Closed For Powder Day
My right ski slips, and all at once, I’m tangled up like a baby deer on ice. I topple into a snow hill. My camera slings around my neck and lands, lens first, in the powder. “Dammit!”
“Just try to keep your weight centered on the downhills,” Jackson hollers.
“This is a stupid sport,” I snap back under my breath, struggling to an upright position.
“You’ll get it, Jon, don’t worry,” Hunter says, half laughing.
I blow the snow from the lens glass and find a dry section of my base layers to wipe away the fog.
We’re on a 7-mile split board approach in the Tahoe backcountry.
This experience is a first for me on many levels. I’ve only snowboarded in resorts, and the board has always been a singular plank of wood, resin, and wax. A split board, which I was introduced to a few days ago, is a regular snowboard cut lengthwise into two pieces, or skis. Strips of velcro-like material, called skins, are adhered to the bottom of each ski, allowing one to slide forward but not backward—a helpful design for traveling uphill or touring.
“How you doing back there, Jon?” Jackson shouts from ahead.
“Better now.”
Jackson and I met in college through some mutual kayaking friends. We remained close acquaintances until a surf trip down the North Carolina coast forged a life-long friendship. If a Ph.D. program had been offered for outdoor sports, Jackson would’ve been valedictorian. A wilderness EMT, ski patrol, Class V kayaker, talented climber, mountain biker, and years of professional guiding under his belt - he’s always pushed me out of my comfort zone.
Hunter is a friend of Jackson’s whom I met last night over burritos, beer, and Eric Jackson’s new film, Alignment. He’s contagiously stoked and quick-witted. From what Jackson has told me, he’s also a solid backcountry guide and avalanche safety trainer. All of which are things I’m glad to hear.
The grade is now too steep for our skins, so we’re beginning to make switchbacks for more traction. Snow is falling hard, and the mountain range to the south has disappeared in white. I tuck my camera deep into my jacket.
This weather has me on edge, and the mountain takes on an ominous and foreboding look. A sheer peak shrouded in fog with sharp evergreens piercing through the snow. Godly and impartial. I’m reminded of my place in the universe.
Slide, crunch, step, slide, crunch, step. We move along like this for hours. Jackson is at least twenty feet ahead of me, and Hunter is further. We’re not talking anymore. We’re all lost in our thoughts. I watch my skis slide and push crystals of snow into small mounds on each side of them. I look up and realize that the clouds have opened up, and there’s a blue sky in the distance.
Slide, crunch, step, slide, crunch, step. These slow, monotonous activities take your mind to all sorts of places. Relationships, ambitions, life, and death, but I’m thinking about the peanut butter crackers in my bag right now.
The sun is out, and I’m sweating when we reach the summit. We all set our packs down, and Jackson and Hunter scan the ridge, looking for indicators, invisible to me, of the safest spot to descend. They talk about snowpack, wind loading, and cornices, pointing and nodding. I pull out a Rainier beer from the side pocket of my pack.
Hunter hears the can crack open and spins around with a smile, “Summit beers!!”
“Oh, throw me one of those,” Jackson says.
We sit in the snow, sipping beers and cooling off.
“So what’s the game plan, fellas?” I ask.
Jackson points to the steep couloir next to us. “Well, we’re going to drop in there. Hunter’s going first, then you, Jon, and I’ll bring up the rear just in case anything happens.”
I choke a little on my beer, “Like an avalanche? Is that really a possibility?”
Jackson laughs, “Well.. yeah. Over a certain grade, an avalanche is always a possibility. You’ll be fine, though. Don’t worry.”
I take a deep breath.
“Is it on?” I ask, pointing at the avalanche beacon strapped around my chest.
“Yeah,” Jackson assures me.
Hunter can tell I’m nervous, “Jon, just try to keep your turns to a minimum. If you feel the snow crack, get through the narrow section as fast as possible and track right to the highest point on the other side.”
“ugghh.” I chug the last of the Rainier.
We remove our skins, which is more complicated than I had anticipated, then connect the boards and install the bindings. Hunter’s up.
He smiles back at us, letting out a quick “Yew!” then jumps and descends over the edge. After a few small and graceful turns, he disappears down the mountain.
I sit on the edge now, staring at the narrow stretch of snow flanked on both sides by a cliff face. I pull down my goggles. I’m not cold, but my nervousness causes me to shiver anyway. “Just breathe; you’re going to be fine,” I tell myself.
“Adios, amigo,” I flash a nervous smile at Jackson.
“I’ll see you at the bottom, dude!”
One… Two… I slide off the edge of the snow bank and drop into the steep couloir.
This essay is not a paid endorsement in any capacity. Here’s links to some of the resources mentioned:
Alignment Film, By Eric Jackson
