The Passion Litmus Test

Devoted skiers and riders will make turns on anything resembling snow if need be, and the 2010 season in Wanaka proved it. A remarkable amount of snow fell on the peaks surrounding town before the local resorts opened for the season. Then nothing. For over a month. A long, dry month. Devotees made turns on some terrain in July that could charitably have been described as "sketchy". Early August brought some respite, but a constant freeze and thaw cycle made off-piste terrain a bit like the surface of the moon at times, and the cover on all of our terrain barely serviceable at others. Conditions presented real technical challenges to even the best of us, and they required what I'd describe as a particularly sporting mindset to make the most of a tough situation and enjoy it. In reality, the 2010 season was a test, a litmus test, lying in wait for all of us in order to measure just how much we love it. In the middle of September, the test commenced in earnest.

For those who were there and need a reminder and for those of you who missed it, several large storms battered the Southern Alps in rapid succession for more than two weeks in the middle of September. For the first week of the cycle, my home field Treble Cone received snow on all but a couple of days, with only rare breaks of sunshine and decent visibility. The total snow accumulation will be disputed and exaggerated for many years to come, but suffice it to say that we were positively transported, receiving more snow in that period than in the entire rest of the season combined. Snow fell straight down in buckets, dropping in large, dry flakes from the top to the bottom of our mountain in a way we're more accustomed to seeing in Utah, Alberta or Hokkaido.

One preliminary question gnawed at all of us working at Treble Cone: Where were all the people? At times, our mountain seemed like one giant secret stash, with the few lucky souls who came to ski and ride with us unwilling to spread the news, determined to keep the remarkable conditions to themselves. The real, deeper question, and the essential component of our litmus test was this: Who among us, despite the late date, despite the malaise of a sub-par season, and despite our readiness for warmer weather and a change of activity, could muster the enthusiasm appropriate for a once-in-a-decade storm cycle that blessed us with snow that was as consistently as dry, light and deep as we may ever see at Treble Cone? Had our passion been so strained, our energy so sapped by the 2010 season that we wouldn't be able to giggle, hoop and holler, show off our orthodonture, and exhaust our bodies while refueling our spirits in the way only great powder days can? Did we have enough enthusiasm left to percolate through the malaise and burst through the surface, showing in our faces and our spirits?

For those of us who work in our ski boots full-time, there are good days and bad. On the bad days, we set courses, pull sleds, fix lifts, groom trails, make snow, and ski in slow wedge turns in the pouring rain on ice, in slush, and on thin cover. On the good days, we'll make fresh tracks to ensure guest safety, free ski with hard charging athletes, and help people realize their powder dreams with better skiing. And then there are the great days, the memorable days, the days that feed our souls and renew our spirits. On those days, there is a little bit of work, there are a few people around, and there is more than enough deep, fresh snow for all of us. Those days rekindle our love of the sport all over again as we ski for ourselves and for the pure joy of it. At the end of the long 2010 season at Treble Cone, we were rewarded with several great days, epic days. Those of us still around to enjoy them, those of us who still were able to draw on a reserve of enthusiasm, passion and energy for our sport were blessed with memories that will stay with us for years to come. We passed the test, and the next time we're out all day in the rain, in the cold, and in the wind, we'll stay warmer and drier having done so. And we may even smile remembering how great it was as we look off to the horizon in anticipation.

In the Bag



Sunset over Fox Glacier township

There It Goes. Another winter is in the bag. Done. Gone. Finito. Caput. Treble Cone closed for the season on October 3^rd after a flurry of a finish. My tenure there has not been that long, but I can only assume that this September was one of the best ever on record. It was awesome on any scale, with a stretch of two weeks of constant snowstorms where the powder was shockingly good. And then sun came out for a few days, and then it ended.

On Monday the 4^th of October, I played my annual, ritual round of golf with my good friend and kids program counterpart Nick. We had a perfect day for it – sunshine, warm but not hot, light breeze – and we managed to not discuss work or even skiing for the whole round (remarkable considering that we're both ski instructors). It was the perfect way to close things. And then I went to the beach, sort of.

