A Rememberence

I had originally planned a post about a few great days I spent in the Yakima River Canyon a few weeks back.  Fall was blessing the east slope with crisp nights and sunny clear days as I fished the river, having good success picking up wild rainbows on nymphs and then dries as the afternoon wore on.  But, on a flight back from upstate New York this last weekend I decided I had other thoughts I wanted to put down on "paper." 

I had gone to NY because my grandmother had died on Sept 18th at the age of 99 years and my family was taking her ashes to Dunnville Ontario in Canada to intern them.  She was born in that small farming community of April 13, 1914 where the land is flat and the wind has nothing to hold it back but the soil rich and good for farming.  She met and married my grandfather, had three children and then they decided to come to the states to pursue a brighter future despite the reality of leaving their family and friends.  Her death had been come relatively quickly and without much suffering, in the way we all hope it comes for us.  She had all her mental faculties about her and had even gone to breakfast that morning in the nursing home dining room.  Taking her ashes and placing them in the ground next to my grandfather was the completion of her unique circle of life and fulfillment of her final wishes.   

My grandmother in the center and flanked by her sisters Marion and Hazel

I have many memories of my grandmother and will always remember her as a person with a strong moral compass, a great work ethic, a curiosity of the natural world and a knack for making friends wherever she went.  She could rattle off dates, peoples names and places she had been all the way back to her childhood.  You never got the response, "I'm too old to remember back then."  Instead you always got the full dissertation of the events and the character profiles of the individuals involved.  It was only as I grew older did I begin to appreciate what this did for her in terms of not only keeping her memory sharp but I think it helped her to cope with the loss of so many people through her long life as she outlived so many family members and peers.

When I was a kid she would rattle us from a car induced nap to point out some flower or plant along the road.  It was generally already a half-mile behind us before my brother or I had any idea what was going on.  However, her appreciation for the natural world really rubbed off on me along with with her love of travel.  She and my grandfather never had much money but they found ways to stretch their dollars by camping, which allowed them to drive out west when my mom was young.  They also spent their Canadian equivalent of social security money visiting places in the great white north, including a trip across the country on the train.   

As I looked out the tiny window of the plane I thought about how this person who was no longer with us shaped my life in ways that I am only now beginning to recognize.  My explorer persona and desire to go west in a car laden with camping gear and fly rods.  The joy I get from lacing up some boots and heading up a dusty trail into the mountains.  Appreciation of an early sunrise across a sage brush landscape or a sunset on Puget Sound.  

She never was one to call attention to herself.  She taught through her actions, how she lived her everyday life and what she didn't say with words.  She is missed, but I don't mourn for her, but instead for what my family has lost.  We had a great afternoon of telling stories and celebrating her life when her memorial service was held in Dunville Ontario.  Yes there were some tears but there were also lots of smiles. 

With three of her great-grandchildren

Mmmm, mmmm Seattle

Can you ever go home?  A rather timeless question and I think highly personal.  No, Seattle is not my native home but I know that through my extensive travels it is the one urban place I could and I do call home.  Coming back to the pacific northwest after seven years is not without trials and tribulations.  For sure Seattle and the surrounding county has grown in population.

The traffic is more of a drag, especially when you factor in that there is a lot of water and that means bridges and that in turn means bottlenecks.  There is more honking and "Californicated" driving.  Apololgizes to anyone from Cali but this is just ones man's opinion so please don't lose sleep.  But, on the upside, Seattle has become more cosmopolitan and sophisticated, which is a nice change from sleepy New Hampshire.  Again, apologizes to my NH friends, but again this is one guys opinion and it's my blog.  You can always write your own.

The food scene here has really matured.  Where I live in Ballard, I am not for wanting almost any type of food.  It's all here.  Thai, Vietnamese, Japanese, Greek, Italian, English pub fare, Cuban, Mexican.  Plus, it has great homegrown pacific northwest fare that is heavy on fresh seafood infused with local produce, herbs and fruits.  It is simply, a gastronomic circus compared to what it was when I attended grad school here from 2000-2002.  By New York, LA or Chicago standards it probably takes a backstage but for those who have seen the transition first hand I think it represents a big step forward.

To me though, the best thing about living here is the fresh seafood and the late summer and fall means salmon!  If you have never had fresh, wild caught Pacific Salmon you really owe it to yourself to book a plane ticket, fly out here in September and poke around until you can find a fisherman selling a fresh catch right off the dock.  Then, take that somewhere where you can make a nice charcoal fire and cook that fish up just how you like it.  Maybe that means lemon, pepper and butter liberally tossed over that fish and wrapped in tinfoil or perhaps slathered in olive oil, balsamic vinegar and red pepper flakes and grilled right over that open flame.

The season is short for this bounty of freshness and so it is best to binge on it like a wino given a shopping spree in a liquor store.  intoxicate yourself on this stuff until your time here runs out and the they drag you kicking and screaming back to that airplane bound for home.  But fear not, for there will always be a next season.

