Time together becomes more precious everyday. Stroll our historic downtown or explore country roads full of lovingly preserved manors. Try a wine flight, a beer flight, or a spirits flight prior to enjoying a delicious meal. Take in an outdoor concert or a live performance at our historic theater. All just a short drive away in Berkeley County, West Virginia.
Last summer, a good friend asked me a question that most of us field at some point in life: What’s your happy place? Feeling a bit put on the spot, I had to take a moment to let my brain sort some things in the dustbin of my subconscious before I could muster what I considered to be a sincere answer. I closed my eyes and waited, knowing the truth would reveal itself. Posed that same question, I’m guessing many folks would picture a hammock attached to two palm trees hanging over crystal-clear water on some tropical island in the Caribbean, replete with ambient ukulele music radiating through the salty air and an equally salty rim of an XL margarita glass. The image that popped into my mind, however, was the polar opposite. A smile crept across my face as I envisioned standing on my backcountry skis atop Bald Knob in Canaan Valley, getting pelted in the face with snow and ice crystals borne on 50 mile-per-hour pulses of skin-burning wind.
This is, without a doubt, my happy place. And no, I am not psychotic; this is simply a byproduct of genetics. At the Thanksgiving table this year, my mother made a comment about my mostly Russian and Welsh heritage explaining my unrelenting obsession with snow. Nothing makes me feel more alive, more present, more like an animal surviving in a wild and dangerous natural world, than standing atop a mountain in the height of a severe winter weather event. Perhaps it’s because my nervous system is so overloaded with sensory information that it’s virtually impossible to think about
anything else; perhaps it’s the swarm of negative ions associated with water that are just, you know, chilling me out. I’d posit that a significant portion of the reason is because you have to get up to get down, and Nordic downhill skiing through the trees produces the happiest version of myself that exists.
But it’s more than a vibe—scientific research backs up the euphoria brought about by spending time in a snowy landscape. From increased feelings of serenity brought about by the acoustic dampening properties of snow to the feelings of elation brought about by exercise and travel in a diversity of environments, there’s more than enough proof to prove that I am not, as previously stated, psychotic for my enjoyment of nearly freezing to death. The throngs of skiers and snowboarders that voluntarily face life-threatening road conditions each year to come experience the undeniable magic of winter in West Virginia should offer additional proof of concept. After all, as the saying goes, if you choose not to find joy in snow, you’ll have less joy in your life but still the same amount of snow. So, why not say yes to winter, and, subsequently, happiness?
On that note, it’s time for your homework assignment: To head outside during your next local blizzard, climb to a high point, face the wind, and experience the visceral thrill of getting blasted with snow. I can almost guarantee you’ll feel the same smile creep across your face that I did while writing this—pending your face isn’t already frozen. w
Dylan Jones
STAFF
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Dylan Jones
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Dylan Jones, Nikki Forrester
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Kim Ayers, Eric Brumbaugh, Dave Doe, Nikki Forrester, Kevin Frick, Tanner Henson, Chris Jackson, David Johnston, Dylan Jones, Nathaniel Peck, Tim Rains, Kurt Schachner, Jesse Thornton, Gus Trauth, Tom Yocum, Marketa Zimova
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COVER
Snowshoe hares thrive in West Virginia’s snowy winter highlands. Photo by Dave Doe. Flickr, CC BY 2.0
Snowshoe Mountain celebrates 50 years of hootin’ and hollerin’ on the slopes, pg. 10
WEST VIRGINIA RAFTING TEAM COMPETES IN CHILE
By HO Staff
Paddlers, rejoice! This past October, the Sweets of the East, a women’s whitewater raft racing team from West Virginia, represented Team USA in the 2024 Pan-American Championships Whitewater Raft Racing Competition. The competition, which was hosted by the World Rafting Federation and held along the Trankura River in Pucón, Chile, brought together more than 250 paddlers from across the Americas to test their skills during three racing events.
The first event was a downriver race in which teams had to navigate a five-mile stretch of class III–IV rapids in the fastest time. In the slalom event, teams had to paddle either upstream or downstream around hanging gates. The final event, the head-to-head RX, pitted two teams against one another in a set course with several obstacles. “There’s a lot of running into each other and pushing each other’s rafts onto rocks. It’s the most exciting event for sure,” said Margaret Cadmus, who’s been a member of Sweets of the East since the team’s formation in 2015.
Despite the cold and rainy weather, fans lined the banks to watch the spectacle and root for the racers. One of Cadmus’s favorite memories from the event was during a head-to-head race against Team Brazil. The rafts began side-by-side and as soon as the whistle blew, the Sweets employed a special starting technique, launching them into the lead. “We’ve worked on that technique together a lot, but we didn’t have the opportunity to use it until this event. It was the perfect opportunity to try it—and it worked,” Cadmus said. Even though they ended up losing the match, the beginning of the race, fueled by roaring cheers from the crowd, was proof that their hard work and preparation paid off.
The Sweets of the East is comprised of Cadmus from Lewisburg, Melanie Seiler from Fayetteville, Jenna Weatherford from Fayetteville, and Lexi Perry from Fairmont. As soon as they were invited to compete in Chile, the team started practicing in Fayetteville at least once
per week and sometimes twice per day. Juggling their long commutes and fulltime jobs made it challenging to find the time to practice, but Cadmus said training is also one of the most enjoyable aspects of raft racing. “The best part is bonding with the team. It’s such an achievement to go through all the hurdles, raise all the money, do all the practices, figure out the rules of the event, and then go meet all the other people that just went through that process in their own corner of the U.S. or the world.”
The Sweets of the East was one of just two teams invited to represent the U.S.,
and the only one that made it to the competition in Chile. They secured seventh place in the women’s division, adding to their impressive list of performances at various national competitions, including second place at the United States Rafting Association’s National Championship this past spring. “This was my first opportunity to represent the U.S. and hold the flag. It was a huge achievement in the race world. Plus, we’re all women from West Virginia, and we’re pretty proud of that.” w
To follow along on their journey, check out the Sweets of the East Facebook page.
Courtesy Sweets of the East
MON FOREST TOWNS PARTNERSHIP RECEIVES MAJOR GRANT FUNDING
By HO Staff
An economic windfall recently blew through the hills and hollers of the Monongahela National Forest when the Appalachian Regional Commission (ARC) awarded a $1.9 million POWER Initiative grant to the Mon Forest Towns (MFT) Partnership.
The MFT Partnership was formed in 2017 under the auspices of Woodlands Development and Lending to usher in a new age of sustainable economic development across 12 gateway towns that are inextricably linked to the spectacular Monongahela National Forest. “We work collaboratively with each town to advance their individual goals and support a strong outdoor recreation economy,” said MFT executive director Josh Nease. “This [ARC] grant really supports the deployment of the strategic plan across the entire Mon Forest region.”
These gateway communities, which range from small rural hamlets to large towns across nine counties, include Cowen, Davis, Durbin, Elkins, Franklin, Marlinton, Parsons, Petersburg, Richwood, Seneca Rocks, Thomas, and White Sulphur Springs.
According to Nease, matching funds provided from partner organizations bolstered the ARC grant to bring the total project funding to nearly $2.5 million. Nease said this critical funding will help create custom programs to address the challenges faced by each of the twelve MFT communities. “These funds will help us enhance infrastructure to better connect the towns to the national forest and to each other,” Nease said.
One major goal is to connect each town directly to the Mon via a designated trail corridor. Plans are currently in the works to develop and promote a gravel bikepacking route that connects each town via the Mon’s vast forest road network. In addition, funds will be used to develop standard recreation infrastructure, like parking and way-finding signage, as well as a travel itinerary to help promote the region as a cohesive recreation destination.
Nease said another portion of the funds will go toward expanding small business development via the MFT Business Collaborative program, which will offer business coaching, third-party expertise, and other critical business support services. Additionally, MFT will host training workshops to shore up recreation infrastructure development, such as the sustainable trail construction workshop held in Elkins this past summer. “All of our Mon Forest Towns are in a different spot on the outdoor economic development spectrum,” Nease said. “They each have different needs, and this is the foundational work that will better set everybody up for the next step.” w
To learn more, check out MFT’s shiny new website: www.monforesttowns.com.
When Dr. Thomas “Doc” Brigham purchased the 11,000-acre tract in Pocahontas County that would one day become Snowshoe Mountain Resort, it looked almost nothing like it does today. The area had been clear-cut several times, leaving little vegetation behind. But despite the remote and barren landscape, Brigham knew the place held something special.
