Deep Turns, No Photos
“Chest deep in the trees today!!!”
It was a Tuesday morning, and it had been snowing all week. Eli, my friend who helps manage the ski school at Willamette Pass Ski Area, had gotten a run in early before work and passed along the conditions to me via text. I flipped over to the weather forecast on my phone and took a look at the next few days. 4-6” on Wednesday, over 12” that night. Very quickly, the powder flu took hold. I used one of the personal days that I had been saving to head up to the mountain early Thursday morning with Emily, my partner, to join Eli and Sara, his wife. We’ve known each other for a very long time, but it was the first time we’d been able to ski together in years—the last time we made it happen we were all living in Montana, hanging on to a windswept snowpack by the skin of our teeth. That wasn’t going to be the case today. It was deep out there.
Before we finished our warm up run, we knew the day was going to be special. Sometimes (most of the time), big snowfalls in the Pacific Northwest result in thick, dense fields of snow. That day was different. That day, we were floating on top of light snow the consistency of satin. We quickly ducked into the trees off of Peak 2, an area I had the privilege of showing my friends around. I took off down a steep section and laughed at how slow I descended the steep angle. It was like riding an elevator down! The landing was soft and deep, and I hooped and hollered the rest of the way down through the best turns I’d had in years.
The rest of the day was a dream. It was the kind of day you tell stories about when you’re an old man, reminiscing on days when your knees weren’t so stiff and a quick shot of vodka warmed you up enough to skip lunch and keep on riding. By the end of it, we were all covered in snow from head to toe.
As I rode Peak 2 up for the last time that day, I realized that I hadn’t taken a single photo. The past several hours had been primo from beginning to end, but how would anyone know? How could I tell the story without proof that it happened? If you shred and no one sees it, did you really shred? I pulled out my camera.
Dead.
It had somehow turned on in my backpack hours ago and the battery had given out. The snow gods had made a decision for me. This day wasn’t for anybody else. Sometimes that’s how it’s meant to be. I smiled, shoved my camera back in the bag, and headed towards the front side. The day wasn’t over yet, and even at the end the snow wasn’t even close to being tracked out. I hopped back into the trees with my friends, doing my best to take it all in a few more times before the day ended.