Following closing day at Treble Cone and the aforementioned golfing ritual, I heeded the advice of Horace Greeley and headed west. Haast Beach, which sits on the rugged West Coast facing the Tasman Sea, is a beautiful three hour drive from Wanaka. Once near the headwaters of Lake Wanaka in Makarora, the ecology changes quickly and dramatically. While in and around the town of Wanaka, including where Treble Cone is located, the khaki-colored tussock dominates the hillsides and the tree line is very close to the lake level, by the time one arrives at Makarora everything has started to turn green. Travel up over the Haast Pass on the way to the coast, and the green becomes iridescent in spring, with water flowing everywhere and native trees working their way up the slopes of the mountains still clinging to their snowy caps. It's stunning.

After Haast, I turned north towards Fox Glacier, home of one of very few glaciers in the world that is actually still growing. My point is not to regale with stories of what I've been up to, but to convey the sense of release we all have after a long season finishes. It's a wonderful thing to be able to simply pack up a car, head in a general direction, and find and learn things about a new and different countryside with the time to appreciate it.

For now, I'm in "shoulder season", a brief respite from my Endless Winter. My next ski season is just over a month away at home in Vermont, and I'll be ready. Until then, it's all about flip flops for me.

The Fox Glacier



Haast River near Pleasant Flats



View of Mount Tasman (left) and Mount Cook over Lake Matheson





Gillespie Beach, where the Fox River enters the Tasman Sea



The Ongoing Storm

More than a week. With nine days to go in the 2010 season at Treble Cone, a season which has not exactly been a blockbuster for snow, we're in the middle of a storm cycle that has been ongoing for more than a week. It's essentially been snowing every other day for nine days, the temperatures have remained good and cold so that the snow has been very dry and very powdery, and it has gotten deep, very deep. The Saddle Basin remains closed due to avalanche danger and high winds, but with only a few die-hards still charging hard on our expert terrain, there are still plenty of fresh tracks for everyone. We're pinching ourselves down here, and the storm isn't over yet. I had hoped to post some better 'glory in the deep pow' photos, but my priority has been squarely placed on getting in my own turns and not stopping to take snaps. I have some thoughts to share once the storm clears, the season ends, and the sun comes out, but until then these photos that I took last Monday will have to suffice. In the meantime, as my friend Michelle said on Treble Cone's snow report this week, it's time to exercise the powder clause in your contracts. Get a good night's sleep, get to the hill early and make a meal of it. The skiing and riding at TC remains outstanding by anyone's measure and there's precious little time to waste.

Post Script: Whole Lot of Shakin' Going On

Strong aftershocks from last week's major earthquake in Canterbury continue to shake the people in Christchurch - shaking them physically and psychologically, rattling everyone's state of mind. It is literally unsettling for them and for all of the people here in Wanaka with friends and family there (Christchurch is a six hour drive from here). New Zealand is a small community so the well-worn concept of six degrees of separation is more like three here, and the situation in Christchurch has affected everyone in this country.

In yet another, slightly more entertaining occurrence, Treble Cone's neighbor resort Cardrona remains closed, as it has for a few days. It's not due to high winds or avalanche danger, rather it is due to their septic system. I wish I were joking here. I'm unsure of the details, but basically until Cardrona is able to fix their septic, none of the water is drinkable, they can't cook or clean anything and, when they do fix it, they'll have to completely sanitize the whole place. While TC is a vastly larger resort in terms of acreage, Cardrona serves a much larger crowd than we do, employing a much larger staff to do so. Cardrona is also a much easier mountain to ski and ride, so the many Cardrona guests arriving at Treble Cone over the last few days has been of a different nature than our usual - many more lower intermediate and beginning skiers and riders have been taking lessons, many more people are consulting our trail maps, and many more people are finding out just how crowded and impersonal their normal snow sports haunt can be (relative to ours, of course).

All kidding aside, having such a major part of the industry unable to conduct business with a month yet to go in the season is not good for any of us. Several days of exceptionally good business at this late time of the season may be great for Treble Cone - great for the bottom line and a great opportunity to show how good we can be to a whole wider range of people - but I truthfully wouldn't wish this kind of problem on anyone. So, I do hope that Cardies is able to clean up their act, literally and figuratively.

