White Knuckles and Fine Living at Burgdorf Hot Springs

01 A hot stove, four walls, a soft bed
and comfy chair—this is midwinter backcountry luxury.
White Knuckles and Fine Living
at Burgdorf Hot Springs
Words, Photos and Captions Greg Call
02 On the first line of the trip, Martin
Campbell stomps a hefty pillow to
pillow transfer.
Q
uarter-sized snowflakes cake
onto the windshield as Martin
Campbell, Dylan Holt, Evan
Williams and I pull up to a
large parking lot outside of
the small western Idaho town of McCall. A
handful of cars and trucks are buried under
several feet of snow, but a steady flow of
people move through the lot. Some are
year-round residents on grocery runs from
the old mining towns of Secesh and Warren, which are only accessible via snow
machine during winter. The rest are slednecks in search of late-March powder. Our
destination bridges the gap between the
two groups—we will be making the 20-mile
journey to Burgdorf Hot Springs near Warren in search of solitude and rarely ridden
lines in the Payette National Forest.
The pilgrimage to this trailside oasis has been
made for nearly 150 years, since German
immigrant Fred Burgdorf obtained the property in 1870 after an unsuccessful pursuit of
gold. He built a hotel around the natural hot
pools. He also built a reputation for providing luxury accommodations and dining—a
place to relax and rejuvenate for the estimated
17,000 miners who populated the surrounding towns during the gold rush that turned
Idaho from an untamed wilderness into a
settled territory. While the definition of luxury has changed over the years, and the gold
rush towns have all but disappeared, Burgdorf retains a certain frontier comfort.
It takes nearly 40 minutes with loaded
sled tubs on a freshly resurfaced trail to
reach the 15 cabins that make up the current rendition of Burgdorf. Although it is a
year-round facility, winter is more of a selfsupported setup. Owners Connie and Scott
Harris provide a fully stocked wood stove,
comfy beds and simple furnishings, including some fine burl woodworking from past
craftsmen, but they also require that you
bring your own sleeping bags and some
food. There is a limited food menu, as well
as premium gasoline for purchase. Right
outside the cabins sits the highlight of Burgdorf: low-sulfur, crystal-clear, mineral-rich
hot springs. The water flows at a consistent
150 gallons per minute into two small log
pools at 113 degrees Fahrenheit, just as it
has since the late 1800s. The small pools
feed into a larger 50x75-foot pool. Not bad
for $35 per night. The true luxury of Burgdorf comes with the easy access to the highly
varied terrain in the Salmon River Mountains of central Idaho: pillows, chutes, cliff
bands, technical lines and wide-open glades.
It’s thousands of acres of terrain with no
competition and smooth trails to get
there—luxury indeed.
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03 The last day of the trip
was a one-run day. After
seven years of recon,
Martin Campbell let
Dylan Holt (pictured)
drop first on the “S
chute.” Good thing there
was plenty of room for
Martin to add a second
track. Cross another one
off the bucket list.
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05
07
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04 Burl wood gathered from
the area was used in
much of the carpentry
work in the cabins by
craftsmen of the past.
This staircase lined with
burl leads to the sleeping
quarters of the cabin
known as The Hornet’s
Nest.
05 With the alpine socked
in by weather, Martin
Campbell opted for a
poolside mini-shred
session.
06 Throughout Burgdorf are
small details created by
past craftsmen that give
the place character. This
wood-hewn “B” greets
visitors upon arrival at
the main office.
07 Current caretakers Jim
and Caroline Huntley
will graciously get you
checked in and settled
into your turn-of-thecentury cabin. They
stock the wood for cold
nights and will even cook
you up a hot meal in the
main lodge after a long
soak in the hot springs.
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08 A short but intense line: two long turns
and a sizeable diving-board exit for
Dylan Holt.