As for me, I was out for a run when I saw that sign that simply said, "Coho, dock A" done up in duck tape on a piece of poster board and attached to a post.  It was all I needed.  I headed back later where I found "Coho Willy" sitting by a vast blue tub with a smattering of ice and a dozen freshly netted coho salmon laying inside.  He hauled out a 6lb bright buck that tucked neatly into my cooler and was soon on our cutting board to be filleted.

 I set aside a few pieces for the grill and then put the rest into baggies for the freezer.  Coated with olive oil, balsamic vinegar and a mix asian spices the fish went skin side down right onto the grill.  Once cooked, the fish just lifts off the skin and is a beautiful deep pink color.   Paired with grilled sweet potatoes, fresh green beans tossed with garlic and fresh crusty bread it is one of the best meals of my summer.

Idaho...it's not just potatoes.

Last week I packed up the Subaru with assorted camping gear, 3 fly rods, waders, and a mess of flies and pointed my car towards Idaho.  I had never fished in Idaho but from everything I had read it seemed a promising destination.  Full of a variety of water types ranging from lakes to freestone rivers as well as tailwaters it truly is a destination that flies under the radar given its proximity to Montana.

A good 7 hour drive from Seattle I arrived at the banks of the St Joe River in the panhandle a few hours from Coeur d'Alene.  The fifty miles along the river road from St Maries to Avery was incredibly scenic as the road hugged the river while it twisted through the valley bottom. By western WA standards I found the river and campgrounds relatively empty and I quickly had my camp set up so I could get onto the water as soon as possible.

With warm air temps and a low flow it was the perfect chance to wet wade and stay cool as I plied pools, runs and riffles looking for westslope cutthroat, a type of trout I had never caught.  It didn't take long to spot fish holding in the gin clear water of a deep pool.  I had read that as the season progressed these fish would often school up in anticipation of migrating downstream into Lake Coeur d'Alene.

Despite what some people say about the cutthroat trout being a gullible fish willing to wack at any fly pitched before them, I found they were rather selective and unwilling to take a poorly drifted fly.  This made for challenging but clearly more interesting angling.

Over those few days I caught lots of beautiful cutts, drank in the delicious smell of the douglas firs that clung to the steep walls of the river valley and ate my lunch watching the river flow by while I sat in the cool shade.  At night I would eat by campfire light, wolfing down sausages I had skewered onto a stick and stuck over the coals, all while drinking wine and meditating on life.  Overhead the stars lit up the inky black sky free of light pollution. 

Having remote, raw, wild places like the St Joe is like medicine for us all in this day of 24/7 technological bombardment.  No cell reception or Wifi means that your brain can "breathe."  And, the simple act of casting a fly rod and focusing on fooling my quarry creates a zen like haze into which I slip easily.  Time passes quickly and it seems like all to soon I am breaking camp and winding my way back toward Spokane and onto Rt 90.

How time passes

Wow.  I suddenly realized I hadn't added a post for many months.  Yes, the intention had been there but then so many other ways to post things and keep in touch seemed to keep winning out.  So here is a quick rundown of my timeline as I remember it:

April: returned to NH after a few months skiing out west.  I packed up my apartment, gave away, donated or sold additional items from my life that no longer were needed.  What a wonderful experience to "shed old skin" and move forward.

May:  Packed up my car with fishing gear, sea kayak and road bike. Kissed Elizabeth goodbye and headed west. Stopped in NY on my way to visit with family, including my 99 year old grandmother and do a little fishing with my cousin on Oatka Creek.

From NY I made a beeline to Montana and the Bighorn River.  What an amazing place.  I arrived in Fort Smith in the mid-morning, secured my license and some flies from one of the fly shops and headed out.  Low flows from out of the dam made for easy wading and clear water and for 3 days it was game on catching fat, healthy wild rainbows and browns. 

Then it was back in the car to finish my drive to Seattle.  The scenery through the rest of Montana and into Idaho was spectacular.  I certainly am fortunate to be living in this neck of the woods and plan to make regular trips over to Idaho to fish. 

Just after crossing the border into Washington I made a stop in Spokane to see my friend Hiliary and her fiance Rick.  I had left my ski gear with them when I returned from BC so I needed to cram in more stuff for the last 4 hour push.

The next day I completed the trip, arriving in Seattle mid-day to partly cloudy skies and warm temps.  I dragged out my stuff and down into Kevin and Julie's basement.  The plan was to stay with them until I found a place for Elizabeth and I.  Luckily that didn't take but a few days since my employer provided the services of a relocation specialist who took me around to a variety of properties.  Soon I had signed a lease on an apartment in Ballard.

