P.S.: Contents of the Sub-Zero Sandwich

It’s over, for now at least. We’ve just come through the other, warmer side of a weather cycle that was at times pretty frigid. The season has been pretty cold on the whole so far, but last week was downright brutal. To put it in context, today it never really got above 20 degrees Fahrenheit and it felt positively balmy.

Writing my last post about some of the stranger and funnier issues relating to dressing in severely cold weather here in Vermont brought into stark relief some of the common misconceptions people have about dressing when the temperatures really drop. I thought it might be helpful, therefore, to take a few moments to explain exactly how to, and how not to, dress.

First things first: the sheer number of layers one wears when the temperatures make Vermont feel like Siberia are of absolutely no consequence. If I had a dime for everyone who froze while expressing disbelief that their sixteen layers were not keeping them warm, I’d have enough money for a really good cup of herbal tea (more on that later). When I point this out to people, a common response is something to the effect of “but I’m wearing two Under Armour shirts.” Congratulations on your brand choice. Every major sporting goods company and outdoor gear manufacturer sells some sort of high quality first layer which is intended to sit next to the skin and wick moisture away from the body. Wicking is a good thing, we like wicking, but wicking layers covered by yet more wicking layers leaves us dry, very dry, and cold.

Another prime example of a high tech, gee-wiz material that is both expensive and fashionable but is a terrible insulator is “soft shell fleece”. Soft shells are great pieces of clothing, but they are a barrier with very little loft. Wearing a soft shell and hoping it keeps you warm would be like foregoing fiberglass insulation in the rafters of your house because you think the Tyvek will be enough.

The key element in dressing for severely cold weather is loft. No, not “The Loft”, as in our classic ski town watering hole here at Okemo, but “loft” as in insulation. Think puffy, as in old-school, quilted down jackets. The puffier, the better. The more loft there is in a piece of clothing, the more air is trapped inside that garment and the better its insulating properties. If we’re dry because we’re wearing a good first layer, we have layers that add loft on top of that, and it’s all topped off with some sort of barrier against wind and the elements, we stand a good chance of staying warm. In addition, the most important factor for keeping hands and feet warm is to keep the body’s core warm. So, since we can’t exactly ski or snowboard in down booties, focus on the important organs in the core and the feet are less likely to start looking cadaverous. Be aware that just because your new Spyder, Burton or Arcteryx jacket was expensive and is made from a super-double-top-secret multi-membrane shell material and is insulated does not mean it’ll keep you warm enough. Go big, go fat, get puffy, then put your stylish jacket on top. Just in case you have trouble getting the picture, I've included one above.

The photo shows my personal system for what we call "The Nuclear Option" for use only when the temperatures on the hill reach well below zero Fahrenheit. In the top row, from left to right, are a long sleeve first layer made of gee-wiz wicking material, a thick zip-neck second layer, and a fleece cardigan third layer (containing no barriers, just thick, fluffy fleece). In the bottom row are a no-frills down sweater for layer number four and a quilted, insulated vest for layer number five. On top of all of this goes my shell uniform jacket for the sixth and final layer.

Once you’re dressed properly (done correctly, you should look and feel like the Michelin tire man), there are a few other important issues to consider. Seriously. First, when the temperatures drop into single digits Fahrenheit and below, it’s important to not have any exposed skin. It takes very little time for exposed skin to become frostbitten in certain conditions, so do yourself a favor and cover up your face. Frostbite hurts a ton, it renders you susceptible to recurrences far more easily, and leaves you looking like a leper for some time. I’ve done my nose, cheeks and chin, and I know from personal experience that it’s not worth it to be a tough guy. Second, eat. Staying warm when it’s arctic outside takes a lot of energy - we burn a lot of calories just standing around, so eat plenty. Third, stay away from caffeine. Physiologically, it impedes your body’s ability to stay warm and can lend a false sense of how warm one is staying out there.

My last piece of advice is to anticipate getting cold, don’t wait for it to come to you. In other words: go inside, frequently.

