Oh What a night!

This weekend I was supposed to go visit my grandparents in Florida. I got to the airport, learned that the flight was cancelled and drove home. With no plans on a Friday night, I went to my neighbors to grab some food and hopefully a chill night by the fire. Needless to say, a chill night discussing skiing Stowe on Saturday turned into margaritas, then an engineering party. People were riding bikes inside, climbing the backside of the stairs and acting like college kids on a Friday night (go figure!). By the time I got home, it was way too late to ski on Saturday. Or so I thought.

Come 7:30 and I heard my neighbors knocking on the door. I looked over and my roommate just laughed. Good day, I tried to tell myself as I rolled into the car and promptly fell asleep. By the end of the first run, I was questioning my sanity in deciding to ski. By the third, I started to feel a bit better. Wanna skin? Rob asked. Skinning when you are both fatigued and have a headache is great idea, right? I thought so, so we headed up towards Mount Mansfield to do a lap on what became the fastest snow I have ever had the pleasure to call snow. In the trees nonetheless. By the time we reentered the ski area, got a few groomers in and drove back, I was ready for an early night sleep to say the least.

Women in the wilderness

Got ovaries? Like to hike/bike/adventure outside? That is the email I sent out for Women in the Wilderness. Turns out, a lot of women both have ovaries and like to be outdoors! We had our first meeting yesterday, and it looks like it will be a busy winter. I’ll be teaching skiing next week, going xc skiing, playing pond hockey, sledding, ice climbing, and winter hiking. Looks like it will be an awesome New Hampshire winter! 

XC capture the flag

Rule #1 No poles.

Rule #2 The flag must be visible from the center.

Rule #3 Getting tagged means you need to drop the flag.

Rule #4 If you get tackled, you need to get up and get your sorry, snow covered butt back to your

              side before you can try to get the flag again.

XC skiing capture the flag. Any questions?

Just when you thought the snow was good

It rained yesterday, and the day before. Actually, it has been raining all week. Why am I skiing today? Actually, why am I skiing tonight? Headlamp skinning is fun and all, but the snow will be interesting.

That it was. One inch of snow on rock. Last night, I learned what rock skis really are. The rock skis that I have back in Colorado look brand new compared with the ones I was using last night. I wore my helmet not because I thought I was going to hit a tree, but because I thought I was going to hit a rock so hard that I was going to fly over the handlebars and hit my head. I could literally only see two feet ahead with my headlamp.

Bombing down the trail over streams, the temps dropped so quickly that about halfway down we weren’t moving so well, had to kick off our skis, and de-ice. Pro.

East Coast skiing 101

I finished early with computer coding for class. Yes, I thought, I get to relax/organize myself/cook! Only one problem - I have neighbors that ski. A lot. Of course Rob comes over right when I’m putting my computer away. "Mousilake?" Why not?

We arrived at the trailhead. Rob mentioned how he thought that it should be good. Hmm, I thought, I didn’t usually associate good with less than 6” of base. Off we skinned, through stream crossings and around rocks sticking out of the snow. By the time we got to the top, I knew what type of skiing I was in for: survival skiing. I pushed off preparing for the worst. Following Rob, we jumped every mound of snow, sucked up our knees over every stream crossing, and flew. Before I knew it, the wind was hitting my teeth and what do you know, I was having fun! Survival skiing on Mousilake = fun!

Creativity and collaboration

So this term I am taking a nice course load. Chem 5(ew), which is a pre engs/med weeder course that I will be trying to float in, computer coding for engineers, which seems really cool, and coco 8. Coco stands for college course. This coco class is awesome in particular. It focuses on creativity and collaboration in both theater and life. The first section we focus on is movement, then music, then lighting. I can’t wait to find out what it will entail, but for this week we just dicussed creativity. We wrote a reflection, and I thought that I would share it with y’all.

Creativity is a risk. When you dare to make something up, you are daring to make mistakes, show your imperfections and embarrass yourself - if only to yourself. If you draw, you risk that chance of someone looking over your shoulder and peeking into your soul. If you write, you risk people assuming that every word is a mirror image of your true intentions and feelings – like a window to your true psyche. If you dabble on the side of invention, you risk exposing that you are not unique, that your ideas are mundane, that you are only a pawn in the game of life, not the player.

            It is funny how creative people are tagged as insular and sometimes overly thoughtful. You always hear about the person who hides away in their studio or wood shop, only to emerge with a piece of beauty. The thought is that maybe these people are insecure, that they have something to prove, but I believe that it is the very opposite. These people don’t have something to prove. No. They have something to provide. They see the world as imperfect. A pessimist you may say, but no. They see the world as imperfect and furthermore believe, stupidly or not, that they can do it justice. They can make people see the important stuff, or fix the problems, or show things in a better light. They don’t just settle for the world they live in. Neither can these people be insecure. These people have a drive that is beyond security or insecurity, they need to improve, create, learn. Because of their view on the world, their drive and their willingness to take the risk, most creative people are not insecure or insular, but just can’t see how or why people can settle for the world just through one lens.