Prior to the land purchase, Brigham heard rumors of the massive amounts of snow in the Allegheny Mountains and hired a pilot in April of 1973 to fly him above Cheat Mountain to scope out the drifts. “The natural shape of that bowl that funnels all the water down just checks so many boxes in terms of what you’re looking for if you’re trying to build a ski resort from scratch,” says Shawn Cassell, marketing director of Snowshoe Mountain Resort.
Later, standing atop Thorny Flat, a 4,848foot peak on the southern end of Cheat Mountain, Brigham watched as the sun dipped below the distant rolling peaks, illuminating the sky in neon pinks, deep purples, and icy blues. “It was the perfect place waiting to happen,” says Cassell.
Just one month after his flight over Cheat Mountain, Brigham pioneered efforts to establish Snowshoe Mountain Resort. He assembled a group of investors and began constructing roads and three ski lifts on the mountain: Skidder, Ballhooter, and Cupp Run. Brigham, a dentist and passionate skier, wasn’t new to developing ski resorts. In the late 1960s, he founded Beech and Sugar Mountains in North Carolina, both of which still operate today.
On December 19, 1974, Snowshoe opened its slopes to the public. Mark Poore, a Snowshoe local who’s been there
since the beginning, recalled skiing that first day. “He said Upper Ballhooter was skied down to the dirt by lunch,” Cassell says. “People were just excited to be out there and ski somewhere new.”
The ownership of Snowshoe Mountain has changed hands several times over the past 50 years, with each owner bringing forth a different vision of what the resort could be. In January 1983, Silver Creek opened as a separate ski resort right down the road from Snowshoe. “It was a pretty fierce rivalry for a couple years,” Cassell says. But the rivalry came to an end in November 1990, when the Tokyo Towers Development Company purchased both resorts and combined them. Today, skiers can still access both resorts with a single lift ticket.
Investments in the ski resort skyrocketed in 1995 when Intrawest, a destina- Courtesy
Snowshoe Mountain Resort
tion resort company based in Canada, bought Snowshoe. The company replaced the Ballhooter lift with a high-speed quad and constructed Arbuckle’s Cabin at the bottom of the Western Territory, home to the legendary Cupp Run. Intrawest also replaced the Cupp Run lift with a high-speed quad, slashing the ride time from 20 minutes to six, and built Shay’s Revenge, one of the steepest ski runs on the East Coast. Along with investing in the terrain, Intrawest expanded lodging, restaurants, and shops at the top of the mountain, laying the groundwork for the village that now defines Snowshoe.
Since 2016, when Snowshoe came under the ownership of Alterra Mountain Company, investments in the resort have largely focused on snow-making equipment and sustainability efforts to mitigate the impacts of climate change. “With winters trending on the warmer side, snow guns are worth their weight in gold,” says Cassell. “We’re not just getting strong snow guns, but very energy efficient ones.” The resort is also building a new recycling center that will be open to the community as well as resort guests and installing solar panels on existing and new buildings. “We know that the ski industry is part of the problem. How can we expect other people to change what they’re doing and try to combat climate change if we’re not walking the walk ourselves?”
When asked whether Snowshoe will celebrate its 100th anniversary, Cassell remains hopeful. “The state of The Shoe is strong. If there’s going to be skiing in our region 50 years from now, it’ll be here.” Of course, the resort is also hedging its bets by investing in other outdoor activities that can draw in visitors throughout the year. There’s the famed Raven Golf Club, an 18-hole course designed by Gary Player to take advantage of the resort’s mountainous terrain. “I’ve played golf twice, and both times were at the Raven. I think I lost about 50 of my father-in-law’s golf balls,” recalls Cassell. Mountain biking has also taken off in popularity since the resort opened its first downhill trails in May 2003. Since 2019, Snowshoe has drawn the best riders from around the world to compete in UCI Mountain Bike World Cup cross-country, downhill, and marathon races.
Despite drastic changes in the slopes, village, clientele, and ownership of Snowshoe over the past half-century, the visceral experience of standing atop the broad shoulders of Cheat Mountain and staring into a vast forested expanse has remained almost exactly the same. “I remember my first time coming to Snowshoe, driving up the road, and wondering if the snow guns had plastered all the trees,” says Cassell. “Coming from down south, I’d never seen a snowy spruce forest in person. It’s incredible.” w
YOUR OUTDOOR STORE
347 N. Washington St. Berkeley Springs, WV
GNARTIFACTS
Words and photos by
Dylan Jones
Tucked beneath tall spruce trees along the Route 32 straightaway in Canaan Valley—what I like to call the straightest section of road in West Virginia—is an old green apartment building that houses the Snow Sports Museum of West Virginia (SSMWV). Canaan Valley, which is home to three ski resorts and was the birthplace of skiing in the Mountain State, is a fitting location to house such a place. Inside, the eclectic displays are jam-packed with a plethora of ancient skis and fading knick-knacks, the history of which SSMWV president Kim Williams knows by heart.
The SSMWV was founded in 2018 by a group of passionate skiers, including Williams, who wanted to document and preserve the state’s snowy legacy. As an avid skier and snowboarder, I made my requisite pilgrimage to the SSMWV to steep myself in the rich history of West Virginia skiing. If you find yourself in the valley, I highly suggest you pop in on your way to or from the slopes to fuel the stoke and take a trip down memory lane. w
«
One of the more nationally significant pieces on display is this set of U.S. Army bindings, which were standard issue for the legendary 10th Mountain Division in World War II. The army-issued skis were white so they’d blend in with the snow—a far cry from the neon skis of the 90s made to be seen from space, or at least the ski lift. As the only division of the U.S. military specifically trained for mountain warfare, the 10th Mountain is still active and has been the most regularly deployed Army unit since 2002.
The neon-clad, hot-dogging aesthetic of the good ol’ days is fully on display with this radical poster from the 1996–1997 ski season. As a child of the 80s, I’m a sucker for 90s nostalgia, and the graphic design just hits me in all the right ways. Powdery face shots don’t happen that often nowadays, and I can’t help but feel a pang of jealousy for the incredible day this guy was obviously having. Fun fact: all the ski areas listed on this poster are still in operation today, a testament to the staying power of the ski industry here in the Mountain State.
Have you skied at Tory Mountain? Probably not, because it never opened. Slated to be a world-class ski resort with 1,100 feet of vertical just outside the town of Harman, developers cut in three lift lines and a handful of ski runs and planned to construct a massive European-style village resort before Mon Power quite literally pulled the plug on the project in the mid-80s. In an effort to drum up interest when the future of Tory Mountain still looked viable, the developers, which included Snowshoe developer Doc Brigham, created a bunch of swag, including this hip headpiece. Imagine stumbling upon this gem at Goodwill! «
This poster of Jean-Claude Killy, a legendary French alpine ski racer, holding an adorable snowshoe hare just screams 1970s. It’s not difficult to envision him plopping the hare down, pouring himself a snifter of Dubonnet, lighting a cigarette, and putting on a Barbara record. Killy, a three-time Olympic champion, is largely credited with the design of Snowshoe’s famous Cupp Run trail. Some locals question how much he really had to do with the run besides stamping his name on it for glory—perhaps he was spending too much time chasing snow bunnies in his turtleneck. C’est la vie!
« Yes, these whacky looking doodads are indeed skis—competition grass skis, to be precise—and were used for exactly what their name implies. Most powder hounds elect to participate in the usual summer sports, but some skiers just can’t get enough, regardless of the surface conditions. According to Williams, a grass-skiing championship was even held at Canaan Valley Ski Resort sometime in the mid-80s, and it likely resulted in the type of grass-stained carnage you can imagine. Williams said you’d soak these babies in a vat of oil overnight so the roller bearings would glide right along the track while skiers carved, or at least attempted to do so, between slalom gates down a grassy slope.
Who doesn’t love a lineup of ancient skis? Besides thinking ‘I can’t believe people used to ski on that,’ you can simultaneously think ‘Thank Ullr I don’t have to ski on that.’ The striking orange planks on the left are ballet skis. Yep, ski ballet. Just look it up— you won’t be disappointed. To the right are some vintage skis from the 1940s whose bindings look like some sort of maniacal torture device. In the middle is a pair of Howard Head’s first fiberglass skis from the 1960s. The last several sets of white skis and bindings are all 10th Mountain Division relics (save for the white Head skis, which were retrofitted and painted to mimic the official Army ski, on which the aforementioned bindings are mounted). Imagine trying to make turns on those monsters while toting a rifle!
let’s ride!
The bike parks are closed for the season, but at Cacapon State Park in Berkeley Springs, we’re ripping our world-class trails all year round!
