Category: skiing

Permission to slack

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While I was off cycling the midwest, I spent some quality time thinking about this blog. Now that I have a handle on what I want to write about and how I want to write it, I feel comfortable creating a kind of mission statement.

Like any mission statement, this is both a statement of purpose and a statement of intent reflecting the values that I bring to the words I write here… You’ll find the most updated text through the About link to zee left (as well as a brief auto-bio of yours truly), but I want to place it here, too. Front and center.

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Slackcountry Living is a ski blog that isn’t about the biggest cliff, the deepest pow, or spinning dinner rolls like Jonny Mo. (Although, fingers crossed that these topics come up. But trust me; I won’t be the one doing the dinner-rolling.)

It’s about getting out and enjoying what you got, be it tight trees or breakaway gates, fluffy white or hard ice. When it’s too warm for riding, it’s about the joy of getting outside and living where there are no doors.

No matter the season, this blog is about slacking off – but not in the sense of shirking responsibility or looking for the easy way out. Instead, slacking off means not taking everything so seriously. You don’t need the latest gear or gnarliest terrain to love what you do. All you need is you.

Relax. It’s just skiing.

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Why this mission statement?

Because I want to support the athletes riding with crooked poles, ski boots with duct tape on the toes, and hand-me-down clothes. I want to shout out to the kids heading outdoors even though their friends would rather go to the mall or play video games or whatever it is kids do these days. Because that’s who I am, too.

We have better things to do than be snooty to someone who can’t afford the latest, lightest binding.

“We are here to drink beer. We are here to kill war. We are here to laugh at the odds and live our lives so well that Death will tremble to take us.”

(Charles Bukowski)

Slap me if I start getting pretentious, okay? Otherwise – enjoy. Love your wilderness.

Double chair Stowe

The Other Thing: On Adventuring Alone

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Mud boots, rock skisThis is the other thing I wanted to talk about. But first, I’ll start with a kind of a disclaimer. To quote Haruki Murakami: “I’m the type of person who doesn’t find it painful to be alone.” This has been true forever. I enjoy the company of others, sure, but I need a certain amount of alone time to feel rested and complete.

For years, however, I was under the impression that this need for solitude was ‘antisocial’ and therefore bad or wrong. I worked very hard to suppress this drive for solitude, which meant that several years were more difficult than they had to be. Not in the sense that I was picked on or otherwise mistreated. Simply in the sense that I was more tired more often than I needed to be. Constant social fatigue wore away at my self-confidence, spilling over from the social sphere and into my adventure sphere. Fear of going out and doing something by myself (and fear of somehow failing or running into trouble in the woods alone) meant that I didn’t get out into the wild anywhere near as much as I wanted and needed.

It’s taken several more years now of practicing doing things alone again, but I’m finding joy in the rehearsal. It started small with going to cafés to work or quietly sip tea. Then, a few bars. (I love reading in bars. I don’t do it often because interruptions annoy me, but bar-reading is great.) Or the beach. Or driving to the resort alone to link a few turns in the lift-served playground. These places are as pleasant and enjoyable by yourself as they are when in a group.

Smiling in May on Snow at StoweAnd then there was yesterday – earning my turns in calm, satisfied solitude. The peace of walking upwards and the exhilarating joy of sliding back down again.

Of course, there were other people out enjoying the day – hikers with their children or dogs, other riders in small groups. We flashed smiles to one another and commented on the weather, but for the most part I was by myself. Then, when I finally arrived home, I hopped on my bicycle to ride to the beach and lay stretched out on a towel writing the rough draft of these two blog posts. Eventually, I headed back into town to join friends for dinner, drinks, and laughter.

This perfect day was all due to the realization that yeah, I got this. I woke up Monday morning with the confidence in myself, my gear, and my ingenuity to get up and have an adventure doing what I love. If I got hurt on the mountain, I had a plan. If I locked myself out of my car, I didn’t have a plan, but I’m sure I would have figured something out.

Maybe this is just a small thing, but like icebergs, even small-seeming things can be quite large.

Gondolier Stowe

Just as earning your turns lets you experience both the Uphill and the Downhill, so too does following what you love give you the opportunity to be both Together and Alone. There’s nothing quite like stopping halfway through a powder run to trade high-fives with your friends, but there’s also nothing quite like savoring a mountain that is yours and yours alone.

This is what I wish I learned years ago: whether you’re in the middle of a crowd or standing all alone, just keep doing what you love. Everything else will fall into rhythm.

You got this.

Go have an adventure.

