While basically every other college student was in Mexico for spring break, I was in Tahoe.
We all know it is hard for me to stay away from the Sierra. I fell in love with Mt. Whitney and the Sierra when I was eleven and that love has only grown stronger. Given the extremely high snow year we are having, unless I want to deal with snow camping, backpacking in the Sierra is basically a no-go until maybe late July. Since I could not spend my spring break backpacking the Sierra, I decided to learn to ski it.
The first time I hopped on skis was on New Year’s Day. I was freaked out at first. In snowboarding you only have your board, but with skiing, you have your skis and poles. I had no idea how I was going to be able to manage so much equipment. But having poles in my hands came second nature — maybe that’s because I’ve been using hiking poles for over a decade. At any rate, it felt natural and it felt good. I got the basics of skiing but even some blues still felt ominous. I was still learning to be comfortable on the mountain.
To be quite honest, going into my first run this spring, I was freaked. I was so sure I had forgotten everything I had learned a few months earlier. But turns out it came back the second I got off the lift. As the day progressed I got more comfortable on my skis. The blues that I found challenging over New Year’s I flew down. I challenged myself and pushed myself in order to progress. I skied groomed runes and even some pow. I was even going down some blacks. I was stoked with how far I had come in such a short time. My technique still needed work but that was a given.
On my last day I think I finally got it. The turns, the speed, the motions — it all felt so natural. My skis felt like an extension of my body and I felt free. I danced down the mountain on my skis. I may have only gotten one extraordinary run but it came at the perfect time. It was 2:57pm and I was supposed to start heading back to the car in order to get to the airport on time. I had just come off Roundhouse when I had checked the time. As I stood there, I saw Dillon in the Summit line. I wasn’t about to let him have a little more fun while I waited below. With an eye roll, I decided to send it. It was this run that felt the most real. It was here where I danced and flew. No one may have seen it, but I felt it and that is all that matters.
I left Tahoe with a smile on my face, a feeling of accomplishment, and a feeling of knowing. In a mere number of days I had learned to ski and ski well (well for my level at least). It may have taken me every second on the mountain but I think I can say I finally know. I know what good skiing feels like and I know it makes me feel alive.
Anyways, it turns out I’m not too too bummed about the high snow year. It just means I will get to ski more. And I live in California so there are plenty of other trails to backpack, although none will feel as fulfilling to walk on as those of the Sierra Nevada.
And as always, happy hiking and I guess happy skiing too.
