Sitting in basecamp, 15 kilometers outside the town of Coyhaique in southern Chile, I am beginning to wonder about my reasons for this entire course. I originally joined almost out of a last resort kind of deal; I had found myself in a dead end in northern Yukon, during a cold winter where I was sleeping in a shed the size of a single bed, heated only by the candles I lit at night. I was plagued my memories of South America, a world away at the time, and didn't have any plans, any commitments, any people I remotely knew nearby. In a sense, I was free.. but for some reason I was lacking any motivation as well. Finding out about this course, and being accepted after a lengthy application, seemed almost the only path I could take; but it did help me find that missing motivation as well as some loose sense of vague direction. This course allows me to do absolutely amazing things with a diverse group of people on 3 different continents, and afterwards, if everything goes to plan, I will have a great job in the outdoor industry I have been loosely chasing for several years.
However at times it is hard to live a lifestyle of intense scheduling; for the previous 2 years I had not had any responsibilities or plans in almost any sense. It is an interesting conflict; on one side I have the pull and draw of a simplistic and completely free lifestyle, filled with the adventure and recklessness I love the most, but on the other side I have the eventual hope of a 'steady' job and the opportunity to do amazing things in the meantime.
Skip forward 3 months later, and I am sitting in base-camp planning rations for a 42 day mountaineering course on the Northern Patagonia Ice Cap. I will have to re-motivate myself for this trip, after getting worked up about a possible trip on the Southern Cap instead; a massive endeavor that would mean a long traverse with Mt. Lataure and views of Fitzroy and Cerro Torres at the end, and would reunite me with El Calafate, a place I fell in love with a year and a half before while traveling with my sister and two friends, Mareen and Nico from Germany.
Our ski course was a riot, with guides that stretched our abilities quite far - there were several new skiers who became completely proficient by the end, and I ended up skiing my first gully as well as one of the best lines of my life. It started with 2 days of surprisingly good snow at the local ski resort, El Fraile, which was bombarded by 12 offensively- colored gringos, sporting head cameras and speaking the language of gnar. By the end, we had collectively ripped the proverbial shit out of every possible run on the mountain, including the excellent tree skiing areas. Next was a quick 3 day base-style trip, with emphasis on skinning technique (a material on the bottom of your ski that allows for forward glide but no backwards slide) and avalanche testing. It was on this trip that I skied my first gully, a sketchy affair that my ski base did not appreciate. Following this were more days at the resort, and then we jumped into the big trip of the course.
On the 2nd day of the 5-day ski traverse in Cerro Castillo, we took a side trip up a valley, through icy forests and over half-frozen riverbeds to reach a massive bowl with endless possibilities for both ascents and descents. Splitting up into 4 seperate groups, James, Ian our guide and myself split off and skinned up the left side, squinting in the sunlight at the steep slope above with trepidation and excitement. Our snow pit found satisfactory snow conditions, with the opportunity for point release avalanches. Proceeding with caution, it proved difficult to find a purchase for our skis with the angle being so high, and we eventually had to resort to boot-packing up the last section to reach the top. Cresting, we were greeted by a beautiful view and the knowledge that the best part of the slog lay just ahead. After de-skinning, I took a swig of my water, stepped into my skis, tightened my boots, and plunged over the rollover into the best line I have ever had the privilege of enjoying. Flickering through the patches of alternating bright sunlight and mellow shadows flung by the impressive peaks encircling you, it was impossible to keep a smile off of your face as the cold wind swept through and past you, and only the sound of sliding sheets of snow skirting off the edges of your ski permeated your almost spiritual perception of the aesthetic free-fall. Meeting James at the predetermined safe spot, we watched as Ian followed in spectacular style, making it look like a piece of cake. A delicious, sweet, wonderful and frozen piece of cake.
We continued on our way the next few days with a ski down the valley to reach the pass, which we were to put behind us the next day. The slide up was a hellish time, with several pounds of wet sticky snow refusing to let go of your skins on every step. The next section was tricky - it included not just a fairly steep and ice-chunk friendly shaded slope, but it had to be achieved with a fully loaded pack and, in my case, a single pole (Todd). To much amusement to us, and the horror of our fearless guides, we somehow reached the bottom, and only had an easy river/tree descent to the next camp to go.
Right. With some deciding hoofing it as the best option, myself and few others had our first experience at river valley skiing. Falls were unavoidable, bare sections were exhilarating, and trees our worst enemy, other than the numerous river crossings that some scoffed at while still on skis. One way or another, we arrived at the camp, and the only day that remained was a horrible bushcrash down the thick forest to the highway, which halfway through we had no choice but to finally ditch our skis.
All in all, it was a good course. You only get better by scaring yourself and pushing your boundaries of comfort, and that goal was definitely succeeded in by all involved. I can only hope I get to possibly guide it next year in my apprenticeship (shameless plug for Jaya and Ben).
