Author: Kyle

The bus number eighty picks up directly from the gas station on the highway. It’s a quick walk across the foot bridge that parallels the tram bridge. It’s the fastest way to cross the Isère leaving from my house, funny that in our modern society the geographic barriers of rivers still dictate our daily movements.

My backpack waits ready on the main floor. I prepare everything the night before; I do this for many reasons. I don’t trust myself in the morning to think of everything and I try to be quiet slipping out in the morning for my roommates. I have laid out food on the table the night before, and coffee waits on the stove. I double check the conditions. Snacks and water for the day are ready in my backpack. Today, I will need everything prepared and ready, there’s no time to lose to preventable mistakes.

Though, today, I’m not leaving that early.

Today, I’m following the Sun.

The path appears only once the Sun has warmed up the Earth. In that way it’s really the heat of the Sun that I am following.

And on this early March day, the Sun is only beginning to wake up from its Winter slumber. Today, the Sun is asking for patience.

Asking, is hardly the right word. Really the Sun is merely informing us of its plans, and its response pays no attention to my desires for the day.

The bus comes at 9:28 and you must signal for the driver to stop, lest you watch in confidence as it speeds right by you and your timing for the day falls out the window behind it. A bus appears in the oncoming traffic and I see it’s not the right number. I quickly look at the printed bus schedule at the stop and confirm that indeed, as I already knew, that the number eighty comes at 9:28, I confirm it again with the schedule on my phone. The number eighty comes at 9:28, and that’s the number ten. Right now it’s 9:25. The number ten goes by indifferently, the look on the driver’s face tells me it’s too late for him to stop and that I better be right. Three minutes later the number eighty comes by and I stick out my arm confidently.

The bus drops me off at Saint-Nazaire-les-Eymes. My last task is to buy a sandwich for the day. The cashier is happy to see that I’m going hiking. I tell her she’s partly right and inform her of my real plan for the day, she is even more excited. She tells me that she too has done it, but it’s been a while and would like to get back into it again.

I start walking up the road and am quickly picked up by a car. The driver is an astrophysicist and she knows one of my friends that did a PhD in her institute. She tells me that it’s good to take time off after the PhD. I wholeheartedly agree.

I arrive at 10:30 and it’s relatively empty. The Sun is still setting the course for the day. A group of visiting practitioners from Perpignan see that the start gates are set. They have an anticipative energy and ask me why no one else is here. I tell them that the course is probably not ready yet and more people will come. But, they don’t have time to wait. They see the day they envisioned before their eyes, but not the day that is. They set off and quickly find themselves at their own finish line.

I sit down and enjoy the spot to myself, a rare occurrence for this holy site. I pull out my book and sandwich as the Sun carries on with its plan.

In the next hour more and more players trickle in. I’ve spent the time setting up. Everything is checked and checked again. Lines are laced, zippers zipped, compartments checked, and I sit. I joke with my friend Julien by text that there must be a shuttle from the retirement home to the match today, as I violently place an outlier in the age distribution to the chagrin of gaussian statisticians.

Julien, Pierre and I spent the previous night at the bar haggling over the conditions. They said, correctly, that there was no need to be there before noon. I prefer to get there early. I spend the time double checking my equipment and the conditions. I look online to see how other players are doing. It seems like today will be a battle. It’s an odd game we play, we don’t know when or where it will start. The score? Well, it’s made up. There have been attempts to establish a universal scoring system, and there is one system that has caught on. It features online rankings and scores of the day. Players are separated into categories based on their choice of equipment.

I see the course is almost set as some experienced players start. I double check my equipment. The Sun tells us that the course is as good as it is going to get. I set up for good now.

I go to the start line while others are starting all around me. Tensions are rising as players nearly cross paths and false starts occur everywhere. I false start as well, but calmly set up for another try. A false start again. I reset and back up while players continue to start. Conditions are better now as I rise and start. All systems are a go and I push off.

In this game each player starts with a certain number of points depending only on the start line. Our score increases as we trade in the points we have. Our goal is to find areas where we can increase our points for later exchange of an increased score. The better our equipment is, the better a deal we get for trading our points for score. But, careful, it takes years of practice to master such good equipment and their increased risk should not be understated.

I go to the habitual areas and find a few points. This spot is known for having many areas where we can find points. So much so that we must be especially careful of running into other players in these areas. I keep going knowing that I’ll perhaps find some points elsewhere. I check here and there and find only a few. My points are slowly going down and I don’t have a great score so far. I’ve certainly done better in the past with less effort. But this is the hand that was dealt today and we play nevertheless, only a fool would get mad at the Sun.

The question that should be asked is then: what is a good score? Well logically a high one by the rules of the game, and players will spend their lives searching for the conditions for high scores. Days and weekends are rearranged for the shot at a high score. Some will fly across the world for even a chance. Our lives and days dictated by this hunt, we slowly, unknowingly, place our self-worth in our score only to watch it crumble as our points plummet to zero. Grown men can be seen lashing out in frustration as their plans for a high score fall out of the sky. I’ve been there. It’s a regrettable place to be and one we try to avoid. Strategies are put into place to achieve a high score, we buy expensive risky equipment to stack the odds in our favor, and place ourselves on high-point but risky start lines. Some of us even stay at home to avoid the self-given shame of a low score, they’d rather not play. We compare our scores and points constantly to those around us. Five more points than the player next to us and we feel in control, our self-worth rising with our points.

