I love snow skiing; I’m not sure when I decided I loved the sport; however, I tend to think a lot about skiing during the summer months when the temperatures rise into the triple digits here in the deserts of southern Utah.

I learned how to ski in eighth or ninth grade (whatever age group occupies those educational levels) at a small rope tow hill in Cedar Canyon. My friends and I would gather our lace boots, cable binding skis, and massive basket poles to carpool up the canyon to Woods Ranch every Saturday for several hours of self-inflicted torture that was the joy of my week.

For those that have never used a rope tow, there is a trick to getting started. If you begin incorrectly, you will, without warning, get yanked out of your skies and drug up the hill. Instead, move into position, let the rope slide through your hands, and gently squeeze until your skies begin to move. Once moving, tighten the grip on the rope, and up the hill, you go. Exiting the lift also requires finesse; you need to point your skis at least 45 degrees before you let go of the rope. If your skis are still on the track, you’ll slide back into the next person coming up behind you when you lighten your grip. Of course, I gathered all this wisdom through trial and error, and frankly, mostly error, but those were fantastic days to remember. Painful days to be sure, and our coats, socks, gloves, and boots were undoubtedly made with less cold-resistant material than is available in today’s articles of clothing. Many a ride down the mountain after hours of skiing was laden with tears as the heat penetrated frozen toes, causing the pin-prick sensation that anyone involved in cold weather knows only too well.

Roll the clock forward several years, and I turned out to be an okay skier for someone who never had a lesson. The downside to being self-taught is you become a very condition-specific skier. If the snowpack is just right, I own the mountain. Deviate too far one way or the other, and I probably should stick to the bunny hill.

In March 2007, I had the opportunity to go heliskiing in Whistler, BC. Being taken to the top of a mountain by helicopter and making a single run than can last up to an hour or more is a dream come true. Deep fresh powder covered the hillside as the recent storm broke, and I made my call to secure a reservation. Because I am not what I consider a big mountain skier, I chose the “blue run” package (as opposed to the black diamond ‘hardest’ program). We picked up our skis and loaded the helicopter.

Simply riding over the mountain peaks of British Columbia was a thrill in itself. When the helicopter angled toward a small flat spot, I assumed they were dropping off the more advanced skiers. The shelf was approximately 12’x12’, just wide enough for us to exit the cockpit (yes, the pilot told everyone in the helicopter to leave the craft). We unloaded our gear and huddled against the rungs as the chopper lifted straight up. Putting on our equipment, I finally asked, “are these the blue runs?” “Oh no,” replied the guide, “we all ski the same terrain; depending on how fast you ski determines the blue or black rating,” I mumbled under my breath that that was a little something they failed to mention in the brochure.

Of course, the day would be a bucket list day to remember as we jumped and sailed through the fresh powder. And over the years, when something gets tough, it’s always a good reminder for me that “we all ski the same terrain.”

Heliskiing: March 15, 2007

Written: July 27, 2022