gingerjess
Angel Diva
Hello again from Truckee, where it’s 27ºF and intermittently snowing! What with COVID and work and everything, plus a recurring weekend commitment, I haven’t been able to make it up much this season; up until this week, it’s only been four days total (reports in other threads). So I decided to take a full week off work and just ski my heart out, in case I don’t make it up again before the end of the season. Although my partner is an emphatic non-skier, R decided to come up with me and work from one of Northstar’s cozy studio apartments a stone’s throw from the village.
Re-introduction to me: Intermediate skier, comfortable on groomed black runs, 5’11” and 190lbs. I ski on Ripstick 94s in a 177cm length after a year on rentals last season, and, thanks to the advice on this forum, have a well-fitted pair of boots. This is my second full year skiing, if you can count last year and its abrupt conclusion, and I really enjoy it. Beyond the physical aspects of the sport, I also appreciate the mental and emotional work it takes to progress. A favorite of this forum, Mermer Blakeslee’s book “A Conversation With Fear”, has helped me understand when and where to push myself—and when to take a step back and say no to something I don’t feel ready for.
Anyway, on to the report.
Day One theme: fear
The first day of the trip was more challenging than I expected. I had planned to just warm up and work on my existing skill set, but the arrival overnight of four inches of fresh powder definitely changed things up. I haven’t skied in powder before; mostly I’ve focused on groomers and have given bump runs a hesitant try or two. Waking up, I wasn’t sure about the extent to which the fresh snow would impact the difficulty of some favorite runs, but I would soon find out.
I quickly realized that the powder coating was enough to take some runs that have become familiar and easy to me to a whole new level. As has become pretty traditional for me, I decided to warm up for the day on Logger’s Loop. LL had been groomed on the second shift last night, packing down the trail, but Cat’s Face, a branching short steep, had a pristine layer of fresh snow, and I decided to give it a try.
I was blown away by the difference in feel, and the difference in my skis’ responsiveness. I’ve come to be pretty comfortable on most groomed trails, but the powder threw me for a loop. My turns didn’t feel nearly as smooth, and I felt much less stable than I typically do. I lapped that run a couple more times, but I didn’t feel like I was getting anything out of it, so decided to move on to Powder Bowl, a favorite. Its steep opening was again blanketed thickly in powder, and while I made it down both times, my confidence was honestly shaken. It felt like all my progression of the last couple seasons was out the window, and I didn’t know why. Plus, the heavily-skied areas at the bottom of both runs were chopped up and didn’t give me the feeling of safety and completion they usually do.
I decided to take a different tack and headed to Northstar’s backside. Last season, I enjoyed the wide open and swooping Castle Peak run, and thought heading to an area with longer runs and fewer skiers might help me find what I was missing. I decided to take on Iron Horse, a black run that had. been groomed on the first shift, leaving most of the overnight snow on the surface. Standing at the top looking down, I was terrified, but I reminded myself that I did have the skill set to slow down and bring myself to a safe stop, meaning that in the worst case scenario, I could slowly side-slip my way to the base of the lift.
That first run was exhausting, and I had to keep reassuring myself aloud as I haltingly made my way down—not even trying to look good, just going a turn or two at a time, trying to figure out what worked and what didn’t. I’d mentally mark a particular crest and when I reached it, stop for a minute, breathe, look back up the way I came, and tell myself “you’ve made it this far”. I was repeatedly passed by more skilled skiers, but by the time I reached the bottom, I was in a place where I could do two or three turns without stopping or stalling.
Back up the mountain again. The second run, I was much less afraid of the slope itself, and was able to notice more what felt good, what didn’t, and the length of the trail let me take the time to figure out what I could do differently. I noticed that my inside ski, mostly floating free, kept crashing sideways into piles of powder and flying away from parallel, putting me off balance both physically and emotionally. I focused on deliberately holding my skis parallel, rather than letting the inside ski float, and it definitely made a difference, although the effort was tiring.
On a subsequent run, I noticed that I was following a Z-shaped turn pattern that let me feel more in control of my speed, but which was actually what was causing my skis to crash into piles of powder in the first place. I was so afraid of any speed in conditions I didn’t fully understand that I was actually making those conditions worse for myself! While I wasn’t entirely successful, once I was aware of what I was doing, I was able to consciously choose to let myself gain some speed, making S-shaped turns that let me go directly through piles of snow without my skis deflecting.
Once I was feeling a bit less scared all the time on Iron Horse, I was able to take what I’d learned to a couple other slopes. First, Castle Peak, which had been skied quite a bit less and still had an incredibly thick layer of powder. It was still difficult to get down, but the fear that had been present the first few runs of Iron Horse wasn’t there. Instead of trying to overcome a mental block, I was deliberately practicing a skill that hadn’t been in my toolkit before. And once I was feeling more confident there, I was able to take a couple runs down Burnout, another powder-coated black run, without any trouble—again, just the effort that’s always involved in practicing something that isn’t yet muscle memory.
