Backcountry Action

"Free your heel, free your mind"

Seven am soaking wet thick rain. Big ol' fat rayun. Car loaded, skis in, poor excited dog about to be disappointed. This is a trip for men only. Wife stays sleeping, dog stays moping. Drive until the rain turns to slush, then keep going until it is honest-to-goodness snow. Park, kick at pathetic piles of ankle-deep good stuff. Barely enough to cover the ice. We drove this far, it's worth a try. Boots on feet, skins on skis, skis on boots, too many clothes. Stop in ten minutes to peel layers so everything is not soaked at lunch time. Climb through trees, across glades and up, always up, always looking down. Snow deepens as we climb out of the clouds. More clothes come off, try to drink enough water to replace the sweat. -15C and we're down to the last layer, still sweating. Sunglasses stayed in the car, of course. Lunch on the lea side of the summit, in the bright sun. Dig the pits, cut, saw, scrape, pound the columns until they give up the secrets of every snowfall in the last month. Avalanche not likely, sun still shining, snow deep and stable. Bellies full of lunch and butterflies, ready for the descent. A solid morning of climbing, a blissful 20 minutes of deep, knee-straining turns. Take me home, I'm spent.

The Man in the Sky (Watching)

Whenever I consistently exercise, I find myself outside in the dark, sweating into the night, staring at Orion. I'm neither astronomer or astrologist, and I only know two constellations, but I have a favourite.  Growing up in a northern town, he was only visible during the winter months in the southern sky, but now I've moved further south and he sticks around all the time.

My high school years were spent cross-country skiing through the long winters. I trained and raced and traveled and had a grand time doing it. No one was about to have me skipping school to train, so we went after. A mum would pick us up from the school, we'd change in the truck on the way, and we'd still have to ski by headlamps. Some days we'd park the cars strategically and ski up and down the parking lot, other times we'd strap on spelunker's lights and head out on the trails. Later the club was able to string lights along portions of the new trails so we could ski all evening. Skiing with no artificial light and just a full moon to guide your strides is a rare treat.

There was one section of track that led up away from the lake on a gradual slope to wear down your legs a bit, then a corner and a steep short down hill followed immediately by an even steeper up hill. It was a nasty little combination, and the lights didn't shine well to that spot. Many nights I would struggle up that little steep hill, staring at Orion seemingly perched on the snow at the top. The nights I remember best were the really cold ones, when the air sparkled as any humidity still left in it was frozen and slowly drifted to join the snow on the ground. The snow squeaked loudly, and if you spat on the ground, it would bounce, frozen before it landed.

Now I run with Rosie every morning. I plod along for a few miles while she bounds back and forth after rabbits into the underbrush. For a few months in the summer it is light out when we go. The sun even peeks around the mountain before we get back to the car for about three weeks. By September, we are running in the dark. Rosie's Mama bought me a new headlamp for my birthday this year, so she can have hers back. And, sure enough, every morning there is a big enough gap in the clouds that plague this part of the world, there he is, watching me run through the dark trees.

I know the stars have no influence over our lives and vice versa, but I can understand why people once upon a time did think such things. There are so many and they seem so profound. Even if it is all bollocks, it is comforting and inspiring to think of an ancient warrior supervising my training.