If everyone's smiling, no one has to wear a pack or worry about avalanches, and you're riding chairlifts, you're enjoying some Type I fun. Ryan Dunfee.
On a base level, everything you could ever do in the outdoors qualifies as fun. From bluebird pow days off the high-speed quad to grueling multi-day backpacking trips in the rain and sleet, it's all better than being at work, and thus fun. But do you know how to properly classify the type of fun you're about to embark on this weekend?
You may have overheard someone at the trailhead talking about some "Type II fun" and enduring some burly outing to bag a peak, so we here at TGR wanted to make sure you understood how to properly define the 3.5 types of fun so that you can properly describe your adventures to your parents or the person you're hitting on at the bar.
Type I Fun
Dustin Mainland having himself some Type 1 fun in the Whistler Bike Park. Ryan Dunfee photo.
Explained: Type I fun is fun the entire time you're doing it. It never sucks, you're never glad it's over, and just want it to keep going on and on.
Eligible activities: Riding powder, riding slush, drinking cocktails on a boat, lift-served or shuttle-assisted mountain biking, really anything lift-served, fly fishing, aprés.
Type 1.5 Fun
TGR Contributor Ian "Oceanman" Tarbox, earning his turns on a Type 1.5 fun outing. Ryan Dunfee photo.
Explained: Usually unaccounted for in normal fun scales, Type 1.5 fun sucks at some juncture, usually at whatever point you have to climb, but kicks ass and is all smiles later on, usually on the descent.
Eligible activities: Ski or splitboard touring, ski mountaineering, big cross-country epics on the bike, surfing on big days, home brewing beer.
Type II Fun
Former TGR intern Taylor Graham is also about the Type II fun. Here he is running 40 miles and 10,000 vertical feet in one day. Fun?
Explained: Type II fun sucks the entire time you are doing it, but you are excited to either brag about it at the bar later or look back on it and value it as a character-building episode. People in the Tetons love it for both reasons.
Eligible activities: Mountain running, randonee racing, Tough Mudders, ski mountaineering when all you get to ski is rotten snow and/or ice, hiking the Appalachian or Pacific Crest trails. For Teton locals, see The Grand Teton Picnic, in which participants bike 20 miles, swim 1.3 miles across Jenny Lake, hike 7,000 vertical feet to the top of the Grand Teton... then do the entire thing in reverse.
Type III Fun
Ernest Shackleton practically invented Type III fun during his failed 1914 expedition to cross Antartica. Here, he and several members of his crew land the 20-foot rowboat they used to cross 720 miles of open ocean in 80-foot seas to reach the backside of an island that had a whaling station on it, portending a rescue. Unfortunately, they were on the wrong side, and had to cross 32 miles of glaciers, mountains, and ice that had never been mapped before, including a finish in a glacial creek, before reaching civilization. Serious Type III fun.
Explained: Type III fun is never fun while you're doing it, you often feel your life is threatened, certain doom is usually at hand, and half the time it ends in a harrowing rescue. Afterwards, you swear to never attempt anything similar ever again.
Eligible activities: Failed polar expeditions, Apollo 13, sailing around the world solo, anything described in a Jon Krakauer novel, what these guys did.
My Sprinter was a dream to drive, but the living quarters were a problem. Things were always sliding around and it was hard to keep anything organized. I started building a list of features I wanted to put into my van. As the list grew, I realized that I needed to remove everything and start from scratch. I knew coming up with good design was key. I needed a well thought-out space that served multiple functions and had built-in incentives for keeping my stuff orderly. I spent a lot of time
Empty, head high waves break consistently across the beach. No one but a couple buddies are in the line up. I catch every wave for which I paddle. It feels like heaven, except to the muscles in my shoulders and back. Living on the wrong side of Vancouver Island my body is not surf fit. I make the pilgrimage to the west coast every couple months, but that's not enough to keep the body in paddling shape. With nothing to do on this boat-access-only beach but surf, the tendons and muscles in
It’s difficult to find a skier whose life has been affected more by the Little Cottonwood Canyon than Johnny Collinson, except maybe his older sister Angel. The twenty-four year old professional skier grew up in the employee housing section of Snowbird. His father was the assistant Director of Snow Safety/Mountain Operations and had Johnny and Angel ripping around the canyon at a young age. He built a bunk bed into a five by seven closet in their small apartment that became Johnny and