The photo is of the Treble Cone summit slopes as the overnight cloud-cover passed through mid- morning today.

Natural Forces

One of the fundamental truths people find while living and working in big mountains is that we are not in charge. However you might characterize or contemplate those forces in the universe greater than mankind, the fact that we are not in charge is a welcome and humbling reminder for each of us. The last few days here on the South Island have brought this idea into the rarified light of day.

As has been widely reported in the international press over the last few days, an earthquake struck the South Island in the early hours of Saturday morning. Registering at 7.4 on the Richter Scale, it struck in the countryside just west of Christchurch, the largest city here. Damage was substantial but, thankfully, none were killed. Here in Wanaka, I was bounced up and down on my bed as though my neighbors put their mega-bass speakers right up against my wall. Seriously, I literally was bouncing on the bed.

The Saturday that followed the quake was among the best ski days of the season at Treble Cone. It was cloudless, the air remained cold and windless, and we'd had quite a bit of snow in the days before. Though we had prepared ourselves for an onslaught of people taking advantage of the perfect weather and awesome conditions, there was plenty of elbow room to enjoy our mountain. In one of the more delightful ironies of the season, I ripped around our legendary off-piste terrain leading a training clinic for our instructors on the (non-seismic) natural forces that affect us when we ski. I ended the day sitting outside on the porch of a pub in town with a cold beer, contemplating life while watching the sun set behind the mountains that surround Lake Wanaka. That was yesterday. Today the natural forces at work have been quite a bit different.

This morning, Sunday, when I awoke for work the wind was howling and the house was shaking from a massive storm. Treble Cone is essentially a well-appointed remote mountain outpost, so in strong winds our lifts often go on hold or simply shut for the day (See "Shutting it Down"). This morning, interestingly enough, our operations team couldn't even get to TC to assess the safety of operating the lifts. A huge rock slide at Glendhu Bay rendered the road impassable, so neither the staff nor our guests would have been able to even get to the bottom of our access road. The photos of the TC team standing around in the middle of the road ogling the VW-sized boulders are entertaining but for the fact that it meant we couldn't do our jobs. In retrospect, with the wind and rain that followed, there's a strong likelihood that the resort would have had to remain closed anyway. Regardless, the fact is that it was the landslide that caused us to pull the plug. We're way beyond merely using our awareness of natural forces to improve our understanding of ski technique here.

So, earthquakes, landslides, gales, rain, snow, and likely floods, throw in frogs, locusts, darkness, blood, slaying of the first born and it sounds like we are developing the plot for a biblical epic staring Charlton Heston. The problem is that it's the wrong time of year for recounting the plagues upon Egypt – that's the Jewish Passover holiday in the Northern Spring. At this time of year Judaism celebrates the anniversary of the creation of the world. Normally we don't really need literal reminders of the power behind creation or the fact that, in a sense, here in New Zealand the world is still being created, but we've just gotten a few of them. I just hope we can move along to some better spring weather and enjoy the last month of skiing without further scenes from the Five Books of Moses playing out in front of us. Wait a minute, is that a pillar of salt in front of me?

Anonymous Turns

I ski a lot. In common parlance, "I make a lot of turns." I ski more than eight months of the year, virtually all of it on the clock, doing my job. I'm not complaining, mind you, but sometimes those of us who focus so much time and energy on other people's skiing or on the technical aspects of the sport need to recharge our love it. It becomes harder to see the forest for the trees and to appreciate why we're here if we don't remind ourselves. The best way to do this is by simply skiing for the heck of it, without a uniform or a name tag, for fun, for a little release, or for no reason at all other than because we can. It's a reminder just how great skiing can be.

Given the nature of my role at Treble Cone, it's very hard for me to escape for a 'free ski' at TC, to say nothing of skiing elsewhere. Treble Cone is an awesome place to spend my time – literally inspiring awe – but it is also where I work so it's hard for me to disappear for even a couple of runs. I am obviously confident in my skiing skills, but there also is significant pressure for me to perform at the highest level when anyone is watching, and at TC (whether real or imagined) someone is always watching. So, what's a ski pro to do? How can I find and isolate what brings me back to the hill every day? How can I find a moment of un-self-conscious joy, making turns in great snow? Two words: road trip.