With some time before I could into the apartment and a few weeks before I started my new job I set off for Oregon and the Deschutes River to fish the Pteronarcys Californicus hatch, aka, the salmon fly hatch.  Nothing like catching fat, healthy redside rainbow trout in a beautiful high desert location.  For 5 nights I camped out at the BLM site at Trout Creek.  In the evening the stars would twinkle through high clouds while wood smoke drifted through the campground chock full of fisherman from all over the US.

Elizabeth came out for a few days toward the end of the month.  Evergreen Hospital flew her out for an interview and we were able to spend a little time together in our new apartment and exploring Ballard.

June:  Back to work time.  Started my new job with Swedish Medical Group working in Redmond at the Urgent Care.  This is a new service line for them and a way to divert patients with more minor urgent medical needs away from the Emergency Department.  After eleven years in family practice I was ready for a change and I couldn't be happier.  The variety of problems from coughs and upper respiratory infections to lacerations and fractures certainly keeps things interesting.

Elizabeth came back out for yet another job interview, This time it was Swedish who brought her out to look at a family practice on Queen Ann.  While it certainly was convenient to where she would be living the hours weren't great.  In the end she opted for a job with the Veteran's Administration doing in home primary care, a new model the VA was developing.

July:  It passed rather uneventfully.  I was working a fair bit and on my off day I would ride my bike or take my kayak out.  I had found a convenient place to store it over on the ship canal just a 5 minute drive from the apartment. 

Golden Gardens at sunset

August:  Elizabeth left NH on the 5th bound for Seattle.  She had sold her house, thinned out her possessions and packed up the car.  Her two daughters Kate and Emma made the trip with her.  They arrived about 8 days later.  Kate is staying with us while she sorts out a living situation and a part time job.  She is going to be taking classes at Seattle Central Community College. 

For Elizabeth and I, we are settling into a living routine.  It has been a little while since either of us have lived with another partner.  For me, it is uncharted territory to live with a partner and an off-spring.  On a whole though it is going well and it is nice to watch Kate take on the duties of becoming an adult.

Given the generally warm, sunny weather this is one of the best months to get outside.  I did a fabulous hike up to Lake Melakwa in the Alpine Lakes Wilderness.  Despite having some decent cutthroat trout I couldn't get any "fish love", but enjoyed lying out in the sun in such a beautiful place.  Plus the drive was just 45 minutes from Seattle!

Two weeks ago I joined KP and Julie and some friends of theirs on the RSVP bike ride (Ride from Seattle to Vancouver and Party).  The first day was 104+ miles and the second about 80+ miles.  I developed a nagging knee problem but overall it was a great ride with beautiful scenery, good friends and I completed my first century (a 100 mi ride).  Elizabeth drove up Saturday to Vancouver to meet us and on Sunday morning the 4 of us did a leisurely ride around Stanley Park and then had Falafel Plates in the park overlooking the water.

Waiting at the Canadian Border with 2000 other cyclists

Fish Tacos at the Ballard Farmers Market

Well, I think that about sums it up.  Elizabeth has started her job at the VA and Kate has registered for classes.  We are planning weekend trips and enjoying all the things to do here such as going to the Ballard Farmers Market, the restaurants and rides down the Golden Gardens Park to watch the sun set.  In fact, as I finish this entry the patio door is open and a fresh breeze is coming in while a light rain falls.  Sipping coffee and reading on a day like today is a nice way to pass time. 

Journey North

Today I walked a sandy beach along Lake Kootenay while the smell of smoke from a woodstove hung in the air.  I was in Kokanee Creek Provincial park walking a moss lined trail as the creek rushed past.  I had arrived in Nelson, BC two days prior to sample some of the goods at Whitewater ski area though the weather had not been all that cooperative.  Luckily I had gotten in a day on soft spring snow before rain and warm temperatures forced the mountain to shut for the day.

It had been a nice five days as I worked my way north from Spokane to Schweitzer Mountain outside Sandpoint, Idaho.  Timing meant I hit soft spring corn on the Winterfest weekend when people came with a party spirit and crazy outfits to match, including a variety of super heroes, a yeti and a liftie in a storm trooper helmet.  Under a bright sun and clear blue skies, hoards of skiers sipped cold beers while listening to live music and enjoying the view of the main bowl. So, with a large coffee in hand and a good nights rest I had pointed the car north toward the Canadian border.  The route wound through valleys dotted with ranches and freestone rivers before arriving at the Porthill border crossing.  I struggled for a few minutes to figure out how to switch my car's readout into Km from MPH after clearing border control.  It is fascinating how someone with a master's degree can find the simple act of finding a button so damn frustrating. 

Earlier today I strolled along the waterfront in Nelson enjoying some crisp morning air.  The town began to stir to life as I walked the streets past boutiques, eateries and book stores.  I climbed to Pulpit Rock and peered down at Nelson from above while small planes and helicopters swooped below me and banked to land at the small airport that lay along the west arm of Kootenay lake.  After a quick lunch and as light rain began to fall I hiked back to the car and traveled northeast to Ainsworth hot springs.  My tired muscles were happy to soak in the 108 degree water as I floated with my body submerged and my face poking above through the invisible surface tension where air and water meet. 

