Deep Turns and Not a Single Photo
A stormy day on the backside of Willamette Pass Ski Area
“Chest deep in the trees today!!!”
It was a Tuesday morning, and it had been snowing all week. My friend who helps manage the ski school at Willamette Pass Ski Area had gotten a run in early and passed along the conditions to me via text. I took a look at the weather for 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 my partner, to join my friend and his wife. 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.
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 8 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 decided 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 of the day, the snow wasn’t tracked out. I hopped back into the trees with my friends, and tried my best to take in the sights one last time before the day ended.