After the ride, refresh in our local breweries and restore your sore muscles in our legendary spas.
Worth A Thousand Words
Words and photos by Dylan Jones
Everybody loves pictures. It’s a scientific fact. Sure, words are great, but nothing causes a flare of neuronal activity in your brain like laying eyes on a correctly composed, perfectly proportioned, and expertly edited photograph. I’d posit that most of our readership would head for the hills if we announced that Highland Outdoors was going to a strictly text-based format. What is it about a photograph that can say so much without saying anything?
You’ve likely heard the adage “A picture is worth a thousand words” used to proselytize the idea that a single image can do a better job of evoking the range of emotions elicited by a four-figure fit of verbosity. Armchair intellectuals often attribute the phrase to the ancient Chinese philosopher Confucius, but the original coining came in 1911, when the Syracuse Advertising Men’s Club held a banquet to discuss the burgeoning field of newspaper marketing. During the meeting, famed editor Arthur Brisbane said, “Use a picture. It’s worth a thousand words.” Soon, iterations of the phrase begin showing up in local newspapers throughout the Northeast. The most famous use of the phrase came in 1921, when advertising executive Frederick Bernard penned an article promoting the use of images in advertisements in Printer’s Ink—a publication with a remarkable 84-year run that ended in 1972.
Clearly, the phrase stuck, and here we find ourselves still discussing its merit. If an image used for the express purpose of selling something is indeed worth a thousand words, I mulled over the worth of my photographic subjects. I wondered: What’s the word-count-worthiness of skiing photography? I tasked myself to answer this esoteric question during the 2023-2024 ski season, with the result of the project being this article. Writers must often drum up self-imposed missions to stay in the good graces of creativity along with finding ways to remain accountable to ourselves—and to our readers. So, here’s my report, as devised and unknowingly promised to you during a ski tour last December.
Finding a starting point is the hardest part of putting proverbial pen to paper. When I hit the slopes to give it some thought, my initial mantra came from a line in a book about artistic creativity: Pay attention to what you pay attention to. What I soon noticed was how entranced I became by the lines left by skiers on a powdery slope. There’s something undeniably aesthetic about a ski line that slices through snow with the oscillating regularity of
a sine wave—doubly so for intentional lines that curve through an ideally spaced glade of birch trees. Likewise, there’s something eerily haunting when considering a line as the last vestige from a ghost of skier past.
As I paid attention to my musings, I did some reflecting. Since childhood, I’ve dedicated the same degree of contemplation to tire tracks seared on asphalt. Whether it’s burnt rubber donuts or a powder-strewn ski path, a common litany of questions swirls through my mind: Who left these tracks? What were they experiencing when said event took place? Was it fun, or was there a momentary loss of control fraught with fear and anxiety? Although tire tracks that end at a mangled guardrail probably were not made in jest, there’s little chance that those who leave smooth ski lines are experiencing anything but nirvana. When I appreciate a well-executed waveform that weaves betwixt tight trees, I can almost hear the whoops and hollers that accompany such confident displays of skill echoing through the frozen forest.
The feeling is even better when you’re the skier that left the line upon which you gaze. Getting to carve a fresh path and then admire your artistic flare from the bottom of the run—all while endorphins pulse through your veins—is one of life’s greatest joys. Bonus points apply when you’re the first artist to paint a line on an untouched slope.
When heading out after a fresh night’s snowfall, you’ll probably schuss your way into a patch of forest where the trained eye can spot the barely noticeable indentations of old ski tracks covered with a layer of fresh, unadulterated snowfall—what we skiers call “free refills.”
If you’re fortunate, you’ll catch a glimpse of—or have a hand in creating—a crisscrossing duet that resembles the double-helix structure of DNA. More often than not, you’ll stumble upon a slope traversed with so many squiggles it looks like a Norse jötunn dropped a biblical bowl of steaming spaghetti on the mountain, debossing it with the sort of randomness found only in quantum physics. Some of those lines feature sudden directional changes only made possible by a quantum leap.
Due to the variable quality of the snowpack, you might encounter a perfect powder parabola, or perhaps you’ll find that someone failed to follow the indispensable warning not to bust the crust. If the crust hath been busted, you’ll get a chuckle out of erratic lines that shattered the frozen surface of the snow into polygonal chunks and often end in a human-sized impact crater.
By the end of the season, the sun is high, the ground is warm, and the snow returns to the rivers. What’s left on shrinking slopes turns to slush, as skiers savor every remaining kernel. When the final ski lines melt out, the byproduct resembles the perfunctory doodles in the notebook of an insouciant college student.
Is a ski photo worth a thousand words? That’s still up for debate, but this specific collection of ski photos is, because that’s the exact word count of this piece. Sure, you could go back and count them all yourself, but that would eat into your skiing time. So, get out there, channel your inner Picasso or Matisse, and make some minimalist contour ski line art of your own. w
Dylan Jones is publisher of Highland Outdoors and guarantees that this article is precisely one thousand words. If it’s not, and you can prove it, your next issue of Highland Outdoors is free!
RELAX, WE’RE PROFESSIONALS
HOW SKI PATROLLERS KEEP WV’S SLOPES SAFE
Words and photos by
Chris Jackson
Sitting in the patrol house at the top of Snowshoe Mountain Resort’s Western Territory, John Petrich looks out at the Western Express lift as skiers dismount and fly down the ramp for their next runs. The black leather couch, worn from years of patrollers lounging on it, exhales as Petrich stands up to respond to a call.
“There’s a report of someone injured on lower Shay’s,” says supervisor Patrick Morgan. “Wanna check it out, John?”
Petrich grabs his red patrol jacket and exits the timber-framed shack. It’s a bluebird day. He snaps into his skis and glides past snowboarders strapping into their bindings. He knows an injury on Lower Shay’s Revenge, the steepest in-bounds ski run in West Virginia, requires immediate assistance.
Petrich, who has been patrolling at Snowshoe for six seasons, arrives on the scene and immediately renders aid to the skier at the base of the slope. The skier
complains about a shoulder issue, which Petrich assumes is a collarbone fracture given that it’s a common injury in snow sports. Petrich calls another patroller to request a toboggan and dispatch for an ambulance.
“What’s your name? Do you remember what happened?” Petrich asks the injured skier while assessing him for injuries as the second patroller arrives with a toboggan. They strap the skier into the toboggan and transport him down the trail and
toward the ambulance at the bottom of the slope. After safely loading the skier into the ambulance, the two patrollers repack the toboggan with their first-aid supplies and take the lift back to the patrol shack to wait for the next call. It’s only noon.
The National Ski Patrol (NSP) is an organization that promotes safety and provides emergency services at alpine areas throughout the US. It was founded in 1938 by Charles Minot Dole (who is arguably more well-known for establishing the 10th Mountain Division of the U.S. Army) during a time when skiing was becoming a popular sport in the nation. Today, there are more than 650 patrol groups served by 30,000 members of the NSP.
In West Virginia, having an official ski patrol is essential for keeping every ski resort open, said Steve Ovechko, the West Virginia Region Director for NSP and a patroller at Timberline Mountain in Canaan Valley. “They rely on us because we are specially trained,” Ovechko added. Along with being CPR certified, every ski patroller is required to take the NPS’s Outdoor Emergency Care (OEC) course, which provides instruction on how to assess, treat, and comfort injured skiers and snowboarders. After completing the initial intensive training, ski patrollers must complete a refresher course every year to stay up to date on their first-aid knowledge. “We have a lot of special skills in skiing, using toboggans, first aid, and risk management. We’re constantly assessing risks on the hill and engaging with the patrons.”
As the sun’s first light peaks over the Mountain State in winter, patrollers are already working to ensure the ski resort is as safe as possible for every skier and snowboarder. “We ski every trail and look for hazards and report anything we see,” Ovechko said, including icy conditions, patchy terrain, downed trees, or unevenly groomed areas. “Then we report to the lift operators and open the mountain.”
Throughout the day, patrollers ski the trails, assist guests with questions, and look for hazards as well as terrain that needs to be remedied or closed. Responding to injuries is another critical part of the job. Without easily accessible ambulances, EMT services, and helicopters, patrollers are the lifeline for people who get injured and stuck on the mountain. Patrollers are also trained in methods for evacuating guests who get stuck on a lift in the unlikely event that it breaks or loses power.
