The Monsoons

The monsoons missed us last night.  One could see gunmetal grey all around us and pretty colors on the radar in a circle but we saw not a drop of rain.  (I had to go back into the archives Jan 5, 2010 for the piece below).

There is a beautiful book, written by the French aviator Antoine de St. Exupéry, called Wind, Sand, and Stars. (Many people only know Exupéry as a children's book author - The Little Prince - but there's so much more.)  Part of W,S&S details a time when his plane crashed in the Libyan desert. I think it was 1935. With little water between them, it wasn’t long until he and his navigator began experiencing visual and auditory hallucinations. Mirages appeared on the landscape, though they were always just out of reach. It’s a little like looking at the weather models these days…

I believe a man is right to pursue the thing he loves.
Even if it kills him? said John Grady.
That's how I see it, said Mac.  
(again, McCarthy's Cities of the Plain)

This week I want to circle back to a skin track that caught my eye a couple of winters ago.  I snapped a quick photo of the skinner, posted it on our avalanche center Instagram page and asked who had set their signature in the snow?  Most people thought I was calling them out.  I was not.  The conversation I had with them led to an essay I call Meditations on Skiing the No-Fall Zone.  A excerpt below -

To our surprise (we were headed toward the Pika Cirque), and then – I can’t think of a better word – appreciation  – the skinner continued up the east facing ski runs of the Woolley Hole and entered the dark recesses of the Grunge Couloir.  Later, I spoke at length with two of the party about skin tracks, ski mountaineering, and life. 

If you can wade through some of the dry technical terrain of risk analysis, you might enjoy the piece.  I'm keen to hear your thoughts.