From the hot springs I went just a bit further north to Fletcher Falls where a wonderful curtain of water cascaded down through a mossy landscape full of large cedars that shed rain drops from their massive branches.  I walked alone along the spongy trail as low clouds drifted over the lake below.

Later, back at my hotel room I was a bit like a wet noodle as I ate dinner silently before the TV.  Despite the uncooperative weather and warm, damp day I had managed to make the best of things.  Tomorrow I would check out and continue my travels north to Revelstoke for the final leg of this journey.  I was excited but nervous knowing that this would be the most physically challenging part of my five weeks.

Utah Powder Dreams

The last ten days are a bit of a blur.  Not because I was in some chemically induced stupor but because I was high on good skiing and being in the mountains.  When mother nature finally chose to deliver some fresh snow it threw a switch in me that was hard to turn off.  It began with a “dust on crust” day that really wasn’t remarkable for anything other than it got me out of the condo after two long days of doing nothing aside from surfing the web and shuffling to the hot tub at 3 o’clock with a cocktail in hand to commiserate with my fellow skiers.  

Admittedly I was still feeling the sting of Elizabeth’s going back to New Hampshire and facing the reality it would be four weeks until I would see her again.  Granted I had a great 4 weeks of adventure ahead of me and the time would likely tick by but anyone who has ever been in love can identify with what I was feeling.  Thankfully the improvement in the conditions meant I could focus that energy on finding good snow and creating my own art in the form of perfectly skied lines through trees and bowls.  

As the wind howled and dense snow fell early on the storm cycle Rick, Leslie and I took to hiking to find good snow among a place known as Richards Woods and Northslope.  The poma lift was shut due to the wind, but for those willing to walk with their skis slung over their shoulder there was a beautiful glade of nicely spaced Aspens waiting to be poached.   It wasn’t classic Utah powder but it was as good as anything back east.  Besides, the mark of a truly good skier is someone who can ski the terrain under the current conditions.  

As the next wave of snow arrived it feels light and fluffy on top of the dense snow already spread across the area.  It was snow so light that as your skis pierced it, it crumbled in on itself as if it was hollow below the visible top layer.  We floated through a world of crystalline magic and the deepening snow meant we had to find steeper aspects.  Having arrived early one morning thanks to Mike and Jean Kluk and their “Subaru bus”, we booted up at Hidden Lake Lodge and made a beeline to Sanctuary Ridge.  Mike laid down the first set of tracks going out the ridge and the anticipation of fresh tracks in Fletcher’s Bowl looked more like reality.  As we negotiated through a line a thick Douglas Firs the bowl opened up below us.  It was a clean, white slate without a blemish on its shimmering surface and led to grove of trees far below where we would find even more pillowy snow.

Taking the first line I float downslope as a plume of white trails me.  Never before have I ever experienced such a sensation as I arc turns to the bottom of the bowl and then wait while the others follow.  After a wonderful ski through the woods and multiple chairlift rides we arrive back at the top of Fletcher’s bowl and discover that our lines are still the only ones present so we go for “seconds”.  Mike, Jean and I later peel off to drop multiple times through the Powder Chambers until our legs are spent.

Unfortunately, with the passing days the snow gets tracked up, consolidated and sun affected.  It forces continuous planning to find good snow but that means we explore areas I have not yet skied.  Utilizing skins we yo-yo shots off of Raintree and amazingly find 18 inches of duff in shaded north slopes.  I concluded my time at Powder Mountain and in Utah by finally skiing one of the double black diamond shoots I had long eyed.  While the snow was not ideal, and I did not ski it with the true grace I would have liked, it was a great run that gave me a better understanding of the terrain off Lightening Ridge and next year I hope to hit it under better conditions.

      (Rick dropping a line near Raintree)

This week in skiing

Ok, I am a little behind on entries.  What can I say, I had skiing and my lovely girlfriend to occupy me and time simply got away.  I think any rational human being would let this one slide.

In any event, here is the wrap up.  After a wonderful day of skiing at Powder Mountain on the Friday after we arrived we sat things out on Saturday as temperatures dropped and the wind howled.  Lucky for us my step-sister Ellyn was in Park City with her youngest daughter, Rachel, who was competing at the Junior Nationals Freestyle Jumping competition.  Her oldest daughter Jessica had also flown in from NYC fresh off a trip to Switzerland where she and a friend had been skiing on and around the Matterhorn.  So we drove about an hour south and met up with them and had a very nice day poking around at Park City.  I particularly enjoyed Jupiter Bowl and the steep terrain and soft snow we found there as warm Utah snow beamed down.

