Snowmobiling is More Difficult Than You Think

I jammed my thumb down on the throttle. The engine roared and snow kicked up behind us. I grinned behind my helmet. Heck yeah, this was going to be fun! The powerful snowmobile propelled us through the thick drifts. We rocked, skidded, and slid through the powder. My heart was pounding with excitement. At a tight turn, I yanked the handles to turn the skids. The heavy vehicle lurched, then lifted up on one skid. We began to tip. I felt my body start sliding, unwillingly, off the seat. Our momentum carried us further, further, further. We were going to flip!

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Featured photos: https://photos.app.goo.gl/yJy1UV5fWehXxrdQ6

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December 31st, 2024 - Winter in Wyoming Day 5

How did we get here, you ask? 

It all started in Yellowstone. In a previous blog post, I wrote about how Steve the snow coach guide took us for a snowy tour of Yellowstone. You may recall that a snow coach tour was not on our original trip itinerary. Instead, we had booked a snowmobile tour of Yellowstone. On the day we arrived in West Yellowstone, we spoke to a Park Service employee about our plan. You can imagine our immense disappointment when we learned that Yellowstone was closed to snowmobile tours. Despite the feet of snow that had accumulated in the town of West Yellowstone, the park itself didn’t have a thick enough snow layer for snowmobiles to travel on without damaging the landscape. It was a real bummer!

Our disappointment waned after our excellent snow coach tour, but we still wanted to go snowmobiling. Have you ever packed a suitcase for a snowmobiling trip? The amount of snow gear you need to bring is incredible! There was a whole extra suitcase bouncing around in the back of our rental car dedicated to snow gear: bibs, coats, hats, gloves, heated gloves, heated socks, the works! The thought of all that gear going unused really got my goat. So, Tyler, the wonderfully supportive husband that he is, booked us a snowmobile tour in Grand Teton National Park instead.

Conveniently, the snowmobile tours were based out of the same lodge that hosted our dog sled experience the day prior. After an unsuccessful, cloudy sunrise at Oxbow Bend, we followed the familiar road to Togwotee Mountain Lodge. The giant icicles still hung, spearlike, from the pitched lodge roof. Several employees’ cars still poked out from under massive snow drifts. We tromped through the snow and into the warm lodge to check in. This time, instead of directing us to the kennels of excitable sled dogs out back, we were pointed to a small, snow-buried building to the side of the lodge. We tromped through the snow, pausing a time or two to let a roaring snowmobile whiz by. We admired the powerful machines, pointing out the pretty blue one at the gas pumps and the fast red one peeling off into the wind. Nervous excitement was growing in my stomach. I’d never ridden a snowmobile before. What were they like? 

Snowmobiles are common in Ohio, but they don’t have many opportunities to be used. Unlike the harsh winters of my childhood, the winters of late have been too warm for snowmobilers. The snow, when it does come, doesn’t last long. I imagine most Ohio snowmobiles load up their machines and haul them to Michigan for the real fun. On occasion, however, a snowmobile can be spotted in Ohio. I’ve heard stories of farm boys outrunning the local sheriff on their zippy machines. I once watched a flock of nighttime snowmobiles ramp a steep ditch as they were exiting a corn field. It was epic and a little scary to watch! Could I do the same? I grew up with ATVs, but I was always a reasonable driver. I liked to drive fast, but only if I didn’t need to take risks. Snowmobiling, it seemed, required a lot of risk-taking. Was I cut out for it?

I pondered this as we dressed in layer after layer of snow gear. Our young snowguide, not much more than a teenager, watched me put on another layer of wool socks with amusement. 

“I only wear one pair of socks when I’m snowboarding,” he commented. “And thin socks at that. My feet sweat so much in my boots that I need them to breathe. That’s the mistake most people make when they’re doing winter stuff. They put on too many layers, cut off circulation, and then they’re miserable the whole time.” 

I grimaced and bent over to look at my fat, sock-mummified feet. (Bending over was difficult. I was dressed like the Michelin Man.) 

“Do you think I have too many socks on?” I asked, self-conscious. 

“That’s up to you, but you can always try these too!” He held out a palm full of Hot Hands. “I like to shove these down in my boots, right by my toes. They work miracles!”

I gratefully accepted the hot packs and peeled off a layer of socks. After wiggling the Hot Hands down into my boots, I clicked on my heated socks too. Just in case. 

Once Tyler and I resembled fat penguins, our young guide led us out into the breezy, wintry day. To my great embarrassment, I can’t remember his the guide’s name. He was excellent, though! He walked us through every step of snowmobile operation, which turned out to be pretty simple. Throttle, brakes, and how to turn. Turning, we learned, was more about body weight than mechanics. 