I had originally planned to ski the whole day, but I was emotionally worn out by one. And that’s okay! Trying to notice what I was doing and how it impacted the feedback I was getting from my skis was a really tiring process! And I’m glad I had the opportunity to learn. My original plan to take lessons this week fell through, but even without an instructor on hand, I was able to listen to my body and make progress in a skill that I didn’t have before. And maybe that’s enough for today.
Re-introduction to me: Intermediate skier, comfortable on groomed black runs, 5’11” and 190lbs. I ski on Ripstick 94s in a 177cm length after a year on rentals last season, and, thanks to the advice on this forum, have a well-fitted pair of boots. This is my second full year skiing, if you can count last year and its abrupt conclusion, and I really enjoy it. Beyond the physical aspects of the sport, I also appreciate the mental and emotional work it takes to progress. A favorite of this forum, Mermer Blakeslee’s book “A Conversation With Fear”, has helped me understand when and where to push myself—and when to take a step back and say no to something I don’t feel ready for.
Anyway, on to the report.
Day One theme: fear
The first day of the trip was more challenging than I expected. I had planned to just warm up and work on my existing skill set, but the arrival overnight of four inches of fresh powder definitely changed things up. I haven’t skied in powder before; mostly I’ve focused on groomers and have given bump runs a hesitant try or two. Waking up, I wasn’t sure about the extent to which the fresh snow would impact the difficulty of some favorite runs, but I would soon find out.
I quickly realized that the powder coating was enough to take some runs that have become familiar and easy to me to a whole new level. As has become pretty traditional for me, I decided to warm up for the day on Logger’s Loop. LL had been groomed on the second shift last night, packing down the trail, but Cat’s Face, a branching short steep, had a pristine layer of fresh snow, and I decided to give it a try.
I was blown away by the difference in feel, and the difference in my skis’ responsiveness. I’ve come to be pretty comfortable on most groomed trails, but the powder threw me for a loop. My turns didn’t feel nearly as smooth, and I felt much less stable than I typically do. I lapped that run a couple more times, but I didn’t feel like I was getting anything out of it, so decided to move on to Powder Bowl, a favorite. Its steep opening was again blanketed thickly in powder, and while I made it down both times, my confidence was honestly shaken. It felt like all my progression of the last couple seasons was out the window, and I didn’t know why. Plus, the heavily-skied areas at the bottom of both runs were chopped up and didn’t give me the feeling of safety and completion they usually do.
I decided to take a different tack and headed to Northstar’s backside. Last season, I enjoyed the wide open and swooping Castle Peak run, and thought heading to an area with longer runs and fewer skiers might help me find what I was missing. I decided to take on Iron Horse, a black run that had. been groomed on the first shift, leaving most of the overnight snow on the surface. Standing at the top looking down, I was terrified, but I reminded myself that I did have the skill set to slow down and bring myself to a safe stop, meaning that in the worst case scenario, I could slowly side-slip my way to the base of the lift.
That first run was exhausting, and I had to keep reassuring myself aloud as I haltingly made my way down—not even trying to look good, just going a turn or two at a time, trying to figure out what worked and what didn’t. I’d mentally mark a particular crest and when I reached it, stop for a minute, breathe, look back up the way I came, and tell myself “you’ve made it this far”. I was repeatedly passed by more skilled skiers, but by the time I reached the bottom, I was in a place where I could do two or three turns without stopping or stalling.
Back up the mountain again. The second run, I was much less afraid of the slope itself, and was able to notice more what felt good, what didn’t, and the length of the trail let me take the time to figure out what I could do differently. I noticed that my inside ski, mostly floating free, kept crashing sideways into piles of powder and flying away from parallel, putting me off balance both physically and emotionally. I focused on deliberately holding my skis parallel, rather than letting the inside ski float, and it definitely made a difference, although the effort was tiring.
On a subsequent run, I noticed that I was following a Z-shaped turn pattern that let me feel more in control of my speed, but which was actually what was causing my skis to crash into piles of powder in the first place. I was so afraid of any speed in conditions I didn’t fully understand that I was actually making those conditions worse for myself! While I wasn’t entirely successful, once I was aware of what I was doing, I was able to consciously choose to let myself gain some speed, making S-shaped turns that let me go directly through piles of snow without my skis deflecting.
Once I was feeling a bit less scared all the time on Iron Horse, I was able to take what I’d learned to a couple other slopes. First, Castle Peak, which had been skied quite a bit less and still had an incredibly thick layer of powder. It was still difficult to get down, but the fear that had been present the first few runs of Iron Horse wasn’t there. Instead of trying to overcome a mental block, I was deliberately practicing a skill that hadn’t been in my toolkit before. And once I was feeling more confident there, I was able to take a couple runs down Burnout, another powder-coated black run, without any trouble—again, just the effort that’s always involved in practicing something that isn’t yet muscle memory.
I had originally planned to ski the whole day, but I was emotionally worn out by one. And that’s okay! Trying to notice what I was doing and how it impacted the feedback I was getting from my skis was a really tiring process! And I’m glad I had the opportunity to learn. My original plan to take lessons this week fell through, but even without an instructor on hand, I was able to listen to my body and make progress in a skill that I didn’t have before. And maybe that’s enough for today.