After skiing all day and losing Rachel somewhere in the beckoning steep snow of the trees (don't worry-she resurfaced) we all met up for dinner at the Wasatch Brewery in Park City.  I tried to rack my brain how long it had been since I had seen Jessica.  I would guess at least 15 years and now she was graduated from college and working full time at Moody's.  With a similar explorers spirit and a great sense of humor I think we quickly re-connected and I hope we can meet up again soon and ski together. 

From there Elizabeth and I headed into Salt Lake City where we were booked to stay at the Hilton for the next 3 nights.  This would give us a central location from which to base ourselves and explore the ski areas located in Big and Little Cottonwood Canyons.

Monday was cold and overcast but we rallied and got ourselves headed up Big Cottonwood Canyon toward Brighton ski area after a rousing breakfast at the Denny's around the corner.  Ok, maybe we dragged a bit due the weather but by 10 am we were on our skis.  It took a bit of doing but eventually we found some soft untracked snow off the Crest Express, below Pioneer Ridge.  In fact, it was during one of those runs I answered my cell phone and accepted my new job working in the Swedish Medical Center Urgent Care in Redmond, WA.

Elizabeth was a real trooper as I dragged her down Scree Slope, a double black diamond off the Milly Express that led up towards Mt Millicent.  It turned out to be a lot more steep and scoured than it appeared from the lift but she made it down without a hitch despite having freeheel gear.  Her beautiful smile never let up for a minute and in spite of less than ideal conditions we had a great time and ended our day with a beer at Molly's, a cozy bar set in the upper floor of the old frame at the base area.

Back in SLC we hunted out a recommended restaurant called the Bayou on South State Street and not too far from the hotel.  The food and drink was excellent and we even got a little schooling about the 3.2% beer of Utah and the laws about brewing from the bar list that contained over 400 different beer options on order.

Tuesday dawned more promising.  Some high clouds drifted by but the sun was starting to light up the Oquirrh Mountains west of the city across the valley and we were hopeful that this day would be more promising.  We made good time reaching Little Cottonwood Canyon and as we ascended traces of fresh snow began to reveal themselves.  Perhaps they had picked up a few inches overnight we thought.  This was confirmed as we crested the rise and Snowbird Came in to view followed by Alta.

When we arrived folks were already lined up to load the Collins Chair though the rope had not yet been dropped.  After the initial surge made its way up the hill we too followed suit and ended up at the top of a high half-cirque with a dazzling amount of terrain unfolding before us.  We started off by following the Sugarloaf chair and picked some wonderful lines before working into Devil's Castle and then Catherine's.

Elizabeth peeled off after lunch to attend a 2 plus hour telemark class while I dropped into the backside and Greeley's before ending my day in the Ballroom followed by a straight line to the Gold Miners daughter and a cold beer.  I was impressed by how much her telemark skiing improved in that very short period of time, though truth be told she is an excellent Alpine Skier, so I shouldn't be surprised.

Wednesday was much of the same though the snow was a bit more tracked up but we managed to find soft pockets here and there and drier snow in less sun affected aspects.  Thankfully Alta has such a wide variety or terrain and aspects that we could always fine good snow.

After a long day we drove north back to Eden and Powder Mountain.  Wanting to give Elizabeth a little taste of the more difficult and wilder terrain Rick and I took her up Lightening Ridge via Snowcat before we skinned up James Peak, the tallest point at Powder Mtn. at 9,422 ft.  She seemed to really enjoy the skin though the snow was a little heavy in places as the temperatures were getting into the 40's and the sun was really softening things up. 

Friday was even warmer so the skiing was essentially restricted to inbounds skier packed slopes, otherwise either poles or skis would punch through the snow to what seemed like hollow layers below.  In the end though we made the best of it and to celebrate what had been a great week we went to the Shooting Star in Huntsville for a burger and beer.  Rumor has it is the oldest continuously functioning bar west of the Mississippi, running even through prohibition because supposedly the local sheriff owned it.
 

 Saturday meant that I had to put Elizabeth on a plane back to NH.  She had responsibilities and a job to return to while I would continue my ski journey for another month before heading back home.  It was a difficult goodbye and I miss her dearly but I am in such a better place at this point in my life vs just one year ago and this was something I needed to do for myself as I knew in the long run this would make our relationship healthier.

Hello Utah

After arriving late on March the 7th Elizabeth and I said a quick hello to Rick then headed off to bed.  I had clearly made some errors in booking the travel from New Hampshire to Utah but that was now a thing of the past.  We stored our gear in the small guestroom, flopped down into bed and pulled the covers up tight to our chins and drifted off.

The sun was peeking out of some high clouds when I scanned the mountains above the valley floor where we now sat.  After a quick breakfast and a bit of a hasty organizing of our lunch, clothing and packs we caught the 9AM shuttle to catch up with Rick who had already headed up to Powder Mountain.  Outside the main lodge we clicked into our bindings and skied down to the Timberline lift.  It was great to make graceful tele-turns in the soft, edge-able snow as smiles formed on our faces.  After a few runs we met up with Rick and poked about in different areas feeling out the mountain and its wide variety of terrain.  At first I struggled a bit to control my longer powder skis but then that old familiar rhythm began to fall in to place and my muscle memory kicked in as I made better turns in deeper snow on steeper aspects.  It was nice to be back and I would need this "flight time" to be ready for my week in the Selkirk Mountains come April.

