Lessons in Fear and Humility

when one…let’s call him Juan.

when Juan ventures alone into the world, no matter the arena of life in question – a progression takes place, playing through like a musical scale.

in his enthusiasm, he may stray afield in the innocent curiosity of exploration and come across a moment of truth.

and like our friend Juan i did just that, looking for stashes, following the powder snakes. ducking into trees, riding the trail edges, dipping in and out of bounds. this isn’t anything special; it’s a natural point in every snowist‘s development, when he grows bored of the piste and begins to explore beyond the machine-groomed surface.

at this stage of the game i must have been getting a little too confident with it, because on Mt Millicent it sent me right into the classroom.

—–

ever since i can remember, i’ve had a very interesting relationship with fear. always prodding at it, poking a toe in, testing the waters. fear has been a guiding force in my life in more ways than one. and it has always been a wonderful teacher. if i don’t seem to get it, the fault lies entirely with the student.

i just wanted to make something clear before the story begins in earnest: i’m not trying to be dramatic. i mean sure, i sprinkle a bit of drama here and there for vicariousness’s sake, and set stuff up with a certain flair. how else can i bring you closer to my experience in that moment? but in all honesty, i want to mention here that the moments i truly felt my life might be in danger during this day were, in actual fact, few if any.

certainly though, Juan wouldn’t even want to hurt a toe, because Juan can’t snowboard without his fear-poking toe.

—–

i strap in and traverse to the left (skier’s right) of the Milly Express, staying on the highest track i can manage.

i should probably confess at this point: i haven’t been doing the best job of consulting trail maps, in general. i take a casual glance, but prefer to let the mountain lead me in person. I vaguely knew there were cliffs somewhere, but the track was well grooved. if it led to them, surely there wouldn’t have been so much apparent traffic to get over there?

If your eyes are shrewd, you are starting to see where this is going.

—–

this particular snake finally flows down into a well slashed powder field. the traverse was long enough for me to suspect i won’t make it over here again any time soon, and it was a nice day, so i start taking pictures. the cliffs towering silently above me are humbling:

the views, as tends to be the case in Utah, stunning in every direction

and the terrain below, well, par for the course if a bit on the steep side:

i put away the camera, and pointed the nose downhill with zeal.

—–

if at this point you think to yourself, caution would have been the wiser, consider this:
how can you learn anything wise from fear, if the moment it comes up something is done to avoid the potential danger?

but i’m not thinking anything of the sort in that moment; i’m shredding, excited to see what kinda goodies lay ahead.

—–

the turns are not as fluffy as i’d hoped, but the snow is soft and heavy in the sunlight. i am too focused on the 3 upcoming turns to look very far ahead, and anyway it’s too steep for looking to be of much use. and suddenly the turns come to an end. i was at the top of the cliff, with a choice between 2 chutes that looked uninvitingly narrow, and two more options i couldn’t see very well. i decided to chance it.

—–

my heart, pounding thus far with sidecountry excitement, changes rhythms. the rhythm of fear: slower, heavier, darker beats. my muscles tight with unnoticed and unnecessary tension, i cautiously traverse across to get a look at the last two, and immediately regret it. these are even narrower, and there is no “undo cliff” button anywhere in sight. why were there no signs?!?

oh right. i’m out of bounds.

—–

balanced there on the end of a spine between two cliff chutes, i remembered you, dear vicarious you. and so gingerly, as much as delicate toeside balance and cold hands would allow, i snapped two shaky pictures. above and below:

the best course of action i could come up with was to jump, turn 45 degrees in two axes, and land flat on that snow covered rock peeking out in the center of the chute, into an immediate heelside turn.

—–

it looks like a good 8-10 foot diagonal hop into some really steep terrain, and i have no idea what’s beyond view. my only recourse is something i’ve never before done very successfully. At this point my fear peaks, and in doing so triggers a response within me. i suddenly remember myself.

—–

breathing deeply, i observe my situation from a more detached perspective – a dude teetering in fear on a cliff. i suddenly recognize the significance of the moment, my presence in the classroom, the importance of the lesson, the consequences of the fear, the height of adventure, the presence of Terrestrial Intelligence. and i smile, despite myself, and thank my stars for putting me here – because if i knew these cliffs were there, i would never have come alone.

—–

from this perspective i recognize 2 forces in a stalemate, keeping me hanging there on the precipice. on the one hand, life has brought me here and to retain my freedom to move i have to get off this cliff. on the other, fear has got me frozen to the spot.

a third force must be summoned to overcome the deadlock. this force must be supplied by my next action.

—–

this action which manifests the third force to neutralize the fear, and in accordance with which i must act, itself consists of 3:

knowledge – of what must be done

will – to initialize action

faith – an unshakable trust that my body knows how

i look within, and see the ingredients there. consciously relaxing the tensions in my body first, i unite the 3 into one attitude. it feels like love, for life and its endless opportunities. the fear drowns in it, the moment to be seized is here.

i jump.

welcomed by a field of fluffy and obstacle free moguls, i fall over into the soft snow in the sun, beaming with gratitude.

in hindsight, it looks like this:

—–

this experience has me on a rather ecstatic high. Brighton is breathtaking, not that this is so hard to find around these parts. but i felt distinctly as if the mountain was conscious of me, guiding my adventures, whispering directions into my whims. i feel very connected, happy, and despite the earlier fear experience or perhaps because of having passed through it, safe in this guidance. and then Billy calls for some vicarious snowboarding.

—–

vicarious snowboarding with billy in my pocket is a blast. i imagine he feels like he’s playing a video game, reading the map and guiding me realtime through the trees. I’m inside the video game; i hear him in my helmet. i don’t know if we are the first to claim this, and i don’t wanna start a new fad or anything, but it’s like, a thing.

—–

too cocky a thing, as it turns out. i take an ill-advised turn, and end up in some sketchy looking business. This time i have no time for fear.

remembering my lesson from earlier, i try to make shorter work of the whole affair, but in the midst of the excitement and phone games, i’d forgotten myself, and worse, forgotten about Brighton.

multitasking, as my dear friend EBD once said to me in her inimitably lovable manner, is bullshit. i couldn’t agree more.

—–

i jump in to make the turn, but misjudge the snow; it’s deceptively soft with a stump underneath. my nose catches and i go cartwheeling backwards through the trees.

All drama aside, this actually is a dangerous situation: and let’s be honest – not my first on the snow, or off it. i’ve had my share of near misses in this life, and if you think avoiding actively courting danger is safe, think again: anything can happen anywhere, at any time, and if i wasn’t already so painfully verbose, i could give plenty of examples.

—–

the first ragdoll backward cartwheel (my specialty) whips me through a gap unharmed, but unfortunately offers no purchase on my momentum; at the end of the second, a thankfully young and thin birch does what i can’t and stops me. very abruptly.

i sit up, my bell ringing, and survey the damage. bruised left arm, but ok. i take a picture of my second classroom, this one offering a lesson along the lines of humility and responsibility.

helmets help you live more.

—–

Brighton is open til 9pm, but my riding has become loose and sloppy by 5. i don’t think i could survive another lesson today. i thank the mountains with a deep sense of connection, awe, and humility, and drive out the canyon into the sunset.

—–

meanwhile, right now – after a day off from riding (spent sightseeing and typing up blog posts in SLC) we’ve come a bit closer to caught up. I’ve ridden twice more at canyons since, and there are some pics and a few ups and downs, but they’ll have to wait.It’s back to the mountains tomorrow, and then westward again. more snow is coming, and probably a lot of it.
until next time, signing off from Salt Lake City,
yours truly