Page 7

Veronica

Alta Zero

O ur condo sits on the edges of Teton Village, 6,311 feet elevation at the base of Jackson Hole Resort. At that elevation, I have to remind myself, well probably Lizzy too now that I think about it, to stay hydrated. Altitude sickness is no joke, especially if we’re drinking wine and cocktails the night before.

After a quick breakfast at the condo, we leave for the fifteen minute walk to the center of the village where we can start our first day on the slopes at the base area gondola. Being that it’s only a short walk has always helped get first chair.

As we walk through the village, I’m reminded that this place is still special. It’s not some fancy sprawling place like those mega resorts in Colorado owned by a giant corporation, but rather still owned by local families. We quickly make our way past the relatively small group of hotels, shops, bars, and restaurants. Sure it’s gotten fancier over the years, but it’s still quaint and charming.

After walking through snow covered paths on our way to the gondolas, we reach the center of it all, the beating heart of Jackson Hole, the aerial tram, and its iconic clock tower. I still remember when the old tram and clock tower were taken down and upgraded with this current bigger and faster version. Not quite the same charm as the old one, but a functional improvement for sure. Known by locals as Big Red , it whisks a hundred or so diehard skiers and tourists high above the ground in its two fire engine red cars, each emblazoned with the white silhouette of a cowboy on a bucking bronco.

It stretches from the base of the resort to the top of the mountain at over ten-thousand feet, soaring above us. It’s a breathtaking ride, whether you’re going up to test your mettle on the steep chutes and bowls that define the mountain, or make the round trip to just enjoy views and grab some waffles at the cabin on top.

To this day, I still feel like a kid every time I ride it, my face glued to the windows taking in the views of the mountains and the valleys surrounding us on all sides.

We keep walking, gear in tow, to the area just past Big Red at the base of the resort, where there is another mix of gondolas and chair lifts. This is where we’re starting today, going to a mid mountain area with more intermediate level terrain before venturing off to the more exciting parts of the slopes. Even though we’re all advanced or better skiers, it’s a good idea to give us at least one warm up run before hopping on the tram for our first day out this season. After all, we did have a few bottles of wine last night.

We’re in the lift line for the main gondola in the center of the village, by 8:45 AM. Exactly as I planned for our first day on the slopes. Sorry, not sorry, Collin and Lizzy.

“Remind me why we need first chair again?” She clearly wanted more beauty sleep this morning, not that she needs it.

Lizzy, as expected, has shown up in a fashionable outfit, something I’d never wear. Slim and tailored white ski pants with black accents and gold zipper hardware, a matching jacket with a faux fur trimmed hood, and a glossy white helmet and pink goggles. To top it off, she has two strands of her perfect blonde hair sticking out and tucked up between her goggle strap and helmet, like little pigtails for ski girls or slut strands. Her outfit looks cute, but I can’t imagine it’s very warm. She does look perfect for Aspen Valley, I’ll admit. But she stands out like a sore thumb here compared to the regulars, who are known for dressing for functionality with the harsh conditions in the Tetons.

She’s in stark contrast to me, with my loose fitting waterproof shell pants and jacket, with no concern for matching colors or brands. In my case, orange pants and a teal jacket. I wear a small backpack with water to stay hydrated and extra layers if the weather shifts.

My outfit is complete with a matte black helmet, my mirrored goggles resting on the small brim until needed later. Not exactly the trendiest or most flattering attire, but it does the job. Practical Veronica wins here, keeping me warm and dry. Nothing worse than getting wet on the mountain.

Collin is in similar practical attire like me, black pants and a blue jacket, desert tan helmet and blue tinted goggles. After more than thirty years of skiing with me, he’s a pro at getting ready early in the morning to get in the lift lines before the chairs spin at 9:00 AM. Lizzy keeping pace with us and being on time was an unexpected surprise. I’m glad to see she’s a little more functional in the morning than our college days, albeit with the same snarky morning angst as ever.

“Oh boy, Lizzy,” Collin says, shaking his head as we wait for the lifties to begin loading us onto the gondola. “I see you’ve never been skiing with V before. I learned a long time ago you’re just along for the ride when you come out here with her. Besides, it’s on her schedule she sent us for the next two weeks. FIRST CHAIR , in all caps, practically every morning.”

“Very funny, Collin.” I raise my eyebrows at him. But he’s right. Whether it’s a deep powder day or a bluebird day with freshly groomed corduroy runs, chasing first tracks has always been a therapeutic obsession for me. I can’t control the mountain, but I can control when we get out there. I probably have my Grandpa to thank for this obsession, an old man that liked to wake up before the moose as he would say.

Our parents rarely came on our trips. They were always so busy that they would ship us off for the holidays, spring break, and chunks of summer break to spend with our grandparents.

Grandpa would wake us up at the crack of dawn to go skiing. Eventually I became so accustomed to it, I started waking up before him, coming down stairs and getting my ski gear together to make sure we got first chair, just like he always wanted. Every day here felt like Christmas, with breakfast by the fireplace with Collin and our grandparents and the mountain having a new surprise in store for us each morning.

The lift line has finally started moving and we walk over to the gondola cars, claiming the first one up.

Aspen Valley, where Lizzy is used to skiing, as bougie as it is, mostly has traditional chair lifts. They have just one rarely used gondola where the lifties load your skis on for you anyways. This is now painfully obvious with Lizzy. I load my skis into the rack on the gondola door and hop in the car, but Lizzy is still fumbling her skis until the liftie grabs them and loads at the last second.