The Wasatch Mountains around the greater Salt Lake Area contain (depending on who is counting) 9 major ski areas as well as endless backcountry options.  Elizabeth and I planned to do some exploring during the 9 days she would be here with me before returning to the real world of a job, bills, kids and a myriad of other responsibilities. Still, the snow amounts were down again this year so we hoped that typically snowy March would deliver while she was here.  She had been working hard to improve her telemark skills and I really wanted her to experience that "dance" with the mountain that occurs when fresh snow slides beneath your skis.

Later that evening as we sipped cocktails in the hot tub and chatted with other skiers about their day I soaked in that vibe that develops as strangers connect about that universal purpose that brings us here, skiing and the mountains.   How lucky am I?

And...we're off

And...we’re off

Last night I checked and rechecked my packing list while consciously keeping in mind the weight
limit of my bag. It is never easy to fully anticipate needs when you are traveling for 6 weeks.
Luckily this trip is basically geared around one activity. Skiing. That said, I still needed to pack
plenty of warm clothes and safety gear including shovel, probe and avalanche beacon plus my
usual menagerie of camera gear and a laptop.
In the last few weeks leading up to this moment I have logged onto the internet countless times
to view snow reports in Utah, peruse the avalanche reports and see what others are posting on
facebook and Youtube about the current state of the 20122013
ski season. So far it is looking
more favorable than what we experienced last year, though still dour by Utah standards. Here at
home in New England we have experienced a decent snow year with enough of the fluffy good
stuff to lay claim to a few good powder days but ahhh, the soft powder potential of the west
beckons. I suspect a lot of skiers practice a similar ritual as they consult the online weather
oracles in anticipation of epic conditions, face shots and bluebird days. Daydreams waffle
between silently gliding through glades of snow covered evergreens to sipping cold beers on the
outdoor deck while soaking up the warm rays of the sun. Damn those interruptions by needy
coworkers
when I’m in the “zone.” Don’t they know I’m using powerful imagery to perfect my
techniques.
At 2:50 am the alarm jolts us awake. The car is packed already so we need only to put coffee in
travel mugs and get ourselves dressed. At the bus station in N. Londonderry, NH my girlfriend
Libby and I stash our ski bags, boots and duffels under the bus and clamber aboard. This bus
connection means no paying exorbitant parking fees at Boston’s Logan Airport and offers the
possibility of a nap when you have to wake at such an early hour.
The weather is a little problematic today. A large storm front has swept across the midwest and
is now making its way into New England where it will sit in the Gulf of Maine and churn away for
the next few days bringing more snow. For us it means an hour long delay getting out of Boston
this morning and that creates a problem with our connection in Los Angeles.

And... we’re in standby mode

Why LA you ask? Simply because connecting in the middle of the country adds another layer of
possible weather delays in addition to what we face getting out of the northeast in the winter.
Had it not been for the hour delay all would have been ok as we touched down in sunny,
sixty degree
LA. However, our original airlines has no baggage transfer agreement with domestic
carriers so we have to claim our bags, haul them to a different terminal, recheck them, go
through security again, and take a shuttle to a distant terminal. Simply not possible with the time
remaining after we arrive.
Now, I can’t say that I wasn’t a little frustrated. I felt like an idiot for arranging the itinerary in this manner just to save a few bucks when we could have flown a more direct route through Phoenix
or Denver. With standby tickets in hand though we did the only thing delayed travelers on
vacation can do. We went and had a drink while I groused about my recent string of bad luck
traveling the airlines over the last few weeks. It was only 9 days ago that I got stranded in
Chicago overnight while en-route to Seattle for a job interview. A major winter storm managed to
hit in the paltry eighty minutes I sat waiting for a connecting flight and this resulted in literally
thousands of flights cancelled.
Fortunately two seats went unclaimed on a flight to Salt Lake City a few hours later. We touched
down around 7:30 pm central time, gathered our stuff, picked up the rental car and headed north
to Eden and the condo where my buddy Rick is staying for the months of February and March
while he skis himself silly at Powder Mountain. Exhausted but safe we collapsed into bed around
10 pm. As the last moments of conscious awareness filtered through my head I wondered what
tomorrow would bring and how it would feel to be back skiing the fine dry snow of Utah. I would
get my answer soon enough.

Ok, generally I don't like to share "horror" stories but travel horror stories somehow tweek that collective nerve in all of us because from time to time we all find ourselves stranded and doing what we can to make the best of a crummy situation.

