Learning To Dance With a Ski Pulk: 900 Miles Through the Backcountry

A few years ago, I had this idea that using a pulk to extend my time in the backcountry would not only be fun but also useful. After researching what I would be using it for, I settled on an expedition sled - lightweight, supposedly easy to maneuver over powder (which I would find out later was not the case), weighing in at just 4 pounds. My experience using a pulk can only be documented as comical, frustrating, and something I'm still learning from.

Using a pulk or sled to get around in winter and spring isn't a new concept. They were originally made of wood but are generally made using plastic now that can take a certain amount of weight. The shape of the pulk determines what it's best used for and needs to be able to run across the snow smoothly.

I called it Carlos. Yes, I gave my pulk a name, dreaming of Antarctic expeditions and tales of grandeur told over evening beers. Everything I thought I knew went out the window on my first day out. Somehow, I weighted Carlos wrong, and he refused to move properly through the snow. Any snow that was a bit rough he would throw himself sideways and fall over. I would drag Carlos like this until I either looked back or felt a drag and see him sadly laying on his side, full of snow. This would happen repeatedly. Frustration would set in - I had this idea that using a pulk was easy. It's a simple piece of plastic, so how hard could it really be? 

But what started as a comedy of errors opened up possibilities I hadn't imagined. During the summer, I had put in over 600 miles in this mountain range in southwest Montana, hiking and scrambling into every possible drainage and area that might be feasible in winter. I documented my travels through photographs and journals. Most of what I did was by trial and error as there are no written documents out there that go past the popular areas. Maps and learning to navigate this vast area became paramount.

This winter started out with little snowpack, so Carlos sat in the garage, waiting. January came along and with it beautiful snow that I needed. With a new expedition harness and upgraded poles, I felt confident. I weighted the pulk well this time, heaviest in the middle and everything else around it. But even on a beautifully packed trail, I felt the old familiar growing pains. My patience wore thin as I had to continuously fix the poles that attach the pulk - there are certain patterns you use, from crossing the poles to keeping them straight. We hit deep powder numerous times, Carlos pitched sideways immediately each time, and I repacked and readjusted again. And again.

Over time, something shifted. It isn't always skis - often I mix it up to save my feet from ski boots and use snowshoes, switching between the two. I learned to anticipate when I needed to balance the pulk over areas that were too deep, had snowdrifts or grooves from snowmobiles. I started listening more, and we found our rhythm.

This new way of traveling extended my time in the backcountry. I could bring a tent and stay longer with more comfort - heavier sleeping bags, food, fuel, and water. I had a system down for carrying my camera equipment to document the time spent out here. Days would pass without seeing another soul. You learn to read the snowpack like your life depends on it, because it does.

The weather taught me its own lessons - colder days meant faster travel with less drag on the pulk. Wildlife tracks became more plentiful the further I ventured into the backcountry. Moose tracks through the willows had me talking to myself, hoping I wouldn't see them up close and personal. Some days I couldn't fully comprehend what I was witnessing as the weather created beautiful areas of hoarfrost, drifts from the high winds, and ice formations that the sun would shimmer through. On negative 20-degree days, the snow would groan and squeak loudly under our feet. Alpine lakes I went by in the summer were now blanketed in snow and silent. Every place I visited felt different, cloaked in winter.

Carlos and I have now traveled almost 900 miles, and we have not even begun to truly see this area completely. There have been so many learning curves I didn't anticipate, most of which were user error - I admit that now. Physically I adapted, learning to use my body differently. Mentally I had to learn patience. Stopping to photograph this journey meant getting out of the harness, which forced me to slow down and soak in my surroundings.

Using a pulk has let me explore areas that would have taken days to reach before. It's a love-hate relationship you can't take lightly. We've become a team, as foolish as that may seem. There are still more miles ahead of us, more areas that look unattainable, but with my now-trusty pulk, I believe I can accomplish this feat.