On days when the Sun gives us an easy course we float on a cloud of arrogance and take it as evidence of our skills rather than the gift of the Sun that it is. More often than not we fall short of the score we desire. As our experience increases we expect higher and higher scores, and on the days when the course is set-up well expectations rise accordingly, it seems disappointment is inevitable. How does one continually score well such that our self-worth stays high?

The answer is we can’t. Though some may look to the mentioned strategies of better equipment and higher point starts, we end up only increasing our risk and frustration. When faced with the question of how to maximize such a uni-axial quantity the answer can only lie in extremes. We are forced to abandon the scoring system altogether.

But, there’s another system, an internal one. It is based on a different reference system. It’s based on ourselves, the Sun and the relationship between them. A high score is no longer uni-axial. Performance is re-defined and changes as the three axes evolve continuously. What was a poor score in the previous system becomes a unique and outstanding performance as we properly place them in this new reference system.

To tabulate our score we must first take into account the given axes. Our first axis being ourselves we must look inward. With respect to this sport, our self is determined by our experience in and with the sport, and our current emotional state. Our experience in the sport dictates that what would be a low score for a more experienced player is actually a high score for ourselves. More than that, as we change every day a “low-score” one day may be a high-score a different day as our capacities fluctuate with life. Our experience with the sport is our past experiences playing, if we feel that we have been unjustly robbed of a good score lately we will play differently. On the other hand if we have been playing well or on easy days then we may fall into complacency and fail to see the day for what it is. On days when our emotional stability and availability run thin a small outing may feel like a grand battle. On these days these previously low-scores are now scored higher as we take into account our self.

Our second axis the Sun, is more commonly taken into account by players. The ultimate potential of a day only determined by the course set by the Sun. The highest score, as well as the risk, change each day and our expectations must be set accordingly.

The final axis is the relationship between the self and the Sun. To understand this link we must first have an understanding of the two components. Just as much as we need to be able to estimate the outward potential of a day, our understanding of our internal potential must be studied and understood with the same critical regard. As players of this dangerous game we should dedicate just as much time and energy to the understanding of ourselves as we do to the conditions. Once the two components have been analyzed we can then examine their link. We should take immediate note of any mismatch between the two. Internal expectations should match the ultimate potential of the day, any imbalance will surely lead to frustration. On days when our internal potential is low we must not let the external potential drive our expectations and decisions. Failure to see this imbalance can lead similarly to frustration and poor decisions, and ultimately to a dangerous game. Our goals for the day must be defined with respect to these three axes.

The re-basing of the score transforms any idea of competition. The axes of the other players unknown to the other we are forced to abandon any hope of comparison. Our own score is now impossible to quantify. As we tell others of our day we must re-frame the story with ourselves and the Sun at the center. Success shifts from numbers to a qualitative lived experience. There are no more winners and losers as we couldn’t hope to compare experiences.

As with many newer sports of today, the shift from niche to mainstream is often accompanied by modern day values being used as the bases of judgement. Performance being the commonly used value in sports, we search for easy comprehension of good and bad through the use of metrics. These scores provide obvious goals, and we are brought up to chase these quantitative goals. But, we have seen that the monotheistic chasing of maximization leads us only to frustration and risk. We must recenter ourselves on the goal of a Quality experience.

We’re lucky, it has snowed recently. This is fortuitous for many reasons. First of all we are going to have some good skiing. Second, I am taking an avalanche class, and the new snow should make for interesting conditions to learn in. I have kept up to date with avalanche classes in France but I am curious about the differences in the US. I haven’t taken a class here since 2016 when I took the level 1.

I arrived rather late by train the night before, the morning-of really, at two in the morning. At 7:30 we meet the instructors and the rest of the team in the Alta lodge. It’s a proper continental cold. We spend the morning going over the current conditions, and are split into two teams. A team of young guns and our more heterogeneous mix of thirties and post-college.

Our fabulous leader Jess lets us take turns leading up the skin track. Each choice of direction analyzed with the group and the terrain around us is pointed out. She is empathetic and leads the group naturally from behind. She is careful to let each person speak and builds the confidence of each person. She knows a lot and it shows in her careful choice of words. Such is her (merited) confidence as a leader that she leaves the routing choice to us.

She doesn’t hide anything from us. This is a dangerous sport. She understands that the danger is not the risk of the unknown, but in our choice to put ourselves there. These three days are about understanding and estimating the risk of where we are. It’s about how we can read the snow and the mountain to estimate the risk. But, in the end it is our decisions that put us there. Jess shows us where her friend and colleague died the previous year. It was closed terrain, he wasn’t supposed to go there. But, he did.

Just as More important than our ability to analyze snow flakes is the state of and the relation between each person in the group. Why are professionals taken by avalanches? How is it that even the most prudent among us have accidents?