If all else fails, go cross country skiing. As long as one has no exposed skin, one can cross country ski in severely cold weather and break a nice sweat, stay warm, get some exercise, not wait in lift lines, and still enjoy a day outdoors in the middle of winter in some beautiful surrounds. You might even enjoy it.

Dagwood, Nukes and Sub-Zero Weather

As a kid, I had a particularly fanatical approach to making sandwiches. Often on Sundays, my grandparents would visit and spend the afternoon. The inevitable meal which was the centerpiece of the day invariably involved deli sandwiches. We’d have an enormous array of meats and cheeses, a selection of breads, the usual lettuce, pickles, coleslaw and potato salad, and condiments which included an oddly wide variety of mustards. While the other members of the family made quick work of putting together their favorite combination and set about eating it, I’d design, plan and build an elaborate and carefully constructed sandwich over what must have seemed to my siblings to be an inordinate amount of time. Some condiments, in my eight-year-old brain, were far better on the bread side of cheese or on the meat side of it, some worked well next to lettuce and some didn’t, and there were considerations for which meat and cheese went in what order, which mustard complimented which meat, and whether pickles, coleslaw or potato chips actually went on the sandwich or merely accompanied it. Looking back now it is a bit disturbing and, I am certain, excellent fodder for teasing from my friends. For me, it was simply the very serious process of creating a great sandwich and then eating it. Perhaps I should consult a Tibetan monk about whether this constituted some sort of gastronomic mandala – an elaborate painting made from sand painstakingly for days only to be swept away when completed.

What on earth could my childhood Dagwood sandwiches have to do with skiing? Layering, that’s what. We’ve just completed a very busy holiday period here at Okemo and we’ve had some challenging weather in this stretch. In the last week of 2008 and on New Years Day in particular, Vermont really bared its teeth with some very cold, very windy weather. On January 1st, the temperatures never really climbed above zero degrees Fahrenheit (-17.8C) at the summit and the wind chill factor stayed in the -25F (-31.7C) range all day. Couple this with the fact that our uniform jackets in the Okemo Ski + Ride School are, well, old and require us to dress as though we’re not wearing them, and our layering takes on a whole new level of process.

Given the way our schedules work with private lessons during busy periods, full-time instructors frequently are out in the cold all day, seven hours a day, with few if any breaks. So, out of necessity and experience, each instructor who has been teaching here for any length of time has a very specific and very personal system for dressing when temperatures plummet. What goes on first, what goes on last before the uniform, what gets tucked into the pants and what doesn’t, what layer gets zipped all the way up to the chin and what is left open and how much. Gaiter, face mask or balaclava. Boot heaters, talcum powder, chili pepper, toe warmers, boot covers, helmet covers, and even air exchangers are all fair game when it’s so cold our nose hairs freeze.

Once all the layers are on, the task of zipping the uniform jacket is the last remaining obstacle. Like the great rye breads and rolls at my parents table, over stuff the sandwich and the jacket won’t allow enough movement to ski, or to sit down on the lift for that matter, assuming one is able to zip it at all. It is not shameful but rather can be a source of pride to have to seek assistance in zipping one’s own jacket.

In the lexicon of the locker room, we call dressing for severe cold “going to the weapons”, and it definitely takes on the air of doing battle with the elements. One funny aspect of each instructor’s particular system for arming themselves for the cold is that we all have one layering system in reserve that we’ve never had to use. We call it the “nuclear option”. Once we go nuclear, there is no way to go back, so we make damn sure that conditions warrant that kind of escalation. One other funny consideration is the speed with which we dress. Dress too fast and you start to cook, leading to jokes about putting garlic, rosemary and olive oil inside the jacket to complete the roast. Peek inside the locker room at 7:45 on a weekend or holiday and you’ll see instructors lingering in their wicking layers and then rushing outside once dressed fully.

At the end of the day, with the right attitude and a sense of adventure (together with some very generous pro pricing from Patagonia and our friends at the local retailers), good instructors can make fun out of even the harshest of conditions. In the very worst case scenario, we can always tell jokes and swap stories with our students over a hot chocolate in one of the lodges. Perhaps that’s a rationalization, but it is all part of our shared experience and I wouldn’t trade it.