There’s no question: They stink,
they’re noisy, and they scare wildlife. Snowmobiles are truly
obnoxious. But while I applaud Yellowstone’s contested ban on
snowmobiles, I’ve had to rethink my own stance. For as much
as I dislike the smelly machines, snowmobiles have their place.
As a cross-country skier, I’ve never really cared
for snowmobiling, especially the engine-gunning,
testosterone-fueled style that includes roaring up steep slopes.
However, I have the luxury of skiing around the corner in Glacier
National Park, where snowmobiles are prohibited even on snowy
roads.
As Yellowstone’s overuse problems mounted in
the past decade with air and noise pollution, I saw little
redeeming value in the machines’ use, particularly in
sensitive ecosystems. And my dislike of their racket deterred me
from exploring Yellowstone’s geysers in winter, a remarkable
sight, so I’ve heard.
Rude, errant snowmobile
drivers certainly perpetuated a dislike of their sport. Last
Christmas, without asking permission to ride on our property,
neighboring snowmobilers, eyeing fresh snow in our several-acre
meadow, flattened the entire field with their tracks. Apparently,
when snow covers private property, boundary lines no longer exist.
Virgin snow is there for the sacking, regardless of whose property
it’s on.
But lately, I’ve had to tweak my
tune a bit. Instead of a black and white attitude, I’m
developing a grayer one.
Recently, I’ve taken to
long-distance cross-country skiing on groomed snowmobile roads in
Montana’s Whitefish Range, maintained by the local snowmobile
association. Now, I can no longer lob all snowmobilers in the
boorish department, having met several courteous drivers who slowed
down to pass us, and others who stopped to see if we’re okay,
apologizing for their clamor and stench. Our local snowmobile
association is to be commended for their educational efforts in
promoting consideration in the backcountry. How can I rail at such
civility?
Ironically, as a cross-country skier, I need
snowmobiles. Most small Nordic areas groomed for classic and skate
skiing rely on snowmobiles, the work horses that set parallel
tracks and lay down corduroy. How can I object when I glide
effortlessly with first tracks on a buffed-out trail through deep
timber at a local Forest Service-maintained Nordic area?
In the backcountry, I can’t begin to count the number of
times I’ve prayed for a solid snowmobile track to ski as we
broke trail endlessly through deep snow, while dusk dropped on us
too early. A few weeks ago, miles from a trailhead any direction,
we found ourselves slogging through heavy snow, slowing our pace to
the point where we needed to ski — impossibly —10 miles
in eight minutes to reach our destination on time, where my husband
waited at the trailhead.
As we rounded each corner, we
hoped for the marks of at least one recent snowmobile. We even
longed for one of the stinky machines to pass by, so we could send
a message to my worried husband. Finally, one packed track lined
the route, left by a lone snowmobiler whose firm trail sped us on
our way. The driver doesn’t know it, but we thanked him for
several hours, even while skiing the last five miles in the dark.
And what if we’d required rescue by the Nordic ski
patrol? Most likely, given the route of our trip, they would have
searched for us with nothing other than a snowmobile.
This past fall, I found my snowmobile relationship taking another
twist when a friend discovered a cheap Arctic Cat with ski
trail-grooming equipment for sale. Locking all past resentment in
the closet, we purchased the 25-year-old smoke-belching two-stroke
wonder, just to groom a ski trail on our own property. Once a week,
I drive the malodorous monster, pulling a track-setter around a
three-kilometer route, This creates the way for a quiet, fresh air
workout on skis. Have I sold out now?
Well, snowmobiles
aren’t always bad, but they still don’t belong
everywhere. Not in Yellowstone National Park, or in grizzly bear
corridors, or sensitive watersheds, but on trails where the impact
is not so devastating. I think it possible to share trails with
considerate snowmobile drivers. Thoughtless, engine-revving
speedsters, however, should inhale their own exhaust.
Although I will never find sport in riding snowmobiles just for
fun, I can no longer chuck them wholeheartedly into the realm of
the evil empire. But in support of my own lungs and ears and the
wildlife residing around our meadow, I should look into purchasing
a quieter, less pollution-causing four-stroke for my own use. If
nothing else, it might ease my conscience.
Becky Lomax is a contributor to Writers on the Range, a
service of High Country News (hcn.org). She is an outdoor educator
in Whitefish, Montana.
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