On a beau prendre tout les meilleures décisions tout les jours mais il faut qu’une erreur pour avoir des consequences, et la montagne ne se souvient pas de notre sagesse d’hier.

It seems that every day in the mountains we must remember that the accident could happen today. Ski touring is a unique practice in that we have very little feedback on our decision making process. Classic examples of persistent weak layers triggering by the n^th skier, show that often we can convince ourselves of our good decisions when the truth is we got lucky. We can spend seasons building confidence on our good decisions when in reality the professor was in a good mood.

The next day we switch instructors. Don brings us to Beartrap and we have a chilly skin up the drainage. He has a ton of experience and really shows us the nuances of avalanche terrain. We dig a pit in a spot I would have not set foot, but he gives us confidence. He carefully points out a layer of buried surface hoar.

We chat our way around the mountain. One of the other students also went to Montana State for her undergrad and spent some years in France. We have a great conversation and I discover her French is near perfect, a rencontre hors de norme.

On the way down we are treated to some great Utah tree skiing and a spicy bobsled track in the forest. Classic Rockies skiing.

On the third day our group is back with Jess and we navigate slowly up the White Pine drainage. We all know each other much better so the conversations flow endlessly and our skis glide slowly. It’s now been a few days since the last snowfall but the sheltered East side trees cache cold snow. We start to poke our way up into steeper terrain.

The terrain is rolling with steeper sections. It’s perfect practice navigating in avalanche terrain. Jess graciously lets us take turns doing so, and gives us great feedback. The whole weekend was invaluable for being able to pick the minds of each of the guides. They remind us of the seriousness of the game we are playing, but encourage us to continue playing carefully.

Back down in the valley I meet up with two friends who are also wrapping up their New Year’s plans. The three of us overlap for lunch and a walk, before taking one to the airport.

Those two were seemingly inseparable in college. Their names were said in the same breath. Not to say they weren’t their own people, but when speaking to others it was common to precise that it was Ian of Pat-&-Ian. A duo. While the two of them were already up to date on the other’s life, we each take turns giving quick recaps of the last years. They both seem to be in it, life that is. Both have successful jobs, promotions coming and recently received. Holidays spent here and energy spent there.

Recent years have been abstract musing between us of what-to-do. But, at the precipice of thirty they have gone from y a plus qu’à to are. A full bold silent seizing. To the highly analyzing earlier versions this is as radical as a revolution. The answer to what-to-do seemingly hidden in the question. Before long we return from the airport, and I spend the next days living this life as well.

I find another friend from high school and I spend time in his life as well. We spend time walking his dog and exploring the city. We visit another friend who is now a firefighter in the area. We bring him Dairy Queen as good mid-westerners do.

My voyage of life-voyeurism brings me to sitting in the back of the ambulance chatting about high school. I am fitted with a gas mask and oxygen tank and practice using the jaws-of-life. You could say we picked different lines of work.

A few days later and I am off from Denver. I catch the train to Salt Lake City, a highly impractical way of traveling in the States, but when you’re this unemployed it’s the perfect way. The train was late leaving Denver and seemingly starts by going the wrong direction. It pulls out of the station heading East and turns imperceptibly towards the mountains. After double checking that this is indeed the train West we start to climb out of the Plains. The train passes through canyons where even the roads do not go. It’s a beautifully scenic trip, and thankfully so there’s 13 hours until we get to Salt Lake.

From the pass above 11,000′ we start up. If we were in the Alps this would be the top of most high summits. But, here we are only starting. The Winter has been dry here, but the cold continental climate keeps the snow fresh.

My best friends from college picked me up in Denver, and we lost no time returning to our college habits. Some pool and some Chartreuse in my honor and we found ourselves at a Jazz jam in the basement of a bar before we knew it. None of that helped for acclimating to the thin air as we skinned up and into the pines the next day. I chatted with my one of my best friend’s girlfriend getting to know her finally, she fits in perfectly and brings out the best of him.

After the introduction, the four of us spent the skin track hanging out more than catching up. That was always the strength of this group. Life updates were always observed more than told. The discussions of the future distracting from the prized shared present. Pure shenanigans pushed us up the skin track as I gasped for air between jokes, laughs, and candy.

We reach a lump on the shoulder of the mountain and I trade my sandwich for more time to breathe. We begin to make our way down the mountain four at a time in a pool of sharks. Each of us finding out why the snow is untracked in certain areas we regroup in precariously perched trees and plot our next move. Two of use decide to embrace the bushes and gain access to a few more powder turns, while the others go around. Both were wrong.

At the bottom of this current creek another lap is negotiated. We move up the south side to find the powder has been hardened by the wind on the exposed slopes. I am starting to really feel the altitude as I join them. We decide that if we head back now we’ll make it in time for a beer, as opposed to also making in time for a beer if we were to turn around later. To avoid the latter we rip skins and head full speed down. I can feel my oxygen-deprived brain chattering on the hard packed snow. We make it to the trees, the snow softens, and we start to play the game ‘rock or pillow’. With this low tide we already know the answer to each question, but we play anyway.