Ski Origin Story

When I was in college, I went to a little conservatory in Upstate New York. I spent most of my time indoors, and in what little time I had between practicing, socializing, and studying, I would play video games. Although there was a ski hill nearby, it wasn't until my 4th year when I decided to go give it a try. I took one ski lesson and learned how to snowplow my way down a bunny hill.

The next time I picked up a pair of skis was actually on a motorcycle journey through the Japanese Alps. In January of 2019, decided to visit Nagano's Jigokudani Snow Monkey Park on my motorcycle. I wasn't thinking too much about snow or ice, but quickly realized that the road that I would take had way too much snow and ice on it to attempt on two wheels.

I grudgingly rode the bus the next morning to the park, and struck up conversation with a friendly French snowboarder. He kindly informed me that the snow monkey park doesn't open until 10 (it was 7AM) and that if I was to look for great views, I should try to go Shiga Kogen. "If you ask nicely, the liftees might let you ride a lift to go to the cafe at the top."

I decided to take his advice, but upon exiting the bus, I saw a rental shop. Inspired by my one skiing experience in New York, I decided to rent some gear.

Everything was as I remembered. The boots were uncomfortable, the skis were awkward to walk in, I kept sliding downhill... It took me a few minutes to remember how to crab-walk or V-walk uphill to the first lift. Once I got on it, I promptly searched "How to Ski" on Youtube and tried to remember how to get off the lift.

After that, it was snow-plowing and crashing down the easiest slope at Yokoteyama... but after a few more runs, I started getting the hang of it. Every time I rode the lift, I would watch a bit more of the videos and try to apply my learning to my skiing. Every run, I was getting noticeably better at skiing. Although I left after my half-day ticket expired to actually go see the snow monkeys, I was hooked, and every weekend from then, as long as snow covered the mountains, I was skiing.

Up until that point in my life, I had been pretty mediocre at sports. I had very little confidence in my athletic abilities, and hated my body. I suffered from atopic dermatitis and would get ugly, red rashes all over my body and face. By riding a motorcycle, I was able to forget about these things and look cool while staring death in the face, but it still didn't do anything to change the fact that I disliked the defective meat-sack that I lived in. However, skiing truly changed my life.

For the first time in my life, I found a sport that I was "naturally" good at. The combination of adrenaline from speed, endorphins from exercise, and motivation from my rate of progress were the perfect cocktail to get me addicted to this sport. After just a season of skiing every weekend, I was hitting the "expert" runs (which are a little closer to "intermediate" runs because Japan over-grades everything) and felt very accomplished. I finally felt like my body was capable of doing something amazing, something that not many others could accomplish. I had finally learned to love my body, despite its auto-immune disorders and somewhat un-aesthetic structure, and thus began my journey to develop it as much as possible.

To be continued...

Mt. Rishiri - Revisiting a classic

It was summer when I first climbed Mt. Rishiri. A ragtag bunch of bicycle adventurers - a university student from Hyogo, a bicycle messenger from Chiba, and a music teacher from California - made the climb one post-typhoon August day to be greeted with blue skies, seas of clouds, and a newfound sense of adventure. 

Now, this was before I had started backcountry skiing seriously, but I saw some of those huge faces and thought to myself: I really want to ski that someday.

Fast forward one and a half years. My good friend Ian Leader sends me a text message - "Are you free in late march? I want to ski Mt. Rishiri."

To be continued...

California Volcanoes, and a brush with...

In May of 2023, I got a call from my mother informing me of the death of my grandfather. It was not a surprise, and Gramps had lived a good life leading his children to America through a series of unfortunate events following the Vietnam War. I was the by-product of that forced adventure, and because of him, I was able to get the time off work to have this amazing adventure (and many to come).

The winter of 2022-2023 was a historic snow year for the US West Coast, especially the Sierras. Knowing this, even though it was June, I asked my mom if it would be okay to take a few days off before the funeral to ski - to which she agreed.

After getting off the plane at San Jose, I immediately started packing my grandfather's old Rav4 for a 4-day backcountry ski bum adventure. The plan was to follow in the footsteps of my mentor, Ian Leader, and hit up Mt. Lassen and Mt. Shasta before heading home. Being someone very familiar with sleeping in the car, it didn't take me long to figure out what I needed before heading off on my trip.

I met up with my partner, Andrew, for the first time after arriving at the Devastated Area Parking Lot of Mt. Lassen. Andrew was kind of an expat himself - he went to international school in Tokyo before attending university and eventually ending up in the Bay Area, whereas I grew up in the Bay and ended up in Japan. Perhaps this was one of the reasons he responded to my post on the SF Bay Area Backcountry Skiing Facebook group, and one of the reasons why our group dynamic just clicked.

The plan was simple: climb the 1300 vertical meters from the parking lot to the peak of Mt. Lassen and ski the northeast face. Despite it being early June, there was snow all the way to the parking lot, and we were able to use our skins until about 2600m, where we switched to crampons and booted up the beautifully-constructed bootpack staircase. 

After reaching the summit, we took a few pictures and skied down. We were a bit late to drop, and the snow was isothermal slush with plenty of rain grooves. However, it was my first time ski-mountaineering in America, and regardless of the snow conditions, I was so happy to be there. We traveresed over skier's right to a wide shoulder, and then dropped back down to the forest. A bit of root-hopping and we were back at the car. 