            Collaboration is also a risk. It is the risk of being creative compounded by the risk of criticism. To be good, all members of the collaboration need to take the risk of being criticized without taking offense, and also to criticize without second thoughts. To be successful, the criticisms need to not act as fire extinguishers, but as fuel for creativity. This last part is the hardest to master. It is the difference between getting the job done and having that amazing energized, did that just happen - ?! - feeling. There is no set formula that can get you from good to great; ask any competitive athlete. These successful collaborations are truly rare - think Declaration of Independence, but there is a whole scale of collaboration, from one-person-does-all-the-work failures to perfect. The difference between the two usually includes some real blood sweat and tears (sometimes even real blood) that leads to real respect. Real collaborations require real respect and neither of those things come easy or synthetically. 

Getting it back!

As part of my break, I am getting ready for my next adventure: getting in good shape after 5 past knee surgeries. As part of the plan, I am learning better lifting technique and gymnastics movements. Do you what is better than jumping into a roll? Jumping into a roll then a handstand into another roll.

Was it easier or harder when I was 9?

The snow stretched before me. So many questions rattled around in my head. We started late. Maybe I shouldn’t be out here with the cut on my foot. Jeeze, I’m really out of shape. I hope we don’t miss the last lift. But my school roommate, Hannah and my Dad were behind me and the sun was out, so I just turned around and joked "nice alpine start guys!"

Hardly. An alpine start is usually before the sunrise – we started on the trail at almost 11:00. On the plus side, motivation is a good thing. Especially when it involves Hogan Park Trail, the pinnacle of Steamboat XC skiing, a 7-9 mile trail between the top of Rabbit Ears Pass and the Morningside Gate at the Ski area – nicely at about 10,000 feet. I set out at a clip, quickly stripping down to my Smartwool layers. I passed the time intermittently singing bad country, daydreaming, and noticing the sparkle of the snow. It really was pretty.

At one point, I got into a groove. Kick glide. Kick glide. Kick glide. Then I looked up. The high alpine meadow stretched as far as I could see. Oh well, I muttered to myself, there will be a pace change around the corner, just chug. I got to the corner and white glistened in front of my all the way. I barreled down and got to the rise and, yet again, there was more meadow.  I turned around in awe. The last time I did this trail was when I was nine years old. I didn’t remember the meadow of doom. Oh well, just keep it moving. Finally, we reached the next line of trees about 3 stretches of plain, old, flat white meadow later and caught a glimpse of the ski area. Must be close I thought. Yeah right.

In fact, I think that we entered into the vast forest of Narnia, because every turn seemed to bring us further from that lift tower. Finally I heard voices! The lift! While putting on layers, I briefed Hannah on our plan of attack for the second half of the adventure – getting down the mountain on skinny skis at the end of a 3” snow day = push piles. At the top of the lift she inquired what the rules were for walking down the mountain. Not allowed, I yelled as I skied past her. And  by skied I mean tumble, pizza, and slid our way down the mountain. By the time we got to the bottom, I couldn’t decide – was the 9 mile xc or the skinny-ski downhill harder?

Yesterday surfing

Today pow!!! I’ll take it! After pulling my sore and cut up feet reluctantly out of my flip flops and cramming them into my ski boots. After reminding myself that yes, I do know how to ski, my dad and I went and shredded. No more drowning in the surf. No getting rocked so hard you forget to be freaked out. No more getting put through the washing machine on the inside of the surf break. Just face planting in the powder.

A few times. Once on the flats, once on the middle of a mogul run in front of a crowd, and once from a stationary position. But, between all the over the handlebars moments, there was powder. Nice, sweet, Steamboat powder. Yum.

Christmas without snow?

Hiking in Laguna Beach, California is serious. Even walking up the streets is serious. I didn’t even know the grade could even get that steep. Our family is pretty tight, but we don’t get to hang out that much. The first time we pulled up to Alta Vista Canyon, the road leading up to our house, the only thing said was a synchronized “holy shit, that's steep”. So before, after and in between surfing sessions, we filled in the gaps with some really relaxing bouts of serious hiking.

When not scrambling on impossibly steep trails that somehow were full of biking traffic (ouch), we walked the beach. A lot. We looked at shells, rocks, tide pool life and tons of really cool architecture. But mostly, we walked. Oh yeah, I definitely gaped open mouthed at all of the surfing six year old rippers just slicing the waves to shreds.

When we were sufficiently tired and hungry, we escaped for amazing California food. Somehow, we ended up at Newport Beach peninsula in time for the Christmas boat and house parade. Imported snow for penguins? Yep that happened.

By the end I was torn – sup surfing was deeply on my mind, but I knew that Steamboat was getting hammered with  snow at the same time. I guess I will just need to leave with a resolution to once again live the surf bum life. Maloha.