“We do a lot of behind-the-scenes things as well,” said Maya Mills, who has patrolled for three seasons at Winterplace Ski Resort in Ghent. “Every sign that’s set up, every piece of bamboo and rope, all the pads on the snow guns and lift towers, those are all set up by ski patrol.” Mills emphasized that no ski patroller goes through all the class hours, the long days in ski boots, and the early mornings to be a “ski cop.” They do it because they love to ski or snowboard, she said.
As the day wanes and the resorts prepare to close, the ski patrollers convene before making their final laps on the open trails. They scope out the slopes for any injured or lingering skiers and snowboarders before lifting the ropes and hanging up the closed signs for the evening. “Without ski patrol, the mountain could not run safely,” said Mills.
Between the long and tiring days, harsh winter conditions, and sometimes gruesome injuries, there aren’t many easy days as a ski patroller. Some days feature single-digit temperatures and brutal
Top: Snowshoe Ski Patroller John Petrich brings a toboggan down Shay’s Revenge.
Right: Winterplace Ski Patroller Maya Mills at the patrol shack.
Previous: Winterplace Ski Patroller Doug Ludwig on a snowmobile.
winds, while others hit 50 degrees, which feels more like 70 in patrol gear. According to Petrich, a normal day at Snowshoe involves three to four calls, while busy days can have 15 or more. But what drives folks to keep patrolling year after year is often a deep-seated passion for winter sports and the skiing community. “I love to ski, and I like to help people that may be injured,” said Ovechko, who has patrolled for 40 years at Canaan Valley and Timberline ski resorts. “It’s fulfilling. I’ve developed comradely and life-long relationships with patrollers. We’re like a family.”
Ski patrolling also provides winter employment opportunities for people in the seasonal outdoor recreation industry, many of whom work as river guides during the summer. “One February I decided I wanted to patrol,” said Petrich, who works summers as a river guide at ACE Adventure Resort in the New River Gorge. “Since then, I’ve loved winters. I’m able to be active.” And with skiing being one of the most expensive outdoor activities, patrolling can help curb some of the costs. Petrich said another reason he got into patrolling was because it was a financially smart decision for him and his family. His wife, Mara Petrich, also ski patrols at Snowshoe. “My family loved skiing and snowboard-
ing, and it was a way to flip the script in order to make it affordable,” he said.
Some ski patrollers get paid, while others volunteer to receive free ski passes at their home resort. Some resorts also offer patrollers industry discounts on lift tickets at other ski resorts. Every resort in the state offers its patrollers some form of discounted lift access for their family members and loved ones, which helps get others, especially the youth, involved in ski patrolling.
Petrich’s 14-year-old daughter, Rose, who is on the Snowshoe Ski Team, often shadows her father on calls while she is out skiing. “She’s already a big help on patrol,” said Petrich. “She helps with openings and closings, re-sticks bamboo stakes and signs, and stops to check on people,” he said, adding that she does almost everything except for providing medical care and driving the snowmobile.
Mills also spent her teen years watching her dad, Tri Mills, ski patrol at Winterplace. “I’ve been skiing at Winterplace my whole life,” said Mills, who is now 21. She started working at Winterplace’s ski school during the 2020–2021 season and became a ski patroller the following winter. “I mainly started patrolling because I watched my
dad do it for so long, but once I started, I fell in love with it. From helping a lost kid get reunited with their parents to helping someone with a broken leg, there’s nothing about the job I don’t love.”
Which is not to say that ski patrolling doesn’t come without any negative experiences. Like any first responder or EMT, there’s an inherent risk that patrollers may see people die. Patrollers are, at times, the only people that can prevent a skier from bleeding out. They comfort and console those who are hurt, lost, scared, or in pain. It’s a physically and mentally demanding job, and one that sticks with you.
Mills recalls one day when she saved a woman’s life. “I can’t really go into the details of what happened that day, but I was scared,” said Mills of the incident. “Her family was scared… I was able to walk away from that situation definitely shaken but feeling good that I was able to help her and her family to the very best of my abilities. That’s why I’m in this job.” w
Chris Jackson is a Fayetteville-based photographer and proud member of the National Ski Patrol. He spends his time biking, skiing, and trying to wrangle his two daughters to join him on adventures.
Left: The Western Territory Patrol Shack at Snowshoe Mountain Ski Resort. Right: Snowshoe Ski Patroller John Petrich packs a toboggan after hauling a patient off Shay’s Revenge.
WINNING SHOTS
FROM THE THIRD ANNUAL HIGHLAND OUTDOORS
PHOTO CONTEST
Welcome to the third rendition of our annual photo contest. When considering this year’s podium of winning shots, it really does feel like the third time is the charm. I don’t mean to take anything away from the 16 images that earned a prior spot on the podium over the years, of course. Just like those previous winners, these stunning shots embody the sort of photographic magic that can only be found in West Virginia.
As expected, the judges and I were once again impressed with the quality of submissions. We received a total of 102 entries (31 Adventure, 41 Landscape, and 30 Wildlife) from 60 individual photographers. As you can imagine, this field of photographs created some challenging decisions for the judges. While these eight winners earned a spot in the annals of Highland Outdoors history, there were many other great shots worthy of praise. I wish we had room to publish them all. But as they say in reality TV, it is, after all, a competition, and there can only be so many winners. I’d like offer a sincere thank-you to all the photographers who took the time and effort to submit your images; you are still an integral part of this process and I encourage you to submit images again in our 2025 photo contest.
Running a photography contest is quite an effort. From promoting the contest and organizing the steady flow of submissions to multiple rounds of judging and coordinating with the winning photographers, the full process took nearly eight months. This contest would not be possible without the talented judges who volunteer their time and expertise to help select the winners. I’d like to recognize this year’s panel: Karen Lane, Hannah Snyder, and Jay Young. Each of these professional photographers brings a unique perspective to the table. Their individual skillsets were invaluable during the judging process, allowing us to analyze photos at a technical level of detail that often resulted in some spirited debates. I highly encourage you to check out their respective bodies of work. Their contributions help make the West Virginia photography community so special.
Dylan Jones, Publisher
WILDLIFE
Ayers won our Wildlife category last year with a spectacular shot of a bald eagle, and she’s back on top with this amazing snap of a red-shouldered hawk (Buteo lineatus) mother feeding her three-week-old eyasses (hatchlings). The camouflage bark and green leaves of the sycamore tree lend an interesting color palette to the intimate scene. A core tenet of wildlife photography is to get the animal’s eyes in focus, and Ayers nailed momma’s intense gaze here.
“I noticed the huge nest and finally saw her in it one day. I set up with my 500-millimeter lens and would spend about 45 minutes each session watching them,” Ayers said. “The coolest thing was seeing the different meals brought in for them: a groundhog, a frog, a rabbit, pretty much anything. Getting to watch them grow up from beginning to end was at the top of my list, it’s something you don’t get to do every day.”
FIREFLIES AND STAR TRAILS
Jesse Thornton
GREEN BOTTOM WILDLIFE MANAGEMENT AREA, CABELL COUNTY
Typically, our photo contest judges deliberate quite a bit before choosing the overall winner. In addition to giving it a perfect score, the judges immediately and unanimously agreed that this stunning image was the cream of the crop. The hypnotizing star trails and bioluminescent glow of innumerable fireflies really make this one shine. Thornton set his camera to take successive 30-second exposures over an eight-hour period and stacked nearly 800 different images to create this masterpiece.
“These fields beside the Ohio River are abundant with fireflies, which like to be around water,” Thornton said.
“I stacked the photos in a way that keeps the lightest part of each photo, so you’re seeing the accumulation of all the fireflies throughout the night stacked into a single image, along with the star trails moving around the North Star. This shows the passage of perceived time through the movement of the stars as the Earth rotates.”
ALLEGHENY UNDERGROUND
Nathaniel Peck
PRIVATE CAVE SYSTEM, TUCKER COUNTY
You may recall that a cave photograph was last year’s overall runner-up, and here we are again for good reason. A crisply focused, well-composed, properly lit caving image shows technical mastery by the photographer, and Peck is certainly a master of his craft. This image captures the scale of the room, and the well-placed light sources serve to highlight the model and the stunning formations without producing any blownout highlights.
“This cave was sort of forgotten, and it was rediscovered by the landowner and is now a preserve for the West Virginia Cave Conservancy. The passage currently ends in this gallery, which is one of the best displays of formations in Tucker County,” Peck said. “A lot of people come to Tucker County to experience the adventure and ecosystems of the big mountains, and they have no idea that there’s this whole ecosystem right under their feet.”
