Head down, toe in
After the initial first steps, I realize the path I have chosen is not just a mountain, but an entire range of mountains. It extends endlessly into the realm of possibilities. In my mind’s eye I open to my perfect path. My feet know the way. I can see myself standing on peak after peak as I let my dreams manifest in the realm of my imagination and become reality.
I’ve climbed mountains before. Many mountains. My favorites were during the 5 winters I spent in New Mexico. We often got some of our best snowfalls before and after the ski lifts were operating. No Matter. We’d gear-up, strapping our skis onto our hiking packs and go for it. Ski Santa Fe’s base elevation is 10,350 feet with the summit at 12,035 feet. Ski Santa Fe Map
This is one of the few times I am ever jealous of snow borders. Their boots are soft making them easy to hike in, as opposed to the oppressively stiff ski boots that I wore. Their boards are a singular component and easily slung over their backs. This is also the only time skis are awkward to me, when they’re strapped on either side of my body, climbing straight up a mountain.
Head down, toe in. Climb. climb.
Feeling the burn, I chant this repeating mantra in my head and focus on the peak.
Somewhere between the green-quad chair run, Broadway, and the far steeper blue run leading to the top of the triple-chair’s peak, we stop for a break. We don’t talk about how hard the climb is. We talk about how gorgeous the day is. Or how tasty Eric’s homemade cookies are.
We’re all climbing that same mountain. We all know it’s tough. But we also know that even though it’s only one ride down, every step we take is worth it. Even when the snow is crusty or thin, it’s still worth it—every time.
Of course the preference for all of us is always fresh powder. My last visit to Taos Ski Valley was a solo one of discovery and exploration. After skiing 2 of 4 days for free in Santa Fe, I scored another 2 free tickets for the end of my trip in Taos. At lunchtime, that sun-soaked February afternoon, I headed to the Hotel St. Bernard patio to thank one of my friend-of-a-friend-lift ticket benefactors whom I’d never met.
“No problem,” he graciously says flipping the burgers on the deck grill.
“You hiked the Ridge yet?”
Nope. I was alone. Usually with a group or at least a ski buddy, on this day it was just me. Tackling the double-diamond Ridge when considering even the easiest of runs made my knees shake a bit. Especially alone.
“You’ve got to do it man! I went yesterday and the snow’s fucking awesome.” He goes back to his grill station.
I knew he was right. I’d skied a full morning, was plenty warmed up and had some juice left in my legs. I finished my
burger, took two chair lift rides, popped my skis off, flung them over my shoulders and started the snow-packed climb. I hiked past the Highline runs of the famed steepness of Oster and Staufeenberg and forged on to Juarez, the easiest of all the Ridge runs just at the top. TrailMap_HighlineRidge
I’d been eyeing it’s broad, open face of soft, fresh powder from the cat walk below all day. As I climbed a far shorter distance than when the lifts were closed in Santa Fe, I thought of Taos Ski Valley founder, Ernie Blake.
“Earn your turns,” was his motto. It meant you had to hike to get to the good stuff.
I locked my skis into place, tightened my boots and knees knocking peered over the 42 degree pitch of the wind-whipped sharp cusp and jumped into my first turn with shaky confidence. Linked a second…and was on my way.
Big Fat Turns. I didn’t care that my line wasn’t tight. I was free! For a brief and brilliant moment in time it was just me and the mountain.
That’s why I climb mountains, I thought as I came breathlessly invigorated to a stop at the bottom of the run and looked back up. Hell yeah! That’s living right.
I have often used the “head-down-toe-in….you will get to the top of your mountain” speech to encourage people in my life get through whatever huge endeavor they may be facing at that moment.
Unless you’ve actually climbed a mountain, it’s only a good metaphor.
Once you’ve climbed that mountain, though, taken that peace-filled, wind-at-your-back-and-stinging-your-face-at-the-same-time, perfect run down the mountain on a Bluebird Day, well, that’s when you know that all the mountains and all the peaks are worth the effort. They are always worth all the preparation, tenacity and dedication.
Standing here, perfectly rooted in my lovely home a mile from the Greenbelt hills and hiking trails in otherwise-flat Austin, I am on top of my first peak. I’ve made it to the quad chair. One green run and 900-feet of vertical behind me, I see the top of the next mountain. And the one after that.
I open myself to all the possibilities in the great abundance before me. There will be many mountains I know I can climb in front of me. I can go it alone. But I also know that having the support of my friends and family along the way makes it easier to enjoy the scenery and indulge in the cookies.
Head down, toe in. Climb. Climb.
