Sunday March 4th has been a long time coming. The skis were waxed and ready to go back in October. We've watched virtually every Warren Miller ski film under the sun and our choice of skiable terrain had grown increasingly steeper and more technical for the last two years. We even brought a special bottle to commemorate the occasion.
After a short night, celebrating the next days adventures toasting Boogoop, an amazing Buckwheat Ale prepared in collaboration with Mikkeller and Three Floyds, and an early morning, we were up before daybreak and on our way. Nature served up her cup of coffee as a brisk morning air to get the blood pumping and after a short drive, we were on the hill to enjoy one of the most beautiful sunrises I can recall.
Excitement was in the air, I pictured the turns in a deep white quilt of snow, hucking cliffs and performing aerials. Then it happened, four little words that jerked me out of my dream, "here's your avalanche beacon." My what? Well duh, sure I knew it ahead of time but there is nothing like hearing it after you've boarded a Cat and are headed into the backcountry and have nothing you can do about it.
So, there I was, gripped and puckered, face turning a ghostly white and listening how I may meet my demise in the hours ahead. That's when it hit me. We are so often gripped by fear that we don't allow ourselves to continue into what may be one of our most amazing adventures. I'd be lying if I didn't admit that I was scared to death to leave the "comfort" of a 17 year career for something unproven and unplanned.
As the Cat pulled to the top of our first run, I looked out the window into the vast expanse. Untouched, unblemished as far as the eye could see, a playground to be explored and, for the second time in the recent past, I stepped out……….
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