ADVENTURE WINNER
A SENIOR MOMENT
Kurt Schachner
SNOWSHOE MOUNTAIN RESORT, POCAHONTAS COUNTY
Any adventure sports photographer will lament the difficulties of ski photography. Harsh lighting and frozen digits make nabbing the perfect shot a bit more challenging than shooting a summer sunset. Not to mention that good skiers are often going wicked-fast, like Hayden Smith in this snap that Schachner captured during Smith’s high school senior photo shoot. Schachner, who is Snowshoe’s in-house photographer, knows the slopes well enough to pick the right spot at the right time. Smith’s body position, eye contact with the lens, and powder spray off his skis are perfectly illuminated by the stripe of light beaming across the slope between the shadows.
“I had Hayden wait at the top, then I snowboarded down and waved my arms and pointed to the light spot on the slope,” Schachner said. “Shooting skiing is fast-paced work where you sometimes get one shot at a certain spot before having to find the next spot. It’s non-stop action and timing is crucial.”
ONCE IN AN ICE TIME
Tanner Henson
BULL RUN, PRESTON
COUNTY
A winning adventure shot should display some true grit and danger, like this snap of Mason Allen leading a water ice route deep in the Cheat Canyon. Ice climbing in West Virginia these days is about as ephemeral as it gets, and you must be able to drop everything to get out when conditions are in. Shooting climbing from above often means dangling in a harness for hours on end, which is what Henson had to do to get this well-framed shot, not to mention trying to stay warm while doing so.
“Hanging out like that definitely isn’t comfortable. I had my tree climbing harness and had to ascend a fixed rope,” Henson said. “There was an exposed crack I plugged a piece of gear into and used my rope lanyard so I could lean out and get out over Mason for the shot.”
TETER BARN WITH STAR TRAILS
David Johnston
DRY FORK, RANDOLPH COUNTY
We debated whether we should feature two star-trail photos, but a winner is a winner, and this high-scoring shot was too good to pass up. The verdant meadow, moon-lit barn, mountainous background, and dark sky combine to create a quintessentially Appalachian image that just feels like home. Like Thornton, Johnston stacked various exposures to capture the individual elements and create a spectacular composition. If you stare long enough, you can smell the dewy grass and hear the crickets chirping.
“This view of the barn faces north, so it’s an ideal subject for star trails, which center around the North Star of Polaris. I waited until the moon was setting to the west and casting some softened light onto the field and barn,” Johnston said. “The star trails were created by stacking 15 successive eight-minute exposures, which were combined with the single foreground exposure to create the final product.”
LANDSCAPE RUNNER-UP
FALL, FOG, AND A WATERFALL
Eric Brumbaugh
ELK LICK RUN, TUCKER
COUNTY
Waterfalls are a typical subject for entries in a photo contest, meaning the waterfall market is—pun intended—quite saturated. It’s pretty tough to make an impression on a seasoned photographer with a silky waterfall snap. However, this magical shot of Mill Run, a tributary to the Dry Fork of the Cheat, stuns upon first gaze. By including the mossy foreground, keeping the shutter speed low enough to add texture to the plunge pool, and incorporating the haze of the golden background, this photo checks all the boxes.
“I started shooting motorsports events in 2019, but during COVID, I started going out in the woods and found I really liked it,” Brumbaugh said. “I was planning to shoot this waterfall for several days but something would always come up, and finally made it out on the third day to get the shot.”
WILDLIFE RUNNER-UP
AN OFFERING
David Johnston
DRY FORK, RANDOLPH COUNTY
This stunning capture of a giant blue cohosh (Caulophyllum giganteum) flower is aptly named by Johnston, who you’ve likely noticed is a regular on our photo contest podium. In macrophotography, it’s difficult to get an entire subject in focus due to the incredibly shallow depth of field of most macro lenses. To achieve the razor-sharp focus of this flower, Johnston used a technique called focus stacking, where the camera takes a series of images and slightly adjusts the focus from foreground to background so every aspect of the subject is crisp at some point in the series.
“While photographing spring ephemerals, I noticed this giant cohosh with its characteristic bloom looking like a hand offering its bounty,” Johnston said. “I photographed the flower using focus stack and combined 40 images with editing software to create the depth of field that extends over the full clump.”
HIDDEN IN PLAIN SIGHT
By Nikki Forrester
It was one of those perfect winter ski days. The kind you dream about in the suffocating heat and humidity of peak summer. Snowflakes smaller than dust specks sparkled against a bright blue sky, while red spruce trees bent toward the faint ski trail, beckoning me farther into the woods. The frozen rain from the previous night topped with a fresh layer of powdery snow smoothed out the sharp needles, transforming the trees into fairytale creatures with blunt noses and calm smiles. If I could survive out here, I’d happily call this place home.
I continued up the trail, eager to find solitude among the spruce. After a steep climb, I popped out into an opening in the frozen forest and stopped for a snack. I took off my skis and glanced around at what appeared to be an untouched expanse of snow. Upon closer inspection, I noticed a faint indentation: two irregular ovals followed by two small circles that resembled askew exclamation marks. Then I saw another and another. I followed the tracks to the base of a red spruce tree, where a small pocket of snow was carved out to create a cozy nook. I bent down and looked inside with the hopes of finding an elusive snowshoe hare. But alas, it had already moved on.
As cryptic, crepuscular creatures, snowshoe hares (Lepus americanus) are rarely seen by humans. During the summer, their brown fur blends into the brush, while in the winter, their fluffy, white coats help them disappear amid the snowpack. Their camouflaged fur is key to their survival—snowshoe
hares are tasty treats for bobcats, coyotes, foxes, birds of prey, and humans. Few live longer than a year.
Which isn’t to say they’re not thriving as a species. Snowshoe hares breed, as they say, like rabbits, often producing three litters each summer of two to four hares each. But unlike rabbits, baby snowshoe hares are born aboveground with their eyes open and bodies covered in fur. Within a few hours, they start hopping around and nibbling on herbaceous plants.
To keep warm during the winter, snowshoe hares develop a thick, dense coat of white fur. Their large, furry feet are coated in thick bristles that help them stay atop the surface of the snow. Because their food sources are limited to twigs, bark, and needles, they conserve energy by spending their days in snowy crevices beneath evergreen boughs.
In the Mountain State, snowshoe hares tend to occupy remote spruce forests, bogs, and shrubby habitats above 3,000 feet in elevation. “Some people don’t even realize they’re here,” says Holly Morris, the furbearer and small game project leader for the West Virginia Division of Natural Resources (WVDNR). On the East Coast, West Virginia is the southernmost part of the snowshoe hare’s range, which extends north following the Appalachian Mountains. They also live in boreal forests throughout Alaska, Cananda, and the northern continental U.S.
Left: A snowshoe hare blends in with the snowy woods. Photo by Tim Rains (National Park Service).
Right: Baby snowshoe hares are born with their eyes open and fully furred. They even start hopping around within hours of being born. Photo by Tim Rains (NPS).
The exceptional ability of snowshoe hares to hide from predators can make it challenging for scientists to learn more about them. “In West Virginia and Pennsylvania, we know they’re there, but we don’t have a good understanding of what kind of habitats they need to thrive or how big populations are,” says Marketa Zimova, an assistant professor at Ohio University who studies how snowshoe hares are responding to climate change.
ON THE RIGHT TRACK
Even when the hares themselves are hard to spot, the winter landscape can reveal their presence, whether it be their characteristic snowshoe-shaped footprints or hollowed out nooks in the snow. A keen eye might notice twigs cut at clean angles by a snowshoe hare’s two front teeth and the scat that results from eating said ruffage. In 2023, a team of scientists in West Virginia began searching for signs of snowshoe hares throughout the state to gain a better understanding of how many are here and where they reside.
“The historical range for snowshoe hares is based on a 1965 map
Left: During the fall, snowshoe hares shed their brown fur and replace it with a warm, white, winter coat. This molting process takes about 50 days and starts with the fur on their ears and faces. Photo by Marketa Zimova.
Above: Without snow, snowshoe hares stick out against the browns and greens in their habitat, making them more susceptible to predation. Photo by Marketa Zimova.
that ranges from Tucker and Grant counties all the way down to Greenbrier County,” says Mack Frantz, a zoologist for the WVDNR who is involved with the project. Using this map, Frantz and his colleagues set up cameras at 50 sites where they knew snowshoe hares occurred in the past to measure population densities. “We were seeing snowshoe hares in those areas about 55 percent of the time,” he says.
