It was the spring of 2018 when I wrote my last column on the subject of winter powersports titled “My complicated relationship with snowmobiling.” In it I attested that despite having the basics of being able to go, stop and turn a hulking snowmobile while on a groomed trail, I had no skill to pilot said machine in deep snow or uneven terrain. Sledding was still a distant pipedream that was neither affordable nor practical at the time.
After a few years of ever-increasing crowding in both the resort lift lines and backcountry trailheads, after seeing friends who made the jump into sledding have way more fun on a busy Saturday, after getting doubled into new terrain and seeing the potential sled ownership could bring, with a mid-life crisis manifesting, I finally made the decision to invest in the sport. Before I dive into the practicalities, I’ll first speak about the barriers to entry.
Money. Let’s not beat around the bush—owning and riding a sled is akin to lighting money on fire. Expensive machine, (very) expensive oil and gasoline, expensive maintenance, expensive accessories, expensive vehicle to haul your toy around. Yes, you can finance a new sled with a warranty straight from the dealership (supply-chain issues notwithstanding), but you still have to fuel and transport your shiny new toy. You also need a reliable and safe way to load and unload from a truck or trailer and pay a mandatory trail fee at pretty much all the popular snowmobiling zones. So make sure you have a somewhat reliable income, especially if you intend to do anything else in your life besides snowmobiling.
Space. Also a deal-breaker for many aspiring sled owners. My machine (from ski tips to rear bumper) is 345 centimetres (11.5 feet) long, making it a tricky proposition if you live in a suite or share house with limited parking space or you reside in a condo building with fascist strata policies. Storing your sled on the back of your truck for the entire winter isn’t great for the sled or your truck. Some sledders get around that by housing their machine in a commercial storage unit. You also need off-season storage for up to eight months of the year, so factor that into your decision.
Conscience. This one is easier for some people than others. To sled you need to accept the fact that you are burning gas and oil and emitting more than your share of carbon. Electric machines are on the way, but I personally don’t feel I need to abstain from this activity until it becomes more carbon-neutral. As long as sledders behave like good backcountry citizens by not abandoning broken-down machines or leaving litter in the mountains, they have a right to enjoy the mountains the way they like.
With those barriers noted, let’s get to the practical part of actually entering the sport. I’ll highlight some of the purchase decisions I made, but keep in mind there are plenty of other ways to get started with snowmobiling.
The used market is where most new sledders start. You can pick up something that will do the job for less than $5,000, but if you intend to learn how to carve in deep snow and put a lot of kilometres on it, put some money aside for the inevitable servicing. Spending $3,000 or less might work for strictly ski access (i.e. sled just goes up and down logging roads), but even then, breakdowns when you are 15 kilometres from your vehicle will be problematic.
At the other end of the spectrum, a new sled from the dealership can cost more than $20,000. I chose to split the difference and picked up a 2017 Ski-Doo Summit SP with a moderate amount of kilometres on the engine for under $9,000. Just like bikes, seasonal supply and demand will dictate market prices.
Now for the transport. If you don’t have space for a trailer or don’t like trying to manoeuvre them at crowded trailheads, you’ll need a pickup truck. Mid-size will work for a single snowmobile in the back. If it’s a truck you care about, consider installing airbag canisters on your rear suspension to improve both wear and tear and handling of the vehicle ($600 to $800 including installation). Your truck may be rated for the load, but adding the weight of a sled deck, ramp and all the other bits will add up.
There are many ways to configure your truck to carry a sled. The simplest is to load it straight into the bed using a folding ramp (costing a few hundred dollars) that you secure to the tailgate, usually with a ratchet strap. This method comes with the added excitement of effectively jumping your sled into the back of your truck, a risky business when you’re still learning the power of your machine. There are plenty of horror stories of sleds entering the rear window or even landing on the hood of the truck, damaging both beyond recognition. A good headache rack can protect the rear window of your truck, but colliding your sled with hefty steel bars will still cause damage to the sled’s bumpers and panels. I decided on a tilting deck loader, where I drive up a deck-ramp, get off the machine and then tilt and pull the whole assembly onto the truck with mechanical advantage. It’s a bit more expensive, complicated and time consuming, but I can load and unload my sled without fear of damaging my sled, truck or both. The tilting deck loader set me back more than $1,000 including necessary modifications to the bed of my Tacoma.
Then, there’s all the other accessories you may need: a tunnel rack to attach your skis/boards, a DOT helmet, a two-way radio, a jerry can for longer trips, and avalanche safety equipment (if you don’t already have it).
There’s a lot to procure when getting started with sledding, but if you set yourself up for success with the right equipment and a problem-solving attitude, the reward is worth it. More on that another time.
Vince Shuley has nine days on his sled and is somehow feeling good about the cost invested. For questions, comments or suggestions for The Outsider email [email protected] or Instagram @whis_vince.