“Yikes! Glad I don’t have to do that every day,” she huffs as she barely gets into the car before the doors start closing automatically. The brief look of panic on her face washing away.

The ride up gives me a chance to take in the view of the mountain and the valley below, a view that never gets old. We’re ferried away from the base and up the mountain and a welcome sense of calm sneaks its way into me. I think about the day ahead and what the next two weeks have in store and feel a sense of optimism I haven’t felt in ages. I swear, sometimes these gondola rides really are like therapy. Too bad skiing isn’t cheaper.

After riding the gondola up towards the mid mountain area, we work our way across a cat track over to my favorite part of the mountain, where the Thunder and Sublette chairs are. Two chairs taking skiers to rocky cliff bands, steep chutes, tree filled gladed ridge lines, and several of the mountain’s best powder filled bowls. This part of the mountain is special.

We get off of the chair lift for the first real run of the day, I’m not counting the warm up run off the gondola. No, we’re going for something a bit more fun. A little more adventurous. The three of us make our way to a black diamond groomer, freshly surfaced the night before by the resorts grooming equipment. It’s a steeply pitched run, but should be fun. After securing first chair this morning and beelining it over here from the gondola on the cat track, we’re the first ones to get to it today.

Looking down the run, it’s a perfect, glistening sheet of corduroy, not a single ski track having disturbed the manicured surface yet. This is why I insist on getting up early and making first chair. Being the first one to leave their tracks on the untouched snow is pure bliss.

We take off down the run and I’m hardly able to contain my joy, a smile gleaming over my face. Sure it’s a black diamond run, but the steep pitch is perfect to rip turns on. As I sail down the mountain, I’m overtaken by all the sensations coming back. It’s been nine or ten months since the last time I was on the slopes, but it’s always been like riding a bike for me, my body never forgetting the movements needed to descend down the mountain.

The sound of the edges of my skis cutting into the snow with each arching turn, the cold air rushing across my face, all of it bringing something in me that’s been dead back to life. It feels amazing to just let go and focus on my skis on the snow, the wind in my face, not a care about anything else in the world.

After a few laps, I’ve been impressed with Lizzy, who has held her own on some of the more difficult terrain. She’s been keeping up on steep groomers, wide open bowls, and a couple treed glades. Time to start challenging her more I guess. We hop back on the Sublette chair, hoping to go do a little exploring before lunch.

◆◆◆

After lunch, Collin texts Tanner and wants to peel off and get a few runs in with him.

“See you girls at the condo later, right?” Collin asks, ready to head off to find his friend.

“Yep, you got it. 5:00 or so work for you?” I don’t know why I even ask. It’s been the same routine forever.

“Should be fine. Tanner has to take care of something for work but he should be there a bit later with pizza. So I’ll see you girls there.” And with that, Collin heads down the slopes, off to find his shadow like countless days before.

“Where do you think they’re heading?” Lizzy has been surprisingly quiet until now.

“Who knows. Probably off to do some dumb reckless shit.” I shake my head, thinking about their past escapades.

Lizzy asks to see a bit more of the mountain, but I think from her subdued body language she’s wearing out on me. We get a couple more runs in before eventually heading over to Sublette chair.

As we ride the chair up, I have my eyes down on my phone. As much as I want to, I can never fully get away from work. Remind me again why I even bother if I’m going to keep getting passed over for promotions? Shit. There’s an email from Jeff about Earth SnaX.

Are you kidding me? It’s Saturday! Half way through reading his email about his latest urgent need for their new products, I’m startled by Lizzy erupting with such a shrill, girlish scream she practically pops out of the chairlift.

“Oh my god! No way! What th- Look! V!” She’s frantically pointing up ahead of the chairlifts in front of us.

I look up from my phone, spotting a skier perched precariously at the top of the ridge up ahead to our left. The edge of this ridge is made up of an area known as the Alta Chutes . Alta One, Two, and Three are narrow, steep, rocky chutes lined with tightly packed trees on either side. They’re technical, challenging terrain for the best of skiers and are deservedly marked as double black diamonds or experts only . Further ahead on the left beyond One, Two, and Three is a roped off area, marked permanently as closed on the trail maps. It’s a rats nest of rocks, trees, small cliffs, and scant pockets of snow to try and navigate through. That area contains the unmarked runs, Alta Zero and Negative, which are practically unnavigable to any skiers and boarders, and requires permission from Ski Patrol to even enter.

“Wha… ugh.” I can’t hide my eye roll even under my goggles as I see the skier in his old ratty tan ski pants and burnt red jacket drop into the rocky area. I already know what’s next as he nails the top of the line through the narrow slivers of snow bound by cliffs and trees on either side, before coiling up his body to unleash a backflip ever so effortlessly off a granite outcropping. As he stomps the landing cleanly, he lets out a primal yeeeewwwwww, a practically involuntary exclamation of giddy skiers when everything is clicking and they’re flat out feeling it.

Lizzy bursts out again, “Who do you think that was? They must be a crazy pro skier, right?! V, how can you just roll your eyes at that?”

I already know who it is though. That style, the body language, the palpable confidence, the simple ease and grace for doing such a challenging feat, not to mention the boyish grin he wore under his orange tinted goggles the whole time.

I let out an exasperated sigh. “Because that’s Tanner. Fucking. Chapman .”

Sure enough, looking at the bottom of the run, there’s Collin cheering him on. They might be in their thirties now, but these boys never change.