I've just returned from Ohau, one of several smaller "ski fields" to the north of Wanaka about an hour-and-a-half away, sitting on the peaks above Lake Ohau. A good friend from home and I spent the night at the very cool Lake Ohau Lodge (see "Gemutlichkeit"), and skied yesterday in the most uncrowded place one can imagine, making fresh tracks in deep snow on every run despite it being several days since the prior storm. The terrain was steep and gnarly, the snow was dry, there was no pressure whatsoever, and my buddy and I were smiling like idiots all day because it was just that good. It was like a skiing transfusion, shaking out the cobwebs, leaving all the pollutants of work, stress, and life behind for a little while to share in the joys so unique to our sport. It's been a long time since I had a great road trip purely for the sake of a road trip, it was absolutely what I needed, and it more than served its purpose. The catch phrase at Ohau, found on innumerable bumper stickers here in New Zealand, is "Ohau I love to ski". How true it is, and thank you Ohau for the reminder.

Frozen Nomenclature

It's a well-worn urban legend that Eskimos have a gazillion words for snow in their language. It is just urban legend. Firstly, 'Eskimo' is not actually an ethnic group or tribal nation. It is a vaguely pejorative term commonly used by Anglo-Europeans who lumped the many tribal and ethnic groups of the Arctic regions and northern reaches of North America into one group. Secondly, even when we refer to the indigenous peoples of the Arctic region using their proper names (Aleut, Inuit, Inupiat and Yupik, among others), their languages differ from place to place. The nature of the nomenclature for snow in Greenland, for example, differs widely from that in Alaska (they are several thousand miles apart, for crying out loud). So, the myth about terms for snow would be the equivalent of saying: "them there Euro-type folk have a zillion words for cheese", said with your best Texas drawl.

As with all subjects linguistic, things here in New Zealand are slightly different. In the case of snow vocabulary, it is not the typical Kiwi juxtaposition of vowels (the number 6 sounding quite a bit racier down here) but the paltry number of descriptive terms for snow that is entertaining. To be precise, Kiwis have exactly two words for snow: "snow" and "powder". I wish I were kidding. Snow that falls straight down in huge flakes, resting in ever-growing piles of light, dry, fantasy-like goodness in the sense of the legendary snows of Hokkaido where people clear their windshields in the morning easier than blowing out birthday candles is referred to, unsurprisingly, as "powder". The wettest, heaviest, most saturated, ski-pole-holes-that-turn-blue, gorilla snot thick, ACL destroying muck is also known as "powder". Everything in between also is called "powder".

Of interest also is that any day on which any person can ski and ride somewhere on Treble Cone in any snow which has fallen within the previous 48 hours is called a "powder day". This leads to my favorite one-liners about 'edge deep powder' and 'sidewall deep powder'. Again, please bear in mind that I'm not kidding. After our recent storm which was a mix of what elsewhere is called 'rain' and 'snow', local enthusiasts were lining up when the lifts opened in order to make fresh tracks in the 'powder'. It is true that at higher elevations and in the Saddle Basin, Treble Cone did get quite a bit of new snow. Calling it powder was a stretch. Nonetheless, our devoted guests were hooping and hollering all day about the freshies as though they were first off the tram at Snowbird, making turns in the best snow the Wasatch Range of Utah has to offer.

It's been a tough season so far in terms of snow cover here at Treble Cone. The mountain is holding up well considering, and there are another two storms in the forecast for the next several days, so we'll make out OK. There is enough snow in the Saddle Basin for all of us to continue enjoying our legendary terrain a great deal. Still, we're all anxious for a big dump, giving us some of those epic days that we all talk about years later. When conditions are OK at TC, I love to ski here. When conditions are epic at TC, it's one of those rare places to ski that eclipses even our imagination (like the day pictured above in 2008 – yours truly skiing in deep, dry, heavenly snow, pure joy). Until that happens this season (fingers crossed), we'll have to enjoy the "powder" as only the Kiwis mean it.