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Backcountry Play Day On Fern Mountain

story and photos by Tyler Williams

Getting Started

DIRECTIONS: Fern Mountain can be accessed via two routes that intersect Hwy. 180 northwest of Flagstaff. Hart Prairie Road #151 leaves Hwy. 180 about 3 miles past the Snowbowl turn, or roughly 10 miles from town. If road #151 is open and plowed, four-wheel-drives can drive 4 miles from the highway and park near the south end of Fern Mountain. If the road is gated, you must ski in the mostly flat snow packed road. Alternatively, road #794 leaves Hwy. 180 about 6 miles north of the #151 intersection. Road #794 leads 3 miles from the highway to Fern Mountain.

The term "backcountry skiing" often elicits fear in those who aren't experienced out-of-bounds shredders, and rightfully so. The vast majority of American skiers spend their time within the bounds of manicured and patrolled ski resorts, places where avalanches are rare, major hazards are marked, and a twisted knee will earn you a comfy ride straight to the lodge bar.

Backcountry, on the other hand, is the realm of unpredictable snowpacks, hidden tree stumps, and an arsenal of other obstacles that can ruin a day. Avalanche transceivers and shovels are must-haves, and a level of commitment is requisite.

But the backcountry doesn't have to be out of the question. There are a number of small mountains and hills in the Southwest that offer rewarding ski experiences without forcing you to huck a couloir. Near Flagstaff, the backcountry options neatly fall into two categories: the big mountain (San Francisco Peaks) and everything else. For serious skiing and pumping adrenaline, a venture into the wilds of the Peaks is the ticket. For a worry-free play day in the snow, however, there are a number of simpler options. One of the best is Fern Mountain.

Fern Mountain sits just west of the Peaks, within view of the ski area's groomed slopes. In all honesty, it's more of a hill than a mountain, bumping a mere 500 feet above the surrounding terrain. What it lacks in stature, though, is made up in functionality. The east slopes of the mountain are a perfect intermediate skier's pitch, with just enough tree cover to shelter the snow from hardening wind and baking sun. The stout limber pines and Douglas firs are spacious enough to allow continuous ski shots down the mountain's gentle fall-lines.

On our last outing to Fern, we were unable to leave our untracked paradise before making three runs down the open slopes. That was on a morning after a storm, when 6 inches of white in town meant that 10 inches of snow waited at the 8,400-foot base of Fern. The new snow sparkled, and the cleansed atmosphere produced a sky so blue that we had to double-check our sunglass tints to make sure it was real.

The cold, fresh snow chirped under the weight of our skis as we strode across rolling Hart Prairie toward the base of the conical hill. When Fern's untracked slopes were within sight, we put on climbing skins and headed toward the summit, switchbacking through the trees. Traversing different aspects of the mountain gave us an opportunity to inspect the snow quality for planning lines for the descent.

In Arizona, snowpack is affected by sun almost immediately, and we noticed the southeast facing slopes already starting their transformation from powder to glop. (Note to self: even if you're not battling powder hounds for a 9 a.m. chairlift opening, an early start is better than a late one!) As we came onto the east and northeast slopes, our fears of mashed potato turns were mollified with snow that was desert dry and light. Shade made all the difference.

At the top, a 360-degree view assured us that we were in the perfect place at that moment. The North Rim of Grand Canyon nudged above the horizon to our left. The broad white ridgeline of Humphreys Peak loomed before us. Across the blinding expanse of Hart Prairie, ski runs swathed through dark forests on the mountain. We could see little black dots moving slowly down the ski-area slopes - it was hard not to gloat. Those folks were 50 bucks lighter in the wallet, and skiing crud.

Looking down the hillside before us, it was a straight and consistent line to the bottom. And at only 450 vertical feet, there was a real possibility that we could all ski it in a single shot. We plunged off one by one, whoops of joy leading the way. It wasn't exactly heli-skiing in the Monashees, but it was all ours, and the float . . . plunge . . . float cadence of powder skiing was as real as it gets anywhere.

By our second run, the open snow slopes were thickening in the warming sunshine. By the third lap, we didn't dare leave the shaded shelter of the trees. At that point in the day, our off-the-couch Arizona skier's thighs were starting to whine anyway, so a T-shirt-clad kick-and-glide back to the truck was a welcome respite.

Over coldies back in town, we struggled to put a caption on our day. It definitely wasn't resort skiing but it lacked the epic-ness that we had come to associate with backcountry skiing. We finally decided that, technically, it was a backcountry outing although it felt more like a simple play day in the snow. And that was just fine by us.