CHILEAN SKI DREAM

The sun just came over the Andes; I've been watching a cloud parade of pink lit Chilean phiffs float across the jagged top edge. The Andes. Wow. This has always been a place that felt daunting, something out of National Geographic that you gawk at in amazement, never thinking you'd actually BE there. But alas, I am.



I came here to ski. I can't help it. I love it more than anything and my insatiable drive to make turns on any hill is now bringing me beyond the Rockies and Sierras. The snow is really, really soft. Even though we have warm weather and big blue skies it stays perfectly soft, no ice, no hard pack. Yesterday I found my way to one of the top ridges and traversed it alone, finding tracks to get to a hill that looked particularily tasty. Little downhills in perfect non crusted fluff. Little hikes. I was the ONLY one around. I followed a few tracks and finally got to this hill that just blew my mind. Huge, bald mountain without a tree, gully or cliff in sight. I couldn't make a wrong turn. I got to the bottom, breathless and got in line for the t-bar up the hill I was looking for. I listened to all the guys carrying on in Spanish. I got to the front and was turned away. This hill goes to Colorado; another ski resort over the hill for which I didn't have a ticket.

I moped my way out of line through a single track, around a rock and voila, there below me was virgin snow as far as I could see. I so badly wanted to just barrel down it, but the only thing below was the road and a hitchhike back up to Valle Nevado. Instead I transversed back to the groomed, exceedingly worried about an avalanche. My tracks were cutting a new line in virgin, which must be 30 feet deep here. It's been hot and cold, hot and cold the past few days. I made it back and skied for the rest of the day on the groomed. Tomorrow, I get a ticket for the OTHER hills around us and will go on an adventure over the hill.