After our ski, we met up with our new friends from Tahoe and I was introduced to a very American "Apres-ski" - charcuterie, chips, beer, and camp chairs around a cooler and picnic table. We chatted over a drink, and then Andrew went off to ride his bike for a bit while I continued my journey north to Mt. Shasta. It was a beautiful drive through Pacific chaparral turning into Pacific Northwest Evergreen Forest, and I enjoyed cruising up the highways I used to call my own.

Bunny Flat is the name of the main trailhead on Mt. Shasta. In order to enter the Shasta wilderness, one must submit a wilderness permit, and to climb above 10,000 feet, an additional $25 Summit Pass is required. Both the permit and pass can be self-issued at the trailhead, and annual summit passes can be purchased at the ranger's station or in town for $30.

I met Mike, my second partner for this trip, at Bunny Flat. He also had driven up from the Bay to come ski with me, and had skied Shasta before. I also met Mike through the same aforementioned Facebook group, and we both shared brief communication before setting off on this adventure.

The plan was just as simple as Lassen - go up, then go down. We started around 3AM and took a blazing pace up Avalanche Gulch, stopping just to take swigs of water and eat snacks every now and then. Twilight started to break as we reached Helen Lake, and we enjoyed a beautiful sunrise just as we were cresting the Redbanks. The views were unlike anything I had seen before, but as this was my first fourteener, and I definitely felt the elevation accompanying the heights.

After depositing our skis and bags at Misery Hill, we made our way to the summit. I wrote a message to my grandfather in the Summit Log, and then headed back down.

The ski down was epic. We decided the Trinity Chutes on our way down. I think we skied the middle one. I chose a tight line, and Mike came down behind me. Our timing was perfect - we caught the line between the clouds, and they rolled in as we made it back to Helen Lake. We pointed our skis back down our skin track, and made it out to the parking lot just as the afternoon thunderstorms rolled in.

For my first time ski mountaineering in a "foreign" country, my experience was ultra-smooth. There were no hiccups or happenings... until I got down from Shasta.

In the parking lot of Mt. Shasta, I felt quite ill. My head hurt, as did my throat. I brushed it off as a symptom of Acute Mountain Sickness, and was certain that it would get better with a long drive and a bit of sleep. I decided to head south to Mammoth Mountain to close out my ski season. That year, Mammoth was actually open until August 14th, due to the record snowpack, and with my tired legs, I thought riding lifts would be a good idea to close things out.

However, after several hours of driving, I couldn't hold my head up straight anymore. I decided that the drive from the Cascades to the Sierras would be too far, and tried to come up with another plan. After contacting one of my new friends from Lassen, I heard that Crescent Couloir was still skiing well, and decided to stop my journey at the Carson Pass Sno-Park.

I awoke the next morning around 6am. I felt like I had been hit by a truck, and not in the isekai anime sense either. I was definitely ill, with a fever and a sore throat. However, I had come all this way, and was unsure if I would ever be able to ski Carson Pass again. "I'll just go as far as my legs will take me, I'll feel better when I start moving," I told myself as I put my skins on and walked across the street to the snow. As I couldn't line up any partners for this trip, I was solo. I was also sometimes happy for this fact, because the previous night's Chipotle came back with a vengeance.

After lightening my load, I felt a bit better, and broke through treeline. Round Top stood in front of me: A gorgeous, dome-shaped peak with the ever-present Crescent Couloir beckoning me to climb and ski. My headache improved a bit, and my feet got a little lighter.

I climbed the rocks to climber's right, and made my way to the drop point. I reached it much faster than I thought it would take, but it was already almost noon. I remember clearly looking down at the drop and thinking to myself: this is steeper than anything I've ever skied in my life. I also remembered thinking that I would definitely regret turning around at this point. I started downclimbing to a point where I could actually put on my skis. There was a snow bulge that I had to navigate, and I remember brushing snow away just so I could move my torso past it without losing my balance. After reaching a small alcove, I spent 5 minutes getting into a stable, seated position and clicking into my skis. I strapped my axe to my pole to use it as a whippet as a "third edge" while sideslipping - but had no confidence that it would be of any use in a self-arrest on the rotten snow.

After all that preparation, I descended the chute. It took me about 10 minutes and I side-slipped about half of it.

After I got down, and the adrenaline wore off, I felt like I was going to collapse. I was completely spent, and my fever was raging. There was something seriously wrong with me. However, I still had several kilometers to walk before getting to the car, and I was completely alone. I remember downing a caffeinated gel to very little effect. It was just me, myself, and I in the pain cave for the next two hours as I skinned my way back 2 kilometers of distance before reaching the nearest road. I decided to go to a lower road rather than trying to skin back up to the car to conserve energy, and stuck my thumb out for 15 minutes before a very nice man picked me up in his truck and gave me a ride back to my car.

After a 6-hour drive back home, I figured out the cause of my illness. Yes, I had skied 3 California volcanoes with Covid-19. Luckily, nobody I skied with got sick, and I survived one of the dumbest things I had ever done. Thanks, Grandfather.

Gear used:

Patagonia Powslayer bib and jacket

Smith 4D Mag Goggles

Arcteryx SK16 backpack

Scarpa F1 LT Size 26.0

G3 ZED 9 bindings

G3 findr Swift 94 166cm skis

G3 Via Carbon Short poles