The feeling

It had been nearly three years, but today I finally experienced it again: legitimate, bonafide, powder turns. At seven O’clock this morning, I was picked up by Jeff Dabe. I have not seen Jeff since 1994, when we were both exchange students in Norway. We headed north to Steven’s Pass.

As we drove deeper into the Cascades, my mind was blown away at the mountains. I don’t think I will ever cease to be amazed by the landscape of the American west. As we headed up the mountain, I was stoked to see deep piles of snow lining the road. I pulled out my camcorder and began recording some B-Roll for the doc.

Upon arrival at Stevens, I met up with Jim Craig, a fellow cancer survivor and the subject of today’s shoot. On the first chair, I explained to him the sometimes tedious procedure of video production. Plenty of times during the day, I would have to ski down ahead, set up my camera, shoot Jim skiing down, break down the camera setup and stuff it into my pack, and ski down to Jim again. Fortunately, Jim was a good sport about the whole thing. I’m sure having three young daughters at home does wonders for a man’s patience.

But the highlight of the day was when our fend Mike gave us a quick tour of the backcountry. A short traverse beyond the ski area boundary led us to some untracked, wide open, fresh snow. After shooting Jim ski through the bowl, I put my camera in my backpack, and pointed my boards down the fall line. I had not skied that kind of snow since 2004, but it only took a single turn for it to come back. The subtle finesse powder skiing requires, as opposed to the brute force often required to hold an edge on icy eastern runs.

We drove back into Seattle, still covered in a blanket of snow. I was exhausted, and my bad knee was acting up in the cramped confines of the back of a Jeep. But I had finally skied powder again. Nothing else mattered to me. Not cancer. Not the fact that I don’t have a house, a career, or a wife. Driving on I-5, I was thinking about all of the people I have met in my life, and how many of them are truly happy. How many people out there living the American Dream are actually living the American Nightmare? Killing themselves at a job they hate, for what? A bigger TV and leather seats for the car? Statistically, Americans work more and take fewer vacations than their counterparts in most industrialized nations. And is it any wonder why we’re so stressed out, drugged up on Prozac and Coor’s Light? Back in Vermont, I share a house with many successful youg people. You can, and maybe even should, refer to them as Yuppies. Sure, they might have it all, but what do the really have?