You’ve probably seen them, those early-morning dots inching their way up Mt. Bachelor while you’re still in the parking lot, buckling boots. They’re the “earn your turns” crowd. The folks who climb Leeway for a little prework exercise or to tag the Cone without using a lift. But look closely and you’ll spot the serious ones: with skinny skis, tiny packs and tight-fitting outerwear. They move with quiet purpose, part monk, part mountain goat, and entirely unfazed by the fact that they’re skiing the “wrong” direction.

These aren’t casual uphillers. They’re ski mountaineers, a niche-but-growing group dedicated to endurance, efficiency and the counter-intuitive joy of going uphill fast to go downhill even faster. Once a year, they all converge for a kind of reunion-slash-sufferfest called VertFest, Bend’s annual celebration of all things uphill on snow.

The Idea of VertFest

“The idea of VertFest was really to get the backcountry community together in a single space,” said Trevor Miller, cofounder of the event. It’s Central Oregon’s yearly dive into “verticulture” and the world of ski mountaineering, or “skimo” to those in the know. Part race, part backcountry skills clinic, part block party for people who think uphill is the fun direction, the event raises money for the Central Oregon Avalanche Center (COAC) while giving skiers and riders a safe, structured space to learn backcountry travel skills.

The race features multiple divisions, including the beginner-friendly Rookie Rally, a one lap, up and down of the Cone. The elite course threads its way up Leeway to Pine Marten Lodge, drops into Ed’s Garden, climbs back up and descends to Red Chair twice. Alongside the racing are gear demos, beacon workshops, kids’ activities, and a crowd of friendly masochists who show up simply because movement in the mountains feels good.

In the Know of Skimo

At its core, skimo is backcountry skiing stripped down and sped up. Instead of hunting powder on wider skis, skimo athletes climb on ultralight gear with skis barely wider than a hand, and boots that often weigh less than a pizza. Like backcountry skiers, they rely on climbing skins and walk-mode bindings to move efficiently uphill. At the top, they rip off skins, lock heels, ski down and do it again as fast as their lungs allow. It’s part endurance race, part mountain craft and part gear-shaving obsession.

“The smallest detail can make a difference—like how you pack your skins, which line you ski, the gear you choose,” Miller said. Even downhill skiing becomes strategic. As elite racer Chris Jones puts it, “People think it’s all uphill, but a huge amount of time is in transitions and how you ski downhill.”

Jones, now in his 40s, made his name as a professional cyclist racing at the national and international level before turning his competitive instincts toward the mountains. When he discovered ski mountaineering, he found a sport that blended endurance, efficiency and technical skill, an appealing constellation after years of structured bike racing. The transition stuck. He quickly became one of Central Oregon’s top skimo athletes, made the U.S. National Team and won VertFest in 2024. What keeps him hooked isn’t just the competition, he said, but the simple thrill of “going fast in the mountains and trying to be efficient.”

Miller sees that same appeal in the people who show up for VertFest every season. While the event attracts a handful of elite racers, he says, “Ninety percent of the people are friends and family who just want to support the backcountry concept.”

That communal magic is part of why skimo has taken root in Bend’s skin-track culture, where a parade of beanies bobbing uphill at 7 a.m. is nearly as common as a Sprinter van in the West Village lot. For athletes like Jones, that shared grind can be addictive. “It’s a lot of fun,” he said.

Founding a Mountain Festival

VertFest itself began humbly with roots that go back to the King and Queen of the Cone. This was a proudly homespun race organized around 2010 by educator and local outdoor fixture Kevin Grove. Around the same time, Miller and his friend Jon Tapper were building what would become COAC, then a volunteer group offering avalanche education and snowpack summaries for backcountry travelers. As the backcountry community grew, so did the desire for an event that blended education with celebration.

The spark to found a festival came from the wider Northwest skimo world. Grassroots races at places like Crystal Mountain and Alpental Ski Resort enjoyed support from deep-pocket sponsors like Outdoor Research as well as the Northwest Avalanche Center. When Outdoor Research tied those races into a regional series in the early 2010s, Miller and Tapper saw an opportunity for Bend. They brought VertFest to Mt. Bachelor in 2012, and the response was immediate. The series eventually dissolved elsewhere, but COAC kept VertFest going because the Central Oregon community clearly cared.

Today, VertFest feels like the natural expression of Bend’s mountain culture: part fundraiser, part workshop, part joyful winter chaos. It’s one of those unique events where elite racers and first-timers share at least part of the same course before gathering afterward to trade stories about blown skins, steep bootpacks, and whatever weather the mountain delivered.

And if you expect a podium of superhuman twenty-somethings, you’d be thinking of the women only. Athletes such as Anna Gibson, Sarah Burke and Samantha Marin, who’ve all shared the podium, were in their twenties when they earned their medals. But VertFest’s fastest male elite racers tend to be in their early to mid-40s, and in the 2025 race, a 60-year-old was a top finisher. Along with Jones, ultrarunner Max King and this year’s champion, Andrew Parsel—who jumped from fifth to first—have all claimed podium spots. Like high-altitude mountaineering, the best skimo athletes have a lot of experience.

But for all the carbon gear and lung-searing effort, VertFest isn’t really about wattage or winning. It’s about what makes mountain life in Bend so magnetic: people getting outside together, testing themselves, and sharing something steep and beautiful in winter.

As Miller puts it, “Even if you’re slow, there’s still an enjoyable element of climbing through the woods under human power with views of those mountains.”