In 2024, the team expanded their search to new sites within the historical range that featured habitat characteristics preferred by snowshoe hares, namely high-elevation coniferous forests, bogs, and swamps. “One area that’s unique to West Virginia is Canaan Valley. It forms natural frost pockets, which just seem like the perfect environments for snowshoe hares,” says Frantz. When sampling the new sites, the team spotted snowshoe hares roughly a third of the time, which Frantz says is encouraging.
While out in the field, scientists also collected fecal pellets to conduct genetic analyses on snowshoe hares and other lagomorphs (a group of mammals that includes hares, rabbits, and pikas). “The pellets look like big peanut M&Ms,” says Madison Miller, a Ph.D student at West Virginia University who is doing the genetics work. By extracting DNA from each fecal pellet, she can identify not only which species it came from, but which individual. Of the 180 samples Miller has tested so far, about 45 were from snowshoe hares. And because the researchers are sampling the same sites more than once, they can use the pellets to track how many individuals are found in a given area over time, allowing them to estimate population density.
Along with population data, Miller is testing the fecal pellets for parasites and disease. Although the work is still in progress, she aims to uncover what parasites are there, how prevalent they are, and what impacts they might have on the health of the snowshoe hares. According to Frantz, this study was prompted, in part, by the detection of Rabbit Hemorrhagic Disease Virus (RHDV) in Fayette and Union counties in Pennsylvania. “As the crow flies, that’s 20 minutes from Morgantown,” says Frantz.
RHDV is a highly contagious virus that infects most rabbit and hare species in the U.S. and has a 50—100 percent mortality rate, often causing animals to suddenly die within one to five days after they are infected. Although it primarily occurs in the southwestern U.S., the speed at which the virus can spread, along with the high fatality, makes it an important disease to keep tabs on. “There’s definitely a chance that it could come over here,” says Miller.
As part of a separate project, Miller is using data from the USDA’s Animal and Plant Health Inspection Service to assess patterns of virus transmission and predict how the disease might spread in the state if, or when, it arrives here. “If snowshoe hares are facing new threats from climate change and disease, it’s really important to have that baseline knowledge of where they are and how many are there to be able to establish management and conservation practices instead of just blindly hoping they’ll be okay,” Miller says.
DRESSED FOR SUCCESS
When asked to picture a snowshoe hare, one of the first things that comes to mind is its brilliant white coat. While it may look showy to us, the snowshoe hare’s white fur serves as camouflage
hare stands out against the
in the snow, reducing the animal’s risk of predation. As the days grow shorter in the fall, snowshoe hares begin swapping out their brown summer coats for warm, white fur. This molting process, which lasts about 50 days, is principally regulated by changes in day length. White fur grows first on their faces and ears, and then progresses in a wave down their bodies until the full transformation is complete.
But with lower and more variable snowpack in the northern hemisphere due to climate change, the white coats of snowshoe hares often stand out against the bleak brown backdrop of winter. “We are interested in whether they can change the timing of their molting, because now in many places snow comes later and melts earlier,” says Zimova, noting that this process is primarily regulated by day length and not the current snow conditions. “There is some flexibility in the process. They can adjust the speed of the molts by up to three weeks based on immediate conditions, but there’s a limit to it. Hares still become color mismatched during winters with very short snow seasons.”
There’s also a major consequence for snowshoe hares whose winter coats don’t match their environments—death. “When we first worked on mismatch out west, we found that there is increased predation risk when hares become mismatched,” she says. Now Zimova and her colleagues are looking at whether the same pattern holds true on the East Coast of the U.S. by setting up camera traps to evaluate the prevalence of mismatch and how it impacts snowshoe hare survival. “We just assume that the conse-
quences of mismatch are similar across North America, but we aren’t really sure,” she says. For instance, she said that in Wisconsin, predation risk was much higher for snowshoe hares with mismatched coats than it was for snowshoe hares in Montana. But in areas with thick, brushy shrubs, snowshoe hares were still able to avoid predation even if their coats stood out in the snowless landscape.
Although the team is still crunching the data on coat mismatch and predation risk in the Mountain State, Zimova has a hunch that the risks will be high given that many of the high-elevation spruce habitats have relatively little understory cover. But she says not all hope is lost. “They are a resilient species. Just the fact that they’re able to persist so far south is remarkable, so they might be able to adapt.” In fact, she’s already noted a few individuals from Canaan Valley that forgo the white fur and stay brown year-round.
While the future of snowshoe hare populations in West Virginia, and throughout their range, remains somewhat uncertain, I’m certainly looking forward to spending the winter searching for them among the snowy highlands. “That’s partially why I work on snowshoe hares,” says Zimova. “The mountains and high-elevation habitats where they live are just the most gorgeous places to be.” w
Nikki Forrester is co-publisher of Highland Outdoors. Her love of bunnies began eight winters ago, when one pounced through the snow in her backyard in Davis and paused to say hello.
A snowshoe
lush moss atop Gaudineer Knob in West Virginia. Photo by Marketa Zimova.
AB CROSSLAND AND MEMORIES OF MOONSHINE STILL LIFE
By Thomas Yocum
SOME SAY THE STILL’S STILL THERE, SURROUNDED BY A SECRET CACHE OF MOONSHINE AND HIDDEN IN A LOST CAVE UNDER TIMBER RUN AT CANAAN VALLEY SKI RESORT.
I first heard about it while working as a ski patroller and instructor on the mountain in the 1980s. The story was fresher then, and interest was stronger. Locals who remembered the original route of the stream that Timber Run follows on its way down the mountain had been scouring the area. They found other caves, but not the fabled haunt of Ab Crossland, the Tucker County moonshiner who defied the odds, beat the state of West Virginia in a historic court case, and was able to live out his days in a cabin on the grounds of Canaan Valley State Park.
Albert “Ab” Crossland was born in 1884 in Grant County, the ninth of 10 children. In the 1890s, Ab’s family moved to the southern end of Canaan Valley. The lumber boom was in full swing, and Ab’s father was a famous moonshiner who, like many others, supplied the thirsty logging camps and mill towns of the Potomac Highlands with white lightning.
The Central Appalachians have a long history of moonshining and clashes with authority. Moonshine production was based on simple economics. Hardscrabble farmers on the remote western edge of the new states struggled to get
Previous: Ab
Crossland's still when it was raided by federal agents. Photo courtesy West Virginia & Regional History Center.
their extra crops to market before they spoiled. Corn transformed into moonshine in a jug travelled better, lasted longer, and was much more profitable. It was also a lot more fun.
By 1890, Canaan Valley was starting to make moonshine news. A November 1890 article in The New York Times recounted the capture of William Fansler, described as “A member of one of the most daring and most successful gangs of moonshiners, counterfeiters, and stock thieves ever infesting the mountains of West Virginia. Their stamping ground was the ‘Canaan’ wilderness and contiguous portions of adjoining counties…Here the gang had for several years operated a splendidly equipped distillery, with a capacity of eightyfive gallons a day, and made and sold immense quantities of mountain dew until betrayed by one of their own number.”
One of those men was George Crossland. “For many years, Ab’s father, George, and a number of their neighbors, made and sold moonshine,” explained Thomas Rodd, co-executive director at the nonprofit Friends of Blackwater. Rodd also co-wrote and produced “Moonshine Memories,” a pair of 2023 local stage productions that tell Ab’s legendary story. “Making and selling moonshine was illegal, but it was an important activity in many Appalachian communities. When the Great Depression began, income from moonshining, for those who had the skills and would take the risks, became even more important.”
West Virginia went dry well ahead of the rest of the country, enacting the Yost Law in 1913, seven years before Prohibition. “When state enforcement began in 1914, West Virginia was one of the most bone-dry states in the country, banning all intoxicants over 0.5 percent alcohol,” said Dr. William Hal Gorby, a professor of history at West Virginia University. The payoff was high, but penalties were stiff: a two- to six-month jail sentence and a $100 to $500 fine (equivalent to a fine of about $3,000 to $15,000 today).
According to Gorby, by the late 1920s, the Department of Prohibition in West Virginia was seizing over 600 stills per year; from 1928 to 1930, state agents made over 4,000 arrests.
Things become even more draconian in 1929, when operating an illicit still became a felony, with heavier fines and mandatory jail time in the Moundsville State Penitentiary. “State and federal ‘fizz ferrets,’ as moonshiners called them, were very active across the state,” Gorby said. “They targeted poorer, working-class moonshiners in dense cities like Wheeling, as well
as men like Ab Crossland, operating in the rural mountains.” The raids were so successful that many county officials soon found themselves with budget surpluses. In Tucker County, they used the fines collected from moonshine enforcement to finish constructing the county courthouse clock more than 20 years after the building was completed.
