I am now testing my ability with skiing, recently backcountry skiing.
When I say backcountry, I mean Alaskan backcountry. I am strapping my skis, on a late spring day, to my backpack and climbing lichen splattered rock in ski boots. I am navigating ridge lines that resemble Lord of the Rings Mordor while making sure I don’t kill myself with a ski pole. I become a cat stuck in a tree as my legs climb powder like an animal while safely on skins, but my mind forgets that I must come down. The comfort I have in the mountains has led me here, but adding the skiing element has taken my knowledge and squashed it; it made me believe that I had a fear of heights, or somehow I had no experience of scrambling. Attaching all this ‘stuff’ to my climb had now made me uncomfortable in a place I find the most comfort. Continue reading