Uphill People, Downhill People

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For many, Memorial Day is the unofficial start of summer. Families roll out barbecue grills. Co-eds drink beer in folding lawn chairs.

Pro Tip: Always match your beer can to your ski graphics.
Pro Tip: Always match your beer can to your graphics.

Today, Memorial Day 2013, I went skiing.

Between Saturday night and Sunday, a beautiful nor’easter dumped 8″ on the summit of Mt. Mansfield (and 3 feet on New York’s White Face). The lowlands were pelted with rain. Monday morning had me waking up to sunshine and blue skies. Naturally, I threw my skis into my car and high-tailed it for the hills.

All day, two thoughts circled through my mind. One I’ll write about now. The other I will save for the next blog post.

The first: Brendan Leonard over at Semi-Rad wrote about a divide between Uphill People and Downhill People. He is of the former – finding pleasure in the journey UP, whether it’s sending a climbing route or skinning into the backcountry. As he describes, “I enjoy the Zen rhythm of methodically skinning up the snow, forcing myself to stay at a pace that I could hold for an hour straight without stopping…”

I have a deep appreciation for the uphill. Movement is my meditation, after all; the more all-consuming the better. This morning, I took a round-about way up to avoid the sight and sounds of other hikers (all four of them). In no time at all, I fell into a natural, steady pace. With no one to catch up to or slow down for, I simply walked forward. And up.

It was a warm day in the sun, but the wind flowing downhill was cold. It picked up the smell of the snow and beckoned me ever forward.

I stopped to eat lunch below the gondola summit and leaned again the pylon. Here, the snow lay inches thick and heavy with the morning’s warmth. I felt no need to walk any higher. The tops of things don’t interest me, particularly when I’m hungry and surrounded by snow. By the time I was done eating, the cold wind had picked up and drove me to my skis.

Clicked in and buckled up, I pushed off. The first turn wasn’t so good. Neither was the second. But, as I made my third arc, I hit the rhythm and my face exploded into a wide, open-mouthed grin. I turned off Gondolier and onto Switchback – which was perhaps not the brightest idea. Riding down Switchback meant navigating over ditches and large rocks while sliding on a fifty-fifty mix of snow and small rocks. I loved every minute of it. I was drunk on the same heady elation that overcomes me on long powder runs. It’s a thick, rich, sweet feeling of absolute thankfulness. (I imagine this is analogous to drinking Turkish Coffee.)

The most fun I've had since I discovered my brother's afraid of worms.
The most fun I’ve had since I discovered my brother’s afraid of worms.

See, I’m a Downhill Person. I love stepping down, then down again, then down once more, ever faster as momentum builds. I love the jarring shock of my legs absorbing the full weight of me with each step or turn. When I ski, I fly downhill. When I hike, I run downhill. When I am in the throes of a moment I want to savor forever, I run downhill. Even when I’m afraid, I find it’s best to take a deep breath and go downhill.

If the uphill is meditation, the downhill is ecstasy. At speed, I am released to being the child flying, arms flailing, as she runs into the arms of her mother.

(Aside: My love of the downhill is funny, because I am afraid of heights. But I think much of my fear isn’t fear at all, simply a horrified reaction to l’appel du vide. The call is strong in me. It stubbornly persists, insisting that I could fly if only I jumped. I long to fly. If I could, I would fly as high as Icarus, then drop like a peregrine, only to open my wings and climb once more. This is why I ski. It is my answer to l’appel du vide.)

The balance between Uphill and Downhill is the joy of earning your turns. By going both ways, reap the benefits of both motions and mindsets. The zen and the ecstasy – or whatever it is that goes through your heart as you get out there and enjoy.

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How did you spend your Memorial Day weekend – going Uphill or Downhill? (Or relaxing around a grill?)

Sugar, Spice, Almost Everything Nice: Head Sweet Ones

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As promised, a proper write up on my darlings. Consider this the official review for the 2011 Head Sweet Ones. You remember them – the skis with the stupid shiny W.

Head shot. ........ get it?
Head shot.
……. get it?

After a full winter riding these babies, I can say… they are a whole world of difference from my old skis.

The Sweet Ones are soft and flexible with plenty of play in the ride. They eat up groomers and the fluffy white with ease.

All that flexibility comes at a price, though. When the going gets variable, the ride gets real weird. When alternating between ice, crud, and soft, the flex works against you. Especially at high speeds, they chatter and bounce uncomfortably. On the one hand, this can make the run interesting (and therefore more fun), especially when riding a more relaxed day with friends with lower top speeds. But when it comes to hard performance riding on variable snow, the Sweeties get left in the car. (Don’t worry – I always leave the window open a crack so they can breathe.)