So a few weeks back I was invited to come out to Seattle for an interview in an urgent care clinic.  The potential employer would make arrangements for my flights and rental car.  Being a practical individual and wanting to maximize my time there exploring other possible options I agreed to meet with another organization while here.

One the appointed day I woke at 4:15 to catch a bus to Boston and my flight which would connect me in Chicago.  Time was tight between between my arrival and departure in Chicago, but I had enough time to get a sandwich and freshen up a bit.  Just as we began to board someone shook up the snow globe and suddenly you couldn't even see the terminal across the way.  All de-iced and loaded up we taxied out and waited our turn to take off.  Unfortunately that turn never arrived as the captain informed us there was too much snow on the runway to both safely and legally take off.  Screw legally, you had me at safely pal.

So we returned to the gate to await the word of the tower.  Eventually they said our flight was cancelled and had us get off.  Now, what you need to know is that I was carrying all my luggage with me, but on the flight out of Chicago they ran out of room in the overhead bins so I had to check my bag and leave it on the jetway.  Normally this works well because they simply pull that bag right off and give it back to you as you exit the plane.  Well, that didn't happen.  So, I waited along with everyone else, to see the agent and both claim my bag and get a new flight booked.  After about an hour I arrived in front of Mr. Wright (that's what his name tag said, no joke).  He explained that my bag had ended up in "general population" while he pecked away to find me another flight, all the while taking pity on me as I tried my best to calmly explain that my interview suit was in the bag now MIA.  He secured me a seat on a flight leaving at 8:10 that evening and put in an order for my bag to be delivered at claim #5.  No problem, the bag should arrive in about an hour.  I walked away pretty satisfied with this outcome.

This is where things start to unravel a bit. Down at baggage claim #5 other folks began to congregate and when 60 minutes had come and gone I inquired about my bag and was now told it could take another 1-2 hours before it would arrive.  I could feel my blood pressure staring to rise as I had visions of interviewing in jeans or a frantic trip to Men's Warehouse where I would throw myself at the feet of the in-house tailor and plead my case.  To add to my frustrations I discovered from other passengers milling about and enjoying a similar plight that my 8:10 flight out was now cancelled.  Dashing back upstairs I got in a que to see an agent and get to the bottom of this rumor. Talking on my cell phone with my friend Kevin in Seattle and filling him in on my current state I found myself being jostled, bumped and generally annoyed by a fat woman with an even fatter suitcase who clearly was in a hurry to go no where in a line that was moving at a snails pace.  Now I don't generally lose my shit on complete strangers and I would like to say I did exercise some degree of modicum when I turned on her like a caged badger, politely interrupted my conversation with Kevin, and gave her a little lashing about personal space.  Satisfied I went back to my conversation.

The agent did her best to try and help me and in the end I was able to be routed through Los Angeles on a flight leaving at 7 am which turned out to be much better than what other folks faced.  Hotel voucher in hand I worked my phone to re-schedule my interviews while awaiting my bag.  That process took another two and a half hours and it wasn't until about 6:30 pm that I finally had my bad in hand.  Getting a shuttle to the hotel proved to be a difficult task as well.  It seemed like everyone at the airport had gotten vouchers for the same hotel and so when a single, small van approached the driver was nearly crushed as people descended on him like a pack of wild dogs.  In the end the folks without luggage ended up with seats as the rest of us had to ensure our luggage got in the back and that meant we couldn't be in two places at once.  As the full van pulled away, five of us stood scratching our heads at the curb feeling like we had just been promised a date with a super model only to have gotten Olive Oil. 

After weighing our options we decided to wait the hour that it would take the driver to make another circuit.  I felt particularly bad for a nice gentleman from Finland who had been beaten out on two shuttle runs to the hotel by overly pushy Americans hell bent on getting to the bar first.  With a plan hatched we set ourselves up to get seats on the next run and it was a damn good thing since it ended up being a complete do-over when our ride arrived.  However, one of the nice Canadians discovered that his bag had not gotten on the van when we arrived at the hotel and he was forced to endure a trip bag to the terminal to see if luck would prevail.  I don't know how that turned out.

Finally, after waiting some more to check in I was able to lay my head down on a pillow at 8:30 pm.  It was a brief sleep however since I was up at 3:15 to catch a 4 am shuttle back to the airport for a 7 am flight.  This was the only shuttle still promising seats so I had little options outside of taking a $45 taxi.   Fortunately my morning flight got out fine and passed over lush, green irrigated valleys bathed in a brillant morning sun before landing at LAX. 

At LAX I discovered that if you have to change terminals you have to exit security and go through a complete re-screen to get back into the boarding area.  Because I was switching from American Airlines to Alaska I not only had to be re-screened but also had to hoof-it from terminal E to A and I was on a tight schedule. 

