as any other. All of the sudden, routefinding became important. We found ourselves reversing out of a thick, steep glade, for instance. The descent continued slowly and carefully, practicing rather quick turns to avoid unplanned meetings with trees.

The skiing was probably not much more difficult than what you'd find at a resort. On the other hand, we had plenty working against us. For instance, the conditions were not great -- the snow was very thick and wet, with an ice crust on top, which meant that making quick turns was a difficult endeavor. The equipment was unfamiliar to us -- even though our bindings were set to alpine ski mode, the skis were not the skis we normally used and were familiar with, and the boots were all differently uncomfortable than our normal boots. But maybe the thing that threw me off my rhythm the most was the realization that it mattered. I considered most of the descent to be a no-fall zone, even in places where it could, theoretically, be safe to fall. A fall that would be benign at a resort seemed like the sort of thing that could end up needing a rescue here. Anyway, all of these things conspired against my skiing ability. The descent was messy.

The descent might have been messy, but one thing that it had going for it at this point was that it was over.

This was, emphatically, not true of the rest of our day.

The experienced reader in this field may recall that the beginning involves skinning past a little building, dropping the skins, and wandering through a nice little glade for a few hundred feet of vertical -- a good start before the real work of skinning up Rose begins. Even one without experience, however, may note that any time a few hundred feet of vertical are dropped, a few hundred more must be regained later in order to get to the car.

So through some low bramble we went, briefly enjoying the trek through! This was familiar ground, and it's all starting to be fun again. The end is in sight, and even if we take a long while, it's a nice flat skin back through the bushes.

Except, of course, for that ascent bit. Each kickturn got more difficult as we, already tired, struggled up. Emmy's endless fount of energy appeared to be running low; 8, on the other hand, continued charging up. My phone ran low on battery; I texted Jack to tell him that we were alive, but that we had a while to go yet.

On the horizon, the sunset painted the mountains behind me.

We continued to slog up the last hill. Emmy lost her sunglasses in a kickturn at some point. I fell a bunch on some of mine, too. 8 passed time waiting for me by trying to figure out how far away the avalanche beacon could detect me. He was underwhelmed with its performance.

The sun was closing us out. We made it back to the car, with our asses well and truly and completely and thoroughly kicked. A drive back to Tahoe City to return the gear, arriving just after 6pm. The kind folks at Alpenglow were still there to receive our gear. They asked how it went; I told them that it "wasn't exactly an exercise in competence". They said they knew that from the start, which gave all parties a hearty laugh.

All in all, we made it four miles, with 1300 feet of elevation gained, in just shy of seven hours elapsed time. But that's OK. Everyone starts somewhere.

On our way back to return our gear, the sky gave us a show to thank us for our efforts.