Despite the risks, Ab Crossland continued to distill his mountain dew. In 1931, he was making moonshine on the Canaan Valley property of his neighbor and friend Joe Heitz when the law finally caught up with him. Federal law enforcement agents raided Ab and Heitz’s still, but only Ab was caught and charged in federal court in Elkins.
According to Rodd, Ab and Heitz made a deal to protect Heitz and his property. In exchange for Ab “taking the rap” on the moonshining charge, Heitz promised Ab that he could live on Heitz’s land in Canaan Valley for the rest of Ab’s life. “Ab did his part, and served a sentence in jail in Elkins, reportedly 90 days, possibly six months,” said Rodd. After Ab was released, he moved into a cabin on a corner of Heitz’s property. Ab, who never married, lived a rough, somewhat hermit-like existence there for the next 43 years. “He was a well-known character in Canaan Valley, with his grizzled beard, beat-up old pickup truck, and colorful speech. He also was known for having pet skunks. A skunk family had their den next to his cabin, and Ab fed them, along with a number of cats. He would rouse them if he wanted to keep visitors away,” Rodd added.
Naturally, Ab also went back into moonshining, but this time he did a better job of hiding his still. He chose a site somewhere along Mill Run: a hidden cave that masked the smoke from the constant fire, with plenty of fresh water to cool the condensing vapors. “Ab remained known as a reliable source of quality moonshine,” Rodd said. Heitz died in 1951, and his daughter inherited the property that held Ab’s dilapidated cabin. She honored
Right: Ab
Crossland at his cabin in Canaan Valley. Photo courtesy of Tucker County Highlands History and Education Project.
her father’s promise to Ab, who continued his way of life on her land.
In the 1960s, the state of West Virginia began acquiring land in the southern end of Canaan Valley to make a new ski resort and state park. This included the Heitz property, which the state acquired in a forced sale. In early 1969, when the state filed an eviction case against Ab, his neighbors introduced him to Ron Brown, a young attorney who agreed to help and suggested bringing another young attorney, Larry Starcher, on to the case.
Fortunately for Ab, Starcher was the director of a fledgling, federally funded Legal Aid program based in Morgantown, West Virginia. Those unable to afford an attorney or pay court fees often couldn’t “have their day in court,” said Rodd. As part of Lyndon Johnson’s War on Poverty in the 1960s, the national Legal Aid program provided lawyers for the poor. “Providing free lawyers like Larry Starcher for low-income people like Ab Crossland was a revolutionary idea.”
It also presented an interesting wrinkle: federal money from the Economic Development Administration was being used to develop the Canaan Valley State Park, while other federal money was being used to help Ab Crossland fight his eviction from the state park land.
Starcher and Brown made a claim based on Heitz’s promise to Ab of a lifetime right to live on the land, what Ab called his squatter’s rights. According to Rodd, bulldozers were ready to demolish Ab’s cabin, but Starcher and Brown were able to put the eviction on hold.
After more than a year of hearings, the judge ruled that the state was the rightful owner of the property, thus Ab’s claim was not sufficient to stop the eviction. “However, and this was very significant, he delayed the effect of his decision so that Ab’s lawyers could appeal to the West Virginia State Supreme Court,” Rodd said.
The judge’s ruling essentially set the stage for Ab to win his eviction case, and lawyers representing the state realized the case could drag on for months with no guarantee of success. “Faced with these uncertainties and possibilities, and anxious to complete their project, the state agreed to drop the eviction case,” Rodd said. The state made a deal that Ab could stay on the land for the rest of his life, provided that an access road be built on the portion of land Ab claimed for his squatter’s rights.
In 1971, a follow-up story about the case, complete with a picture of Ab at his cabin, hit the newswire and achieved global circulation. According to Rodd, Ab claimed he received several marriage proposals in the mail. After the ski slopes opened, Ab would often be found posing for pictures with skiers. “People say he sold moonshine to the workers building the ski slopes,” Rodd said.
Ab died in 1973, but his story and his presence live on. In a tiny corner of the ski area maintenance yard, a two-plot cemetery holds the graves of Ab and his mother, Provey Yoakum Crossland. It’s a strange scene, with surplus snow making equipment edging up to the white picket perimeter fence and heavy trucks rumbling past just a few feet away, just as the bulldozers did when the state was trying to pressure Ab to leave. He stood his ground and defied the odds; the cemetery plot seems a fitting tribute to his feistiness.
The view from the plot looks west, over the state park lodge. Away and to the right, Mill Run, now a meandering meadow stream, snakes across the valley floor. But to the east, Cabin Mountain rapidly changes into a rocky ravine with waterfalls, downed trees, and dark crevasses covered with laurel and rhododendron. It’s the perfect place to hide a still. It’s an even better place to birth a legend. w
Thomas Yocum lives in Canaan Valley and is the publisher of the Tucker County Observer newspaper.
Top: Crossland during a 1971 tour of the new Canaan Valley State Park and Ski Area. Photo courtesy Tucker County Highlands History and Education Project.
Bottom: Ab Crossland’s grave in Canaan Valley. Photo by Dylan Jones.
ULLR
By Dylan Jones
If you’re a die-hard skier, or at least a loyal reader of Highland Outdoors, you’ve likely heard of Ullr, the Norse god of snow, hunting, and archery. As the patron saint of skiers, Ullr is the go-to deity when it’s time to pray for powder. Skiers—especially of the cross-country variety—are an enigmatic bunch and have all sorts of bizarre rituals to claim they made the white stuff fall from the sky. Some put trail maps in their freezers, others burn effigies of all shapes and sizes at the start of meteorological winter. But the one thing they all have in common is their worship of Ullr.
I first learned about Ullr during a particularly memorable ski outing with my wife, Nikki, at the White Grass Ski Touring Center here in Canaan Valley. Since then, I’ve become quite obsessed with his powdery presence. On more than one occasion, I’ve uttered that “Ullr giveth, and Ullr taketh away,” during the last decade of mildly disappointing winters here in the Mountain State.
In hopes of doing my part to usher in what many expect to be an epic winter, I put my trail map in the freezer and summoned Ullr from his ethereal home in the Yew Dales, aka Ydalir, to discuss his role as the god of snow, his journey through West Virginia, and what really makes him tick (hint: it’s not that silly snow dance you do after too much moonshine).
This interview was translated to be comprehensible by mortals and edited for a soothing Scandinavian sense of clarity.
What’s your background?
That’s a loaded question to start off with, don’t you think? As you can probably guess, being the stepson of Thor wasn’t necessarily a cakewalk of an upbringing. Skiing in the shadows of such well-known figures makes you, how do you say, a little socially anxious? Especially considering that, for centuries, I was only worshipped during the all-important Viking times in southern Norway and central Sweden, but not in Denmark, where that really matters to me. But I digress, as it’s weird to speak in the third person, and time-wasting tangents aren’t really an issue for [us Norse gods]. Anyway, as somewhat of a loner, I immediately excelled at shredding the snow I created and getting consecutive bull's-eyes with my trusty bow. So, here I am today, regaining popularity among skiers as people realize there’s, like, way less snow than there used to be. Hmm, I wonder why?
What brought you to West Virginia?
It’s sort of a sore spot for me, but over the eons I’ve learned the importance of radical candor and vulnerability. Basically, I took over the throne in Asgard after Odin was booted for some romantic misconduct, and reigned for ten lovely but short years (which is the equivalent of a picosecond for you mortals) before Odin stormed back in and exiled me to Sweden. Which, I gotta say, is a pretty dope place in which to be exiled. But anyone who’s spent considerable time in even the snowiest paradise eventually learns that, sometimes, you just gotta go. One day, I was doing some soul searching amid a mythical stag hunt and heard this bizarre, buzzy whisper on the winds. It said, “You just gotta check this place out, man!” That led me, of all places, to Canaan Valley. I showed up during what most any mortal would consider a marginal ski day and was like, whaaaat?! This place is actually pretty cool considering the lack of fjords and glaciers and what not. A few snooty skiers who didn’t look like they were having any fun told me to head further west to Colorado, but honestly, if I have to hear one more bro talk about his VO2 max and one-up me on how he skied Asgard before it was on Strava, I’m gonna lose my cool—and we all know what that means. A century of rains upon your beloved mountains!
Well, you certainly won’t hear that from me. So, what inspires your love of snow and skiing?