This pair is a little longer than my old skis (Rossignol Cobras from the annals of history), and I swear I can feel it. There have been times in the woods when I’ve misjudged my turns, only to get tangled up in the undergrowth. Some of these control issues probably stem from my boots, which are way too old and way too stiff.

What really took a while to get used to was my sudden ability to carve in powder. With my old, stiff, skinny skis, turning in the deep was more of an aggressive wiggle (or, in the words of Freeride Skier, “bounce up and down in an energetic fashion”). But with the extra surface area and forgiving softness, I could turn. In the snow. Believe me. This was a revelation.

My main complaint really isn’t much of a complaint – I hate the twin tips. But not as much as the people behind me hate the twin tips. They kick up a serious amount of snow and really piss off whoever is riding behind me. Because I am polite, this meant I spent a lot of time at the tail end of my skiing crew, morosely chewing up the leftovers.

The bottom line, these are great skis that do a lot of heavy lifting. They are a joy to ride – most of the time – and when they’re not, my old stiffies are more than up for the job. But, there were only two or three days where I absolutely had to ride my old skis for the added stability (not counting race days, when the old parabolic curve kicked ass).

The winged W is still stupid.

From Snow to Beach in 7 Days

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In the span of a week, my photostream transformed from this:

Jay Peak Springtime
73º and sunny – April 28, 2013

To this:

It also comes in pints.
It also comes in pints. May 5, 2013

Now, my routine has turned to running and long bike rides along the water.

Running-wise, my mileage is low and the pace steady. It’s taking time for my body to re-align after a cold winter spent locked in to stiff ski boots. Monday morning’s brisk 2 mile jog was the first time I really felt myself hitting the perfect stride – forefoot striking with balance and energy.

As to the cycling, I confess. I’m not much of a biker. My dad and elder brothers are pretty into it, so I made a point to not be. But, after a 14 mile spin along the waterfront, I’m starting to see the appeal: the gratifying sensation of speed, the pleasure of exercising in the sun, and, more importantly… a built-in air conditioner! It’s no skiing, but at least it’s cool.

I’m looking forward to getting back to the mountains, though. First for hiking, then trail running, picking up the pace as I train for the Spartan Race. I did the 3 mile version last year, and am looking forward to the long form. Nothing sounds like more fun that running up and down a mountain through mud, under obstacles, over rope ladders… and through a gauntlet of gladiators.

There’s a lot I’m looking forward to this summer, but don’t expect the ski talk to disappear completely. I’ll be writing up a review of my new skis (Head’s Sweet Ones) in a few days, and I’m sure I’ll find some other way to keep the snow alive this summer.

How’s your spring going? Are you keeping the snow alive?

Spring on the summit of Jay Peak

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What an amazing day.

Day 29 and I’m sunburnt, happy, and completely content. I fully intended to tap out at 30 – to hit that magical round number. (This is my first year counting days. Something I picked up from the ever-inspiring Female Ski Bum.)

But, if this is the day I end on, then so be it.

View from Jay Peak
You should definitely view this full-sized.

I conned/bribed/begged a friend to come with me to Jay Peak. He’d never been, so it was a extra joy to introduce him to one of my favorite mountains (and the tram – he’d never been on one before!).

It was 63º at the base when we arrived. Then, we skied snow at the sweet spot between the consistency of corn and mashed potatoes. Wide open trails, hardly a crowd… we didn’t even mind that there were really only a few ways from top to base. At the summit, we could see straight to Mt Washington.

Ride life.
Sunny with a chance of Craig.

Lunch was the Jay Peak meal of champions: two salads, a plate of hot poutine (my favorite food group. I’m mad for poutine.) and a 24oz can of Molson.

A few more runs, and we were both cooked. Back at the car, the thermometer read 73º.

I can think of no better way to end the 2012-2013 ski season than this: sunburnt and happy sipping on a fresh, cold Switchback.

Last Days, Blue Skies

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The sky was blue, the sun was warm.

Bluebird at the Quad
I didn’t mean those things I said. I love you! Don’t let me go!

28 days doesn’t seem like very many.

28 days of new friends and old. 28 days of powder measured in inches and the distance between two gates measured in seconds.

28 days later, I want 28 more days of snow and cold and bluebird (and graybird. I am from New England after all).

Spring on Mt Mansfield
Before the crowd.