The ease of access becomes apparent
when Martin, our officially unofficial guide
and McCall local, diverts us off the approach
and onto a trail that leads to a cornucopia of
pillow lines. Vertically stacked switchbacks
make for easy shuttles. With relentless snowfall and high avalanche danger limiting our
access to alpine lines, these short shots are
perfect for low-consequence riding with
high enjoyment and keep us busy into the
evening. A similar zone nearby will keep us
occupied for day two, and will allow the
storm to lift and give time for the snowpack
to settle. But even after two days of pillowbashing, we hardly scratch the surface of the
abundance of similar zones at our disposal.
By the third morning, the sun finally
comes out. We are anxious to get to bigger
terrain. Morning rituals out of the way, we
are flying down the trail to get a first look at
the surrounding alpine. Following Martin, I
notice multiple zones that seem to have easy
access and fun features, and I can’t help but
to wonder why we are blowing past them.
Then I remember that when we were planning this trip Martin had mentioned a line
off Storm Peak he called the “S-Chute.” He
had been scouting it for the last seven years.
Sure enough, when we pull up to a cirque
featuring two prominent chutes, Martin
explains his plans: “Right over that ridge is
where you drop into the hole to get to
Storm.” Dropping into the hole consists of a
2,000-plus-foot vertical drop into the next
drainage. He had made the approach once
before without riding the chute. He had
explained it to me prior to the trip. “You’ll
be fine,” he said, then followed up by
explaining the potential consequences of a
mistake, which boiled down to two options:
“One choice is to get the sled heli lifted out,
or the second choice is to come back with
parts and tools before the spring melt and
repair it on site.”
So I’d be fine—as long as I didn’t blow the
technical climb and descent and wreck my
snowmobile.
I chose to focus on the positives in front of
me instead of dwelling on the future potential negatives. This zone was a great change
from the previous two days. We could get on
some steeper terrain and drop some larger
cliffs. It seemed a nice change of pace. Then
the clouds came in and effectively shut down
alpine access. Weather changes fast on the
western edge of the Rockies. “Burgdorf is in
a weather hole,” Dylan explained. “There
have been multiple times that we see the sun
and expect to have clear conditions in the
zones, but when we get there they are gray as
can be.” At least we had a solid down day
setup at the hot springs.
The next morning, our final day of the
trip, we again awake to clear skies. Yesterday
was too much of a tease—we quickly decide
to roll the weather dice and give Storm Peak
a shot. We load up the sleds with all our gear
and leave Burgdorf only to be met with
looming gray skies. Still, we stash our overnight gear at the Storm Peak turnoff and
press onward. Visibility may not be optimal,
but the snow has had another day to settle,
making travel both safer and easier. We gain
the ridge and drop in.
The slope is steep, with several blind convex rolls and burnt timber, which could easily
act as Plinko pegs if one of us were to lose
control. The fact that we are on 500-pound
machines only makes it worse and I can’t get
the worst-case scenario out of my head. “You’ll
be fine,” I tell myself, echoing Martin’s assurances. He’s right. We reach a creek at the bottom of the drainage and point our machines
uphill once again. The line comes into view
through burnt-out trees: sheer, 50-foot-plus
rock walls carve a mirrored “S” into the mountainside. It’s one of the more visually appealing
lines I’ve ever encountered. After a brief meeting at the bottom of the chute, I head back
down the drainage for a clear shot while Martin and Dylan ascend via splitboard.
Watching as the pair work their way
toward the top, the clouds move through
rapidly, becoming thicker and grayer with
every passing minute. An hour later, Martin’s voice comes over the radio: “Dylan is
getting ready to drop.” Even after seven years
of waiting, Martin is graciously giving the
line to Dylan after losing the roshambo. But
there’s enough room for two and both riders
make it down in good fashion.
When we meet at the bottom of the runout, snowflakes are already beginning to fill
the air. Our window is closing. We pin it for
the hole, cresting the ridge with white
knuckles and handfuls of throttle. As we
reach the trail again, we take a break and
hook up to our sled tubs for the commute
back to civilization. “You’ve wanted to ride
that line for seven years,” I say to Martin.
“Why didn’t you just take the first drop?”
“That’s just one line on my list,” he says.
“I’ll get the next one.”
At Burgdorf Hot Springs, there are countless more drainages to be explored, hundreds
of lines to be ridden. It feels like this is just
the beginning.
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