So now, back to pre-ice cap trip, and the familiar feeling you get before an undertaking such as this; something I like to call un-surity: the knowledge that in a month's time you will have a completely different experience of the next part of your life than your expectations are at the moment, and the idea of greeting it with any semblance of expectational knowledge is almost completely useless.
In a word, pants.
However at times it is hard to live a lifestyle of intense scheduling; for the previous 2 years I had not had any responsibilities or plans in almost any sense. It is an interesting conflict; on one side I have the pull and draw of a simplistic and completely free lifestyle, filled with the adventure and recklessness I love the most, but on the other side I have the eventual hope of a 'steady' job and the opportunity to do amazing things in the meantime.
Skip forward 3 months later, and I am sitting in base-camp planning rations for a 42 day mountaineering course on the Northern Patagonia Ice Cap. I will have to re-motivate myself for this trip, after getting worked up about a possible trip on the Southern Cap instead; a massive endeavor that would mean a long traverse with Mt. Lataure and views of Fitzroy and Cerro Torres at the end, and would reunite me with El Calafate, a place I fell in love with a year and a half before while traveling with my sister and two friends, Mareen and Nico from Germany.
Our ski course was a riot, with guides that stretched our abilities quite far - there were several new skiers who became completely proficient by the end, and I ended up skiing my first gully as well as one of the best lines of my life. It started with 2 days of surprisingly good snow at the local ski resort, El Fraile, which was bombarded by 12 offensively- colored gringos, sporting head cameras and speaking the language of gnar. By the end, we had collectively ripped the proverbial shit out of every possible run on the mountain, including the excellent tree skiing areas. Next was a quick 3 day base-style trip, with emphasis on skinning technique (a material on the bottom of your ski that allows for forward glide but no backwards slide) and avalanche testing. It was on this trip that I skied my first gully, a sketchy affair that my ski base did not appreciate. Following this were more days at the resort, and then we jumped into the big trip of the course.
On the 2nd day of the 5-day ski traverse in Cerro Castillo, we took a side trip up a valley, through icy forests and over half-frozen riverbeds to reach a massive bowl with endless possibilities for both ascents and descents. Splitting up into 4 seperate groups, James, Ian our guide and myself split off and skinned up the left side, squinting in the sunlight at the steep slope above with trepidation and excitement. Our snow pit found satisfactory snow conditions, with the opportunity for point release avalanches. Proceeding with caution, it proved difficult to find a purchase for our skis with the angle being so high, and we eventually had to resort to boot-packing up the last section to reach the top. Cresting, we were greeted by a beautiful view and the knowledge that the best part of the slog lay just ahead. After de-skinning, I took a swig of my water, stepped into my skis, tightened my boots, and plunged over the rollover into the best line I have ever had the privilege of enjoying. Flickering through the patches of alternating bright sunlight and mellow shadows flung by the impressive peaks encircling you, it was impossible to keep a smile off of your face as the cold wind swept through and past you, and only the sound of sliding sheets of snow skirting off the edges of your ski permeated your almost spiritual perception of the aesthetic free-fall. Meeting James at the predetermined safe spot, we watched as Ian followed in spectacular style, making it look like a piece of cake. A delicious, sweet, wonderful and frozen piece of cake.
We continued on our way the next few days with a ski down the valley to reach the pass, which we were to put behind us the next day. The slide up was a hellish time, with several pounds of wet sticky snow refusing to let go of your skins on every step. The next section was tricky - it included not just a fairly steep and ice-chunk friendly shaded slope, but it had to be achieved with a fully loaded pack and, in my case, a single pole (Todd). To much amusement to us, and the horror of our fearless guides, we somehow reached the bottom, and only had an easy river/tree descent to the next camp to go.
Right. With some deciding hoofing it as the best option, myself and few others had our first experience at river valley skiing. Falls were unavoidable, bare sections were exhilarating, and trees our worst enemy, other than the numerous river crossings that some scoffed at while still on skis. One way or another, we arrived at the camp, and the only day that remained was a horrible bushcrash down the thick forest to the highway, which halfway through we had no choice but to finally ditch our skis.
All in all, it was a good course. You only get better by scaring yourself and pushing your boundaries of comfort, and that goal was definitely succeeded in by all involved. I can only hope I get to possibly guide it next year in my apprenticeship (shameless plug for Jaya and Ben).
So now, back to pre-ice cap trip, and the familiar feeling you get before an undertaking such as this; something I like to call un-surity: the knowledge that in a month's time you will have a completely different experience of the next part of your life than your expectations are at the moment, and the idea of greeting it with any semblance of expectational knowledge is almost completely useless.
In a word, pants.