They got big

Day three brought some decent sized waves. They were bigger than yesterday – steeper, more powerful. The shortboarders were all duck diving, getting the tip of their board under the wave with ease. Me? I got thrashed. Not on the wave. I’m getting alright with that, but getting back out. I would even dare to say that it is a 90% - 10% ratio for the getting past the break to surfing energy spent.

I get a little ways, sprinting for my life, then sigh as another mound of white approaches at break neck speed. That white froth is like seeing vertigo approaching. The aerated water gives me no control. It boils under my feet, bucks like the steepest kicker, then hits like the jump I once overshot only to land on the flats. After getting off my board, I take a deep breath, because I’m not going anywhere until the set has decided to leave me be. In the meantime, I quickly let go of the concept of up and down. The next couple waves pull me under. There is an odd calm, as I alternately see the sky, rocks and many, many tiny white bubbles. Finally the last wave of the set runs me over and I’m pretty much back at the shore, gasping and looking at pure glass, because of course between sets there is the utmost calm. After hacking up a lung, getting my bearings back, and standing up, I wimper my way back to the line, wait for a bit, only to see the next set coming in the distance. My thoughts: Lets get the next one! Charge!

Only day 2 and I’m sore!

Well, I’m writing this after easing myself into a chair. My feet are sore. I know. My feet? It’s funny – after seven weeks of living in New England and wearing orthotics, barefoot really gives you a workout. Not just barefoot, but barefoot walking, running and sup surfing. It all started out with a sup surf lesson. An hour and a half of chasing small waves down, getting pretty decent rides and even pointing it down the line, my instructor asked me if I was getting tired. I flashed a giant smile and chased another wave down. I stayed in the break long after he left. It may sound crazy, but the speed, spray, and falls are like a powder ski day. On every wave.

By lunch time I was feeling slightly water logged and teetered my way to a local organic taco bar with my family. Barefoot. After dining on wild salmon tacos, we walked the town, then the beach, then the town again. As the sup shop, Supco came into view, I knew I was getting  back into the water. It was 3:00, another perfect time to catch mid tide waves, so my brother and I changed into wet suits, grabbed boards and ran. It was another sweet session, full of powerful strokes and water.

Wrapping up an amazing day, we ate dinner with a beautiful sunset over the ocean. So today, I found out that even carrying your sup to and from the surf can get you sore, but yesterday all I could feel was the pain in my cheek muscles from smiling so hard.

This is winter?!

All winter, vegetables are frozen peas, and produce is a box of oranges sent from my grandparents in Florida. OK… maybe that is a slight exaggeration, but it felt that way sometimes growing up in Steamboat. Especially when I showed up to the supermarket and the look of the produce section just kind of made me sad. The green beans were tough, the lettuce wilted, and parsnips? Nonexistent! Apparently, this phenomenon isn’t true everywhere as I just assumed. Through a stroke of luck, good timing and better friends, we ended up doing a house trade with a family for Christmas week. To California.

California. Where there is fresh produce year round.

California. Where there are amazing sunsets.

California. Where I get to spend a week with the fam!

Pressing the glass!

It was time. The snow fell. It was light and deep and made me more excited to wake up early and get a move on than anything else could. Better yet, it was a family powder day. Better even yet, new terrain was opening, increasing the chances of some snorkel skiing. After getting to the gondi and hour early, we pressed the glass with only ten people in front of us. It was primed to be prime.

Getting to the top, I would say that it was indeed all that I cracked it up to be. Two years without powder skiing disappeared before I even got to the first lift. Powder does amazing things to you. It makes you howl in delight – scream yeehaw at the top of your lungs, not bothering to care who hears it. It floats you down the hill, allowing the perfect amount of float, braking, and padding to convince you to ignore your aching legs.

It just makes everything plain old fun. Can’t wait for another taste. YEEHAW!!!!!!!

Christening of the bowl

So along with giving one of the bowls away as a wedding gift, I gave the other to my parents for the holidays. Last night, we finally used it for the first time with some of my dad’s amazing salad!! Hells yeah!

I love my hometown!

How can you grow up in a town like this and not feel inspired, pumped, amped, or any other epic term that you could think of? You look in one direction and the mountain sits there with amazing skiing, biking, hiking and wildlife. In the other? Howelson hill, where hundreds of amazing athletes grew up using it as their playground. Not the view you were looking for? Look towards sleeping giant mountain and tens of thousands of acres of beautiful rolling farmland. Oh yeah. Beat that.

It came!!

Finally, the time has come and the snow is falling. The logical way to celebrate? Make your parents some snowball Margaritas, of course! Actually the real story is that we didn't have ice. But, it’s still cool!

Ta da! – just a few months late!

Because of school I missed her wedding, but there was no way that I was going to miss seeing their faces while they unwrapped the wedding gift! After getting way too much super glue on my hands and learning more about bevels than I knew from skiing (surprising, I know!), I finished the bowl, stunk up the house, buffed it up and gave it away! I think they like it! Now, it is just time to make some more!!