Life in the Bozone Part 3: Got Snow, We'll Ski

The first word that pops to my mouth that describes skiing in Montana in FANTOMULOUS! (which, for those of you who are not familiar with my frequent conglomerating of words, is fantastic/phenomenal/fabulous). 

My birthday present from John and Mo was a season pass to the local mountain Bridger Bowl (thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou!).  Compared to Big Sky or any resorts in Colorado, it's probably a baby mountain, but it has character, wide swaths of unrestricted mountain terrain, beautiful views, and its only a 25 minute drive from Bozeman. 

View from the base lift



At the top of North Bowl

For the first time since I went to college, I actually spent every weekend skiing. It was magical, and really really hard!  This was my first experience with west coast powder skiing, and I kind of guessed that my 8 year-old east coast shaped skis weren't really going to do the trick, but I also didn't have the money to even think of buying new skis, so I was determined to make mine work.  In a strange turn of events, this past winter ended being the worst winter for snow that any Bozemanite had seen in decades.  But really, their "bad" year for snow is basically equivalent to a beautiful east coast day! 

My skis are designed for speed on well-groomed cold snow.  They may be old, but they can still go! Once we finally accumulated some powder, my practiced techniques stopped working.  I had to figure out how to maneuver in powder, but on non-powder friendly skis, which really just made things harder for me in the long run, but I still enjoyed every minute of that thigh-burning plunge!



My skinny, heavy skis being swamped by the powder...



What everyone else was skiing on... The skis were at least 4 inches wider and way lighter.


The first few weekends were rough, and I mean the actual skiing was rough due to all the rocks sticking out of the snow.  At that point, I was glad to have old skis.  I don't know what's been happening to winter, but it seems to be coming later and later.  It wasn't really until February that you could ski without wondering if rock sharks were lurking just below the surface.  One of our neighbors kept telling me, "Man! Usually you can't even see these trees they're so covered in snow!"  Even so, we plunged on down the slopes, determined to enjoy winter! 

The Rooster gettin' ready to hit the big slopes! Usually this resulted in me yelling at him to turn more... which doesn't bring back any familiar memories involving my mother...

Mo and Katie looking as happy as ever

It was through skiing that I became better friends with our neighbors the Pints; Jeff and Chele, and their kids Dakota and Tobin.  The license plate on their car reads 4 PINTS, so we always knew when they had beaten us to the mountain on Saturday morning.  Both Jeff and Chele are incredible skiers.  I felt cool just hanging out with them.  Jeff used to work in the pro-cycling industry, loves to go fishing, and is a continually devout fan of the Grateful Dead.  You can talk to him about it for hours, and anytime he's driving, you know what soundtrack you will be listening to.  Chele maintains a mellow disposition and a sarcastic character, but then you ski or bike with her and you realize she is all around kick-ass.  And when she laughs or smiles, she has the brightest face in the room. 

It was a unspoken rule that weekends meant skiing, and we would almost always end up meeting up with the Pints in some way or another.  It if was sunny out, we would ski all day and then kick back outside on the deck with a refreshing beer.

That's what I really loved about skiing at Bridger Bowl, the community.  It became a strengthening element for me when I felt so far away from my own family and friends. We could always count on running into friends and skiing together.  It was like having a pack, and it meant more to me than I knew at the time.  Plus, my skiing actually improved as did my confidence on the mountain. 

The mountain is named for the concave sections in the side of the ridge that make up part of the Bridger Mountains.  The lower part of the area is made of trails, but unlike typical east coast skiing, you can pretty much ski anywhere you want.  The upper part of the mountain is mostly rock and is open to traversing.  You can also hike up to the top of the ridge and come down the chutes, though I'm not that good or confident yet, and you are required to carry an avalanche beacon, and for good reason.  No one messes around with avalanche danger, because it is very real.  About a month after I arrived in Bozeman, the parent of a girl at Reugen's school was killed in an avalanche while back-country skiing.  Miraculously, his dog survived and showed up in a near-by town five days later.

View of the South Bowl

Descending the North Bowl

In general, I sense that risk and death belong to a different attitude in this area.  Perhaps it is because when you are faced with the immense power and extremes of nature everyday, you become more aware of nature's unforgiving cycle of life and death.  You have to respect the elements around you and take precautions seriously, because when it comes down to human versus nature, nature always wins.

But like many risks, there are reasons why people take them.  In this instance, being so close to the awe inspiring might of nature is both terrifying and exhilarating, humbling and empowering.  There is a freedom and an escape unlike anything else.  It releases me from my thoughts for just a moment, and I live what is happening in that instant.  I feel my heart pounding and my legs burning, and hear the whisper of the snow and the wind.  It's totally wicked awesome.

Since moving to Bozeman from Boston, this was really the first time Katie and Roo had the chance to ski regularly, and they both picked it up quickly, despite complaining constantly about their lessons or arguing with me with I tried to teach them something.  Most of their crashes were caused by their own impromptu karate matches.  Or sometimes Katie would just forget to stop as she was careening towards me.

Katie and I would sometimes head up on our own when the day was good.  We had some good bonding time on the lift discussing high school, politics, religion, or the weird looking dude going off that jump.  One of our lift rides included a sing-along of the Music Man and Oklahoma with a guy who loved musical theater and broke out into song when I told him I'd majored in opera. 



Best apple ever!




Katie about to hit me...

One weekend, I decided to put myself on new ground like Katie and Roo, so I signed up for a Telemark lesson.  Besides kind of wanting to feel cool, I really wanted to try it.  Hot damn! It is hard!  Besides being essentially opposite technique-wise to downhill skiing, it's like doing crunches all the way down the hill with the amount of core strength it requires!  Although insanely frustrating, I really liked it, and my teacher Rick did say I was making the best turns he'd seen for a beginner, so I didn't feel too discouraged.  One moment, let me just wipe that snow off my shoulder.. ehem.

One morning, John and I were on the first ride up and were talking with two dudes about the lack of snow when one of them surmised that, "We have like... two sevenths the snow we had last year!"

..... Brief pause while we all contemplate his use of fractions. 

Me: "Two sevenths? Really?  Is that an exact calculation or just your best estimate?" 

This was followed by a hilarious discourse on the usefulness and randomness of two sevenths.  He argued, "It would be like working 2 days of the whole week! That's nothing!"  From there we also realized that a full day of skiing in perfect conditions would be about seven hours, and it would be a useful way of measuring what type of day you had on the slopes!  And thus was born the phrase "Hope you have a 7/7 day!"

Every person I ever talked to on the lifts was nice.  And everyone would start up a conversation instead of pursuing that nice, awkward I-don't-know-you silence for the whole lift ride.  It was weird.  People were just too darn friendly! 

As mentioned, we finally did get some snow eventually and I was finally able to experience the magic and wonder of powder skiing.  And with family and friends around, they were the best days of the winter.

Shoveling snow off the PK lift hut