I mean, what’s not to like? Summer is totally overrated and is for lazy, hedonistic gods like Freyr who want to lounge around on floating couches and obnoxiously pop cherry tomatoes in their teeth. I’m all about getting after it! How can you not love snow? In case you didn’t know, there’s not snow on any other planet in the universe— remember that when you morons try to move to Mars here in a few centuries. I’ve spent epochs coating your glorious mountains with its perfect texture all for you get out and have a damn good time.
Hey, no one loves snow more than me! Tell me about your first experience skiing here.
Oh man, I’ll never forget it. But really, we should start off with my first trip to what you mortals now consider West Virginia, which was about 500 million years ago, when the “Mountain State” was actually a shallow sea in which me and my homies used to water ski behind Sól’s chariot, which was of course pulled by Árvakr and Alsviðr. Man, I miss those days! You’d think a beach vacation would be all chill vibes, but we were a rowdy crew.
Gus Trauth
“I’m always amazed with what you people can do with a mere thousand feet of vertical there. When I bless you with a legit powder day, there’s nowhere I’d rather ski than West Virginia.”
Anyway, my first ski in West Virginia was about 290 million years ago, after that inland sea got raised way up and eroded into your small but lovely mountains. The first snow I dropped there was one for the books! I vividly remember hucking off a thousand-foot escarpment and getting a perfect shot on a mastodon before sticking the landing. Those telemark turns were way harder when the skis were just giant pieces of lepidodendron bark and twig bindings.
I bet! I still can’t turn on skinny skis. How does skiing in West Virginia compare to your home terrain of the Yew Dales?
You’d be surprised at how many people ask me this. It’s like everyone knows about West Virginia. Is there, like, a famous song about it or something? First off, shout out to the Dales! The snow never melts, there’s always free refills in the plum lines, and the yew trees just make the best bows in all of Asgard. But, honestly, I’m always amazed with what you people can do with a mere thousand feet of vertical there. When I bless you with a legit powder day, there’s nowhere I’d rather ski than West Virginia. Facts!
What’s your favorite place to ski in West Virginia?
Do you really think I, a Norse god, would fall for your mainstream media tactics? I know how particularly loyal you West Virginia skiers are to one area or another, so let’s just say my favorite place is anywhere with a solid base. Which, if you want that, you best get down and start worshipping, mortal.
I will after this interview, I swear. Why is telemark the ultimate form of skiing?
I could see the gulp in your throat at the end of the last question, I was just messing with you, man. Clearly this winter is off to a great start, is it not? Does Ullr make it happen? Of course he does!
Telemark is the ultimate form of skiing because the free heel is a manifestation of the free spirit to which I obviously embody and promote through my omnipotent practice of ski archery. Oh, what, you thought the “Free the heel, free the soul” quote came from some granola hippie in Vermont? Hell no, that was me like three billion years ago during the early days of your geologic timeline. Also, regardless of how many alpine skiers deride you, never stop telemark skiing, for, as we just discussed, it’s the ultimate form of worship in my direction.
Do you ever take your stepdad Thor out skiing?
We used to ski together, but ever since he started filming all those Marvel movies, his ego has swollen to multiversal proportions. Even when I can muster up the best powder day you could imagine, he’s out slamming mead with the Guardians of the Galaxy and trying to get another date with Kiera Knightly. I’m to the point where I’m about to hit up Loki to go skiing, and all he wants to do is shut down the ski lifts during peak hours to mess with the mortals.
What type of music do you listen to?
People usually see my garb and think they have to blast heavy metal when I show up, which I honestly find a bit presumptuous. When I’m out skiing, I usually get down to some 90s hip-hop or some post-industrial techno. And for après ski, nothing beats the vibe of a Steely Dan record.
Mead or moonshine?
Meadshine! I like to mix it up.
What’s the deal with the subpar winters as of late?
Do I really need to answer this? I think the answer would be obvious, but let’s just say that you humans aren’t as wise as you fancy yourselves. I could drop some knowledge about the critical importance of the El Niño–Southern Oscillation and its impact on your oceanic and atmospheric climate patterns, but let’s just say I’ve been overbooked trying to save winter around the globe. Before the 21st century, it was a few million prayers to answer per decade, but now, I’m up to a few million prayers per month. You think your inbox is insurmountable on Monday morning? Hah!
I didn’t think Norse gods could get a case of the Mondays, most bummer. So, what do you do over the summer?
Well, obviously, winter on Earth never sleeps. Most people think I chase powder around the globe, but since I’ve always got freshies over in Ýdalir, I like to hit the beach and relive those water-skiing glory days with my wife, Skadi. Have you ever been to Wales? Man, it’s a real gem! Really reminds us of Gandvík, but way less dangerous since it doesn’t have giant serpents.
I’ve always wanted to go to Wales! What are your hopes for the future of winter in West Virginia?
Well, let me start by expanding that and saying that I hope you humans get your act together and figure out how to coexist with your surroundings. In the meantime, I’ll continue to do my best to blanket your hills and hollers with champagne powder, but, as I previously stated, those pow days will be intermittent since I’m in such high demand now. Other than that, don’t lose the authentic ski vibe that exists only here. It’s really beautiful, man. It almost makes me want to be a mortal living in annotated bliss among you… almost. Skål! w
I’d like to give a special shoutout to my friend, Gus Trauth, a professional animator who did the amazing art for this profile. We used to sit around the kitchen table making ridiculous drawings of Vikings, robots, and other fodder. I’m glad that thirty-some years later, he’s still at it!
A Special Note to Our Readers
Hi to all our wonderful readers. If this is your first time picking up Highland Outdoors, welcome to the family! We hope you love our stories and unique take on West Virginia’s outdoor culture. If this isn’t your first time picking up Highland Outdoors, thanks for sticking with us after all these years. You are the heart and soul of this publication. I know we say it all the time, but this endeavor would be nothing without your enduring support and bottomless stoke. We hope this issue brings you as much joy and laughter as all the ones that came before it.
One of the things we love about winter is that it finally gives us some time to slow down and reflect. We rarely leave our home of Canaan Valley and do absolutely nothing besides skiing whenever the flakes are flying. This November, we were treated to a 20-inch snowstorm and the best conditions we’ve experienced this time of year. We spent several days cross-country skiing through snow-capped spruce forests and relishing in the euphoria that comes from dropping everything to take advantage of the fleeting conditions. Maybe it was the collective joy of those few days, but several friends told us how lucky we are to have such a strong community here in the Mountain State. And boy are they right.
This past year, our friends helped us fix our broken bikes, coach us through the home building process, and stay calm while searching for a much-needed water source deep in the backcountry. They bought subscriptions, advertised their small businesses, distributed mags, wrote beautiful stories, and let us publish their amazing photographs. At times, it can be hard for us to ask for the support we need, but this magazine—and our lives—are so much richer when we help one another.
Which is why we’re once again asking for your support. We know finances probably feel particularly tight right now, at least we sure feel the strain, but please know that every little bit makes a huge difference. Whether it’s buying a subscription, giving a donation, or running an advertisement to promote your business, these contributions ensure that Highland Outdoors can give the most back to our beloved Mountain State. It means paying our contributors good rates for their work, investing in high-quality and sustainable printing materials, and distributing thousands of magazines throughout the region. It means we can continue sharing authentic stories about West Virginia’s amazing outdoor culture for free because we believe the outdoors are for everyone.
If you can’t swing a financial contribution at this point in time, we completely understand. It’s been a whirlwind of a year. One of the few things that has kept us sane is the precious 20 minutes we spend every morning sitting in our comfy chairs and sipping steaming cups of coffee while getting lost in a book or magazine. Part of the reason we love print is that it can transport you to another world and give you a reason to slow down even when everything feels like it’s speeding up. So, above all else, thanks for taking the time to read Highland Outdoors. Your steadfast support of our small, grassroots print publication means more than words can capture.
Wishing you a joyous and fulfilling 2025, Dylan Jones & Nikki Forrester
I photographed this dedicated fisherman in the bone-chilling waters of the Cranberry River in early April of 2023. This excursion was one of few rare occasions when I could make the trek to this remote area of the Cranberry Backcountry while it was still snowing. As I wandered along the river bank searching for photographic opportunities, the sky opened up and a microburst of snow blanketed everything in sight. Because I had seen no vehicle tracks beside my own, I was surprised to find this hardy soul carefully wading upriver amidst the squall. He was fully absorbed in his craft and thus unaware of my presence. I quickly snapped this image and moved on to avoid disturbing his tranquility. I don’t typically include people in my nature photography, but this adventurous angler seemed to fit perfectly into the scene and encapsulates the rugged, yet peaceful, feel of the Cranberry Backcountry in winter. Photo and caption by Kevin Frick.