Now, a few times I have had to walk fast to make a connection but never have I run like a madman and I always thought that those people who did just didn't plan well.  Wrong!  I actually lost count of how many times I went through security on this trip but I am waiting to see if my genitalia suffer any repercussions of multiple x-rays and body scans.  In the end I made the flight with time to spare and landed safely in Seattle at 2 pm. 

From there I hustled my way to a shuttle to pick up my rental car.  "Down one level and pick out any mid-size car.  The keys will be in it and you check out with the gate."   Simple enough.  Except there were no mid-size cars, only economy, compact, full size, SUV's, mini-vans.  Uggg!  Pulling my roller-bag I navigated through a sea of cars in a herculean sized parking garage to find an attendant.  I had to get to Kevin's house to get cleaned up and dressed for a 4:30 interview and there was no telling what traffic would be like.  Understanding my plight, Bruce, the nice attendant told me to take any other car.  I sped off and to my delight discovered traffic wasn't bad.  Ultimately I made my meeting on-time and it went very well.

Looking back I realize that at times I could become someone I didn't like.  Irritable, demanding, unrealistic and agitated.  Upset about things beyond my control and the control of others.  Try as I do with good intentions and awareness I still slip up and become the proverbial Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, unable to surrender myself to the realities of what traveling can be from time to time. 

So this last week we had the ghost of the "Blizzard of '78" re-visit New England, or so said the news services that amp'd up the anticipation.  Of course, as a skier, how could I not get excited.

The morning of the big day dawned with just a few errant flakes drifting down and with 6 hours before the snow was to dump in earnest I set about readying my gear, gassing the car, preparing lunch and laying in supplies for the "storm bunker."

Around 3-4 pm Libby rolled in to the bunker with her stuff and an enthusiastic attitude about the storm to come.  In fact, she did a little snow dance as I recall.  Later that evening we tucked into some DVD's as the snow began to blanket the yard, my neighborhood and the rest of New England.  When it was over Concord, NH would have over 2 ft and in spots in southern New England the snow totals exceeded 3 ft.

By 5 am I was wide awake as the sound of snow plows tore at piles of cold white gold to a guy like me.  Coffee made, breakfast burritos in hand and the car packed we pulled out into streets quickly refilling with more snow but not a car to be seen. Cruising north on the interstate we encountered only snowplows and the occasional car likely loaded with other skiers.  Wind would slap the car and briefly cause it to shudder while frozen grains of snow obscured my vision and clung to the windshield.  It promised a great day of skiing to be had.

Bypassing Waterville Valley, Loon Mtn, and Cannon we wound up Rt 302 to Bretton Woods.  The air stung my skin and on the chair rides up we would freeze only to feel our muscles burn as we slid through refilling shots of light fluffy powder.  All day long mother nature shook the snow globe and we poked around each nook and cranny to find stashes of soft snowy goodness.  It was only after we got south of Franconia Notch did we see blue sky and a faint setting orange orb to the west.

The next afternoon I drove first to Sunapee Mtn but finding that over-run with more people than I could handle I continued north to my old stomping grounds of Ragged Mtn.  Even at Ragged Mtn I found cars stacked up along the road long before the parking lots.  Grabbing my gear I hiked up the hill and found the chair lifts packed with skiers and boarders but the sloped surprisingly empty for the most part.  The snow was soft and buttery for the most part though scratchy patches of man made "snice"  (a snow ice hybrid compacted by machines) shown through.  I hit one of these patches as I dove into Birches and found my skis almost instantly going out from under me as as icy spray shot into my face. 

As I finished up my day picking my way through Pels Pass to Sweepstakes I took a moment to take in what might be my last trip down this trail of tight, twisting turns and a double fall line with bits of dirt and whippets showing in between the bumps.  It is a trail of classic New England lore.  However, in just a few short weeks I would be resigning my position at work, boarding a plane to Utah and spending the next 6 weeks shredding soft western snow before my permanent relocation to the Pacific Northwest.  I can't say I will miss the fickle weather on New England, though it has made me the skier I am with the ability to basically confront any condition on any terrain. 

So, 2013 is in full swing and I have decided once again to make an attempt at keeping a blog.  It isn't so much about bragging rights or the proverbial "hey look at me" as it is a way to document my thoughts, be them good, bad, sad, happy or anywhere in between.

I have, however, struck upon the idea of creating a video montage of 2013 by capturing something about each month in this year that is relevant to my life and the grand adventure we dub life.  It would seem I am off to a good start.  Last weekend Elizabeth (my girlfriend), her oldest son Bowman and I traveled to Jackson, NH to hook up with Chris Graham from Synnott Mountain Guides.  After a short drive up to Crawford Notch we loaded the gear onto our backs and hiked into an open piece of ice real estate.  There Chris set the top rope and we were off an running.  It ended up being a fantastic day with good weather, a great guide and a wonderful opportunity for us all to tackle something new, especially Bowman.  It was after all his x-mas gift from his mom and I was just tagging along. 

It feels good to have some words down and get this blog launched.  We'll see how it goes from here.