22nd Blog: What I thought I knew about skiing

What I thought I knew about skiing: Growing up in the San Fernando Valley in Southern California, I was unexposed to the pleasures of downhill skiing. The winter Olympics were not noticed by me, nor were any local skiers evident in my circle of acquaintances or friends. Switzerland and the Alps were made for skiing and winter sports, but I was not yet drawn to playing in the cold. I remember liking speed, especially riding down hills on my black Raleigh 3-speed with my friends, or borrowing my sisters Flexi-Flyer - a sled on wheels that was made for "sledding" on the sidewalk. Now, we might call it an early form of street luge.

In the winter of 9th grade, my family moved to Salt Lake City, Utah. This was tainted by the death of my grandmother, but Utah has mountains and even in the city, the invitation to enjoy playing outside is immediate and rewarding. It became known to my family that we needed to learn to ski. After all, the ski resorts are close and there is plenty of used equipment ready to be cleaned out of the garages of the locals, in this case, members of my father's congregation. Old skis and leather boots and bent poles and mostly useless coats and gloves were donated. I skied in Levis and cotton shirts and long underwear that saw a previous life as a body suit meant to go under a plaid skirt. The body suit had to be completely removed in order to use the ladies room; I think I only wore that once and I certainly recall how annoying it was to take everything off.

My parents purchased lessons for the entire family from the local newspaper. Our lessons were at Brighton or Solitude. Anyway, they are both up Big Cottonwood Canyon. My first day of skiing was at Brighton - I learned to snow plow, a ridiculous method for moving downhill, but still a great way to slow down or stop if necessary. I rode the lift on what must have been a short and shallow downhill run, my newish Levi's leaving blue marks in the snow when I sat down involuntarily. Eventually, my parents purchased new equipment for all of us. I had lace-up leather boots and Fischer 250 skis. I had a puffy down filled jacket that had a cotton lining with a paisley print. I was very proud of that coat. I had crappy long underwear, the stocking cap I got from my grandmother and I assume, gloves.

Early days in my skiing experience, I went to Park City with a 10th grade boyfriend, Rex, and after a few terrifying runs, walked, carrying my skis, back to the lodge. This must have been before lessons. Rex was from Colorado, and he and his brothers were excellent skiers. After completing lessons, my family did more regular skiing trips, exploring several local resorts. On Sundays after church, we would drive up to Alta, at the top of Little Cottonwood Canyon, purchase a $4.00 10-punch ticket and ride and ski the afternoons away. My friends and I were sometimes able to get more than 10 chairlift rides because we were girls, and I assume, attractive enough to qualify.  I never was very good at skiing, but I had fun and we did not worry about the quality of the snow.Then I went away to college, got married, and moved back to California.

What I learned about skiing: Summers are too long between seasons and I welcome the snow. If I had the money, I'd vacation in the Southern Hemisphere and ski in Chili during the winter. About ten years ago, I began skiing again. Living in Boise, Idaho, puts me about 20 miles from the lower parking lot at Bogus Basin. It's still a 40 minute drive, and every year, some fool drives off the road onto the foothills.When my friend John and I first started going up to Bogus, we drove in his 1978 VW Rabbit, with studded snow tires and front wheel drive. He once accused me of trying to rip out the chicken-strap, and I pointed out that if he continued to drive fast, I'd keep being terrified and thank goodness for a chicken-strap. John taught me most of what I know about skiing correctly, even though I sometimes got tired of being in "student" mode. I'll never look as stylish or smooth as he does; but I can get to the bottom from anywhere at Bogus Basin.

Bogus Basin started selling ski passes for $200.00 per year. Without that, I probably would not be a dedicated skier.  I've gone through 3 pairs of new skis in the past ten years. At the end of the 2011 season, I replaced my pretty green and white Head Xenon 9.0 163-centimeter long fatter skis with 4-Front Identity Series Madonna all mountain woman's 165-centimeter long even fatter skis that are about 90 at the waist and 120 wide at the tips, twin: that is. Yikes, as you can tell, I've gotten into the ski lingo. But more than that, I've really come to appreciate fat skis that float on powder and turn easily because they are much shorter than what we skied on in the 1970's. Even more important to someone who is cold most of the time, polypropylene and other warm man-made fabrics were invented, becoming the standard in cold weather and sporting gear. I still use down filled gloves on cold days and I started wearing a helmet after Sony Bono died from skiing into a tree.

Skiing itself is often sublime, sometimes annoying, and well worth the months of working out, leg lifts, leg presses, core work, upper body work and whatever else TJ has insisted on a third set of 15 reps. Skiing powder, although the most tiring, feels amazing and you can hear people "wooh whooo"ing all over the slopes. When there is powder,  (precipitation at something below 28 degrees), John and I rush up the mountain along with the rest of Boise's powder hounds and find our way to our favorite off-trail powder caches. I won't bore you with their locations, as I don't want to share. Some years are better, and there is more available powder; some years have lots of warmth and slush as did this one.  This year, Bogus did not open until the end of January: GASP! We were all disappointed by the short season, especially after the 2010-2011 season when Bogus opened at Thanksgiving.  I had enough time to put together a quilt that pictures the snow and "first tracks" last fall.

We made it to the end-of-year party at Bogus on April 7th after skiing a record 5 times in 8 days. This year, John won a prize for locating a Pabst Blue Ribbon on that last day while skiing one of our "secret" (there's no such thing) runs. Earlier that week, we drove to McCall and skied for free on a Tuesday during a week long promotion at Brundage Mountain. Now, the snow has melted from Shafer Butte and there is nothing left of the white stuff on the top of the mountain, visible from the Boise valley. How I miss turning the corner from Chair 6, and bracing myself for the wind blowing up the trail and forming drifts as I head for Wildcat, or if it's lunch time, Tiger. Perhaps I'll join the brush cutting crew this summer and help remove some of the brush that stubbornly remains above the snow all winter. I paid for my season pass for next year in February, and I'll probably buy new ski socks. We just need more SNOW!