Ski Tour Musings

There is nothing quite like the hum of skis moving uphill on a skin track.  The sound is actually hard to describe.  The alternating  click of left and right boot heels on your binding’s heel plate can become very calming.  Maybe it is because Mother Nature’s wintry robe is so quiet on a windless day.  It is always a good idea to take a quick break and take off some layers after 20 minutes of skinning.  There were quite a few skiers out skinning uphill today and many of them seemed to be in a hurry.  As I put my outer jacket into my pack, I asked myself why they seemed to be pushing it uphill?

So often these days, everyone seems to be in a hurry.  Life is already a temporary existence so why scurry through it?  Of course, maybe they were exercising but shouldn’t you exercise your mind?  When I skin, I like to set a pace in which I keep my perspiration to a minimum, my breathing slow and deep, and my senses on alert.  There is so much to partake of in the mountains.  During one of my water stops, I pulled a pine tree branch up to my nostrils and inhaled deeply.  Here it is, three hours later and I can still smell parfum du pine.  Tiny moments like that are why I venture into the Wild.  As always, the wind lived on the summit.  Gazing westward, I marveled at the dark faced front approaching the Oregon Cascades.  Removing my skins, I switched my ski bindings from tour to ski mode and selected my line.  The snow was hard and quite icy in spots however; nothing feels better than carving precise short radius turns with a pack on your back.  Skiing with a pack forces you to either look really good or awfully awkward.

The rejuvenating effects of immersing oneself in the mountains never lose their impact on my life.  Down in town,  I come across as gregarious however, it is my way of insulating myself from people.  I let very few get to know me.  It is safer that way.  Insinuating myself into Mother Nature’s warm embrace makes me feel safe.  When I was younger, I fooled myself into believing that I could dominate the wilderness.  Now that I’m preparing to travel into my 60’s, I know better.  I was merely lucky in my younger days.  So, these days, I stop to smell the roses but, I must ask myself, do I do this for philosophical reasons or is it only because I’m nowhere near as physically fit as I was thirty years ago?  Maybe, these days I’ve only discovered a new way to fool myself.