The Moments Between

As a ski writer, I’ve been fortunate enough to travel the world in pursuit of the best skiing or the deepest snow. I’ve gotten to visit places and ski down mountains that most skiers can only dream about. And even better, most of the time it’s been on someone else’s expense. To my defense though, before working in ski media I was a proper ski bum living in dirty and crowded apartments and motel rooms in the Alps or the Rockies, spending all my money and devoting all my time to go skiing for months every winter.

I’ve floated through the weightless powder in Alta, Utah, skied waist deep snow through the Buna trees of Japan, shaken with fear on the steeps of La Grave in France, enjoyed the thrill of heliskiing in British Columbia, slid through perfect firn snow under the midnight sun in northern Sweden, felt the legs burn at the bottom of a perfect Laub in Engelberg in Switzerland, and so much more.

“Perfect” moments of skiing that I will cherish forever, moments that made all the hard work and all the sacrifices to get there worth everything. Because getting to live those moments has costed me career opportunities, broken relationships and more body parts than I want to think about.

Was it worth it? Yes, without a doubt. As a kid I daydreamt about one day being able to make an effortless turn in deep powder like the skiers I grew up idolising in the ski magazines that were gathered on my bedside table. The reality I got the chance to live turned out to be even better, one day being the person in those photos I watched and behind all those stories I read.

Looking back however, (not that my life as a skier is over by any means, but writing this story gives me a chance to reflect on things) it turns out that the things I remember the most vividly aren’t the actual skiing, it’s everything else.

Wild nights pogo-dancing to noisy punk bands at the pub in La Grave, driving for hours upon hours through the wasteland of the Nevada desert, the pure chaos on the road between Tangmarg and Gulmarg in Kashmir, feeling the unmistakable cold metal of an AK-47 against my throat while its soldier owner sat asleep in the backseat on the very same road, roadtripping by bus through the southwest of British Columbia, watching junior hockey in Revelstoke, watching NHL hockey in Calgary, bathing in wonderfully stinky onsens on Hokkaido, eating the best sushi of my life at a conveyor belt restaurant in a basement in Shibuya in Tokyo, sleeping on top of my ski bag at the Milan train station together with 500 Bayern Münich supporters after a Champions League game, driving through the evergreen up towards Mt Baker in the state of Washington, being stuck on a remote island on Lofoten in Norway, being picked up by a helpful but still grumpy local fisherman from said island on Lofoten in Norway, sitting through a 16 hour bus trip through the heart of the Pampas in Argentina, eating asado in Buenos Aires, eating delicious pasta in Courmayeur in Italy, having après beers in the sun and… well, that’s just scratching the surface.

They’re all experiences I will remember forever and the thing they have in common is that I would never have ended up in any of those places and situations if not for skiing. At times it’s been uncomfortable, lonely, and sometimes even scary.

But it has also been extremely rewarding and a massive learning experience where I’ve had to step out of my comfort zone a thousand times over.

But more importantly, some people I’ve met along the way have become friends for life. We share a bond that goes both deeper and beyond the ordinary, born from a mutual passion and spending special times of our lives in places we’ve chosen to travel to. We’ve grown together as skiers and human beings together, we’ve faced out fears together and seen unfathomable tragedy up close, we’ve laughed together and been as happy as humans can be.

It’s been a rollercoaster of emotions, shared with people that have become almost like family.

But there are also a myriad of other friends and acquaintances I’ve made along the way in different parts of the world. The ski bum contingent is like a tribe of sorts, we might live on different continents but our shared love for deep snow, steep faces and living a life not riding the hamster wheel of the “normal” society.

As it turns out, ski life to me is not only about the actual skiing. Yes, skiing is the main reason I ended up in all those places and on top of all those mountains to begin with, but the life outside of skiing was the reason I was drawn deeper into this world.

You see, making a powder turn in Valais in Switzerland isn’t any different from making a powder turn on Hokkaido in Japan, or in the Pacific Northwest of North America. But the food, the people, the culture, the scenery or the mountains on the other hand are wildly different depending on where you go. I’ve come to realise that skiing is all about context for me, where I ski and with whom. It’s never been about the actual performance and just linking turns together.

Skiing for me is all about feelings, emotions and quality, not about performance and quantity. I used to think that skiing 10,000 vertical metres in one day was always better than skiing 7,000, hands down. With time I’ve come to realise that getting that one, perfect, run in beats chasing up and down in the lifts all day long. These days, I’m perfectly happy saying no to another run, knowing that the previous one we just did is not going to be beaten today. Call me old, call me lazy, I don’t care.

As skiers we’re often led to believe that more is always more, that the deeper the snow, the more runs we do, the faster we ski, the “better” we ski is always positive. Resorts all over the world are installing faster and more efficient lifts, propelling more skiers to the top of the mountain faster than before.

Yet, some of my best times at ski resorts have been in slow gondolas or even slower chairlifts, chatting with great friends as gigantic snowflakes keeps falling from the sky while the anticipation for our next run keeps building up. Other times I’ve been perfectly happy dangling 10 metres above the ground in a single-seater chairlift on Hokkaido, just taking the views in and reflecting on how I ended up there in the first place. Some days I can enjoy sitting by myself in an empty chairlift at my home ski area, reflecting about life and not wanting the lift ride to end just yet.

Slow down, this ain’t the big city. Yes, someone else might make a few tracks before you, who cares? The only thing that matters is how you feel when it’s time to make your turns, and being stressed out won’t make that experience any better.

After all, ski life isn’t about skiing. It’s about living life. Your way. /\