“When I’m turning tight, I’ll slide a whole butt cheek off my seat,” he said. “You’ll feel it once we get going. If you slide in that seat, you’re going to make life so much easier for yourself. And you,” his gaze flicked to me, “you’ll need to lean too. Don’t fight the turn, or you’ll make it a lot harder for him. I see so many passengers who mess it up for their driver because they’re fighting it. They’ll just sit there and be dead weight. Don’t do that.”

I nodded solemnly. Lean with the turn. Help Tyler. Got it. 

It turned out our guide had a lot of experience with bad tourists. He shared these stories with us during our periodic stops on the trail. We learned that a lot of people freaked out and went super slow while they were on a tour. Sometimes they ran into things. Sometimes they tipped over. Our guide was delighted with Tyler’s natural driving abilities. It didn’t take him very long to realize that my husband is a master of pretty much anything with a steering wheel. He’ll drive it well and drive it fast, even if it’s a military tank! Once our guide pegged this, he floored it. We FLEW over those trails! Tyler and the guide whipped around the corners, kicked up blizzards of snow behind them, and ate up the miles like nothing. It was exhilarating! I hung on for dear life, leaned with the turns, and generally had a great time. 

Amusingly, it was not as smooth when I took the wheel. Oozing with the confidence I had gathered from Tyler’s success, I immediately wanted to floor it too. Unfortunately, my portion of the trail was more forested than Tyler’s, so I was initiated with hills and steep turns. On my first big turn, I jerked those handlebars with cowboy-esque bravado and the snowmobile responded with insolence. It rose up on one skid so fast I thought my eyes were going to pop out of my head. I’m pretty sure I yelled. Then, my brain kicked into gear. As our snowmobile tipped in slow motion, I threw myself in the opposite direction. Remember how our guide had told us to “slide a butt cheek off the side when you go around a turn”? 

I slid my whole butt off that seat! 

The opposite momentum slammed the heavy machine back onto two skids. I hit the throttle again (gently) and made it through the turn, heart hammering. Our guide was disappearing into a snow cloud ahead. He hadn’t even noticed. Tyler and I were real, real quiet for a minute. 

Then, (and I’m not proud to admit this), I asked him,

“Did you lean with that turn?”

My driving improved a lot after my little oops. I slid my cheeks around on the seat like a champ. In the open areas, I hit the throttle a little harder than I wanted because I really wanted to not be a chicken. I’m pretty sure our guide thought I was a chicken. The wind was kicking up, and the blowing snow was making it more difficult to stick to the trail. We took lots of breaks to make sure I was feeling good. 

I WAS feeling good. I was slowly outgrowing my chicken phase. I wanted to go fast! Feeling confident, I revved the engine and took off. I plowed right into our guide’s snow cloud in front of us. Suddenly, it was a whiteout! Where was the guide? Where was the trail? I slowed down. The guide reappeared. I got excited and took off again. Whiteout again! 

The guide was intentionally staying closer to me than he had with Tyler. By the end of the trip, I was convinced that the guide didn’t want me to go fast. Maybe he saw me almost tip the snowmobile after all. Had my fast privileges been revoked after that little blunder? Or was it a perfectly reasonable response to the wind and snow? I’ll never know how fast I could have gone on that snowmobile, but it’s probably better that way. I am fully aware that I am not the gifted driver in our marriage, and that’s okay. I have lots of other talents, like tipping snowmobiles over!

I would be remiss if I end this blog post without a shoutout to the Brooks Lake Lodge. Brooks Lake Lodge, located 20 miles from Togwotee, was the halfway point for our snowmobile tour. In the winter, snowmobiles or snow coaches are the only methods of travel to Brooks Lake Lodge. How cool is that? Without the rumble of traffic, the mountains seemed to crowd close. The snow lay like a feather quilt over the soft hills. It was quiet, elegant, and rustic. It was interesting to think about how life used to be like this all the time. Quiet, uninterrupted, still.

Nothing closes out this blog post better than my Facebook post from that evening. I’ll let it speak for itself here:

“Rounding off an adventurous 2024, today we went snowmobiling in Wyoming! We had never tried snowmobiling and both loved it even more than we thought we would! The temperatures hovered somewhere in the single digits for our 40-mile trek, which is really a testament to good snow suits and my Amazon heated mittens. 

(Seriously, my mittens were amazing!)

Wyoming’s scenery never disappoints. Even when conditions neared white-outs, the new snow sparkled with fresh opportunity. I don’t have anything wise to sum up 2024. I just have a lot of things to be thankful for! I’m so blessed to have Tyler as my husband, travel buddy, partner, and role model. We’re blessed to have our families, friends, and our little dog too. Thank you, all, for being here with us. Love and blessings for your 2025! Here we come, new year!”