The inevitable thaw continues on, although it’s not over until it’s over. Jay Peak is holding on, as is Killington. Sugarbush, too.

28 days. Why not squeeze in a few more?

The drive along home

Less than Stoweked – A Stowe Mountain Ski Area Review

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Alternative title: In which I bite the hand that skis with me.

I spent the winter riding up, down, all over Stowe Mountain Resort. Bombing trails, bumping moguls, ducking in and out of trees, and sometimes avoiding cliffs and ice flows. (But only sometimes.)

Stowe is a great area.

A true Stowe powder day
Two words: powder day.

But I’m not going back next year. And I’m not bummed out about it.

I got my season pass at a steep discount. A lucky break for me, really, as I’m poor. My very impressive Helly Hansen jacket is a hand-me-down. My new skis were bought on sale. The rest of my equipment is either ancient, a hand-me-down, or a Christmas present.

I love skiing on Mt. Mansfield. It’s an awesome, gnarly mountain with the steep pitches and tight chutes that make my heart go rat-a-tat-tat. If Stowe was the only resort on this mountain, I would seriously consider sleeping in my car to afford to ride there. But it’s not. Smuggler’s Notch is just on the other side of the slope. You can even ski between them.

View of Stowe from Smuggler's Notch
Oh hey there, Stowe. You’re looking pretty today.

That about sums up why I like Stowe, but don’t love it.

There’s also this: I’m sure they put a lot of money into their facilities, ski programs, and whatever else. None of which I use. They have fast, efficient chairlifts that carry more than two people. That’s nice, but I don’t really care.

Then again, that 4.7 million dollars they spent on a new snow making system… that is awesome. Their man-made snow is just as fun to play in as the real thing and the investment meant my first day of skiing was November 10th. Nowhere else comes close in snow making ability and quality, and in the temperamental winters of New England, that counts for a lot.

And the locals. Stowe locals are amazing. While I’ve probably pissed them all off by writing this, I must say that they are the best damn riders in New England. I’m a much better skier having spent a winter chasing them down the mountain, and when I go back (because I will. This winter and in winters to come), it’s because of them.

But I won’t miss snide comments overheard in the lift line that were so stereotypically moneyed American that I wanted to reach across the ropes and smack them. I also won’t miss the poorly concealed “Oh, you’re one of those,” when I tell people where I ride.

I love Mt. Mansfield. But I don’t love Stowe. The positives (of which there are many, many) are still outweighed by an overarching sense of disquiet. I belong somewhere quite a bit weirder.

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Get out to Stowe and form your own opinion. Let me know what you think. And Stowe-folk, please don’t hate me.

Those Green Mountains

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Spring skiing at Stowe, VT
Oh, you’re taking a photo? Here. Let me ruin it.

Can you believe this photo was taken on Saturday?

24 years of skiing and this sport still surprises me. Mid-winter coverage all the way into April. Corn snow as light as powder. With every turn, the falling ssshhhhhhh sound of sand downhill. Only… it’s still snow.

Clouds hung on to the summit for dear life – like winter holding out against spring. The sun broke through in the lower elevations, however, baking the corn into wet, soft mush.

We spent the day in the trees. In April.

The next morning, I sat on a porch in a t-shirt sipping coffee watching the grass turn slowly greener.

Don’t give up yet. There’s still snow in those green mountains.

April is the cruellest month

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Look at this beautiful view!

March tree skiing with Craig

Two weekends ago, Craig (the snowboarder) met me at the mountain for a few Easter runs. We found still other friends and rode the gondola swapping stories and comments on the overcast sky.

The woods that day were certainly a happy surprise – untracked, empty, heavy with the best snowpack Vermont’s seen all season. After the first run, we were so hot and sweating that we both shed layers and got back out at it, our snowpant vents zipped open.

March is a funny month. Just as people gear up for spring, cabin fever driving them mad, winter delivers. Mid-week snow storms that make me dizzy with envy as I watch from work. Long days on the slopes with smaller crowds. Or even short romps – a few hours, a few runs to justify sitting in the parking lot with a beer and a portable grill.

Now, April. April plays tricks with hearts. Snowing one day, hot sun the next, rain yet another. Sometimes, two or three seasons in a single day. I think I agree with T.S. Eliot:

April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.

But last weekend, riding to Massachusetts for my nephew’s baptism, I saw the earth and just the earth. If nothing else, April in Vermont rubs the world down to its body. It reveals the contours – the rolling hills, the glacial-worn cliffs, the geography – that all other seasons hide. And that’s a beautiful view, too.