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Disclaimers:
- My flippant use of language is not meant to offend or demean anyone’s beliefs.
- There is no way I could acknowledge each of the 50 awesome skiers on this trip. Please don’t be offended if your name is missing. My heart is larger than my text.
- I cross the big pond tomorrow, so won’t be able to monitor comments. Please forgive my lack of responsiveness.
For each of the past six years, I have joined the Totally Bogus Ski Club for a trip across the state. There’s a bit of a story behind the group’s name, but I won’t go into that, other than to explain that Bogus Basin is our local ski hill. The important thing is that every year, our intrepid leader, Porter, assembles us on a Thursday afternoon in early March. We cram an incredible cargo of ski gear, chic après-ski duds, food, liquor, and hyperactive bodies onto a chartered bus and party our way towards the Idaho-Wyoming border. Six hours and many laughs later we disgorge at Grand Targhee Ski Resort. We stumble about in the dark, schlepping gear up to the lodge and into our rooms where we collapse under European style down comforters to dream about the possibilities to come.
Last year I wrote about my “come to Jesus” experience on this trip. I thought that would be the adventure of a lifetime and that nothing could top the euphoria I felt on that day. I was wrong. Our first morning was pleasant with fresh but tracked-up snow and blessedly no fog. The next morning dawned to a “reported” foot of new powder. That snow report catapulted me from bed, lactic thighs forgotten. I’d promised to ski with Alex that morning so I was thrilled to catch up with him on the way to the lift. No problem connecting, thought I. But by the time I’d stomped into my bindings and stowed my unruly powder-cords up my pant leg, I looked up to find no Alex in sight. Remembering the skier’s code —there are no friends on powder days—I shrugged and headed off on my own.
The foot of freshies had grown since the official snow report. When I tipped my skis off the edge of the mountain, I met resistance with snow that pressed against my thighs. Stunned, I missed my first turn and sat down to avoid a tree-well. Giggling uncontrollably, I dusted myself off and launched with renewed vigor. Two turns later I was drowning behind a mouth and nose full of downy powder. Snow packed into your open maw doesn’t melt as fast as you might think. A few turns later I stopped to clear my airway.
Throughout my ski career I’ve heard people yammer about snorkel-deep powder, but I figured this was the hyperbole of braggarts. I know better now. I really did have to struggle for air because each turn flung a fresh mouthful of snow at my face. I stopped again for air and found a studly bug-eyed young’un standing near me spitting snow.
“How do ya breathe in this?” I asked.
“Man, I dunno! I’ve never seen anything like it!” He yelled back.
And we were off, side by side, each enclosed within his own bubble of nirvana. This time I saw Jesus’ son; and I didn’t know he had one!
The ride back up the lift was nearly as exhilarating as the downhill journey. Skiers snaked through untracked fields of white. Snow sprayed to their sides and over the tops of their heads. At one point a family with two small children paused to regroup under the lift. The kid’s heads were barely visible above the snow…and they were standing upright! Even the lift operators were caught up in the contagion of joy.
After a few runs, I caught up with new ski pals, Marty and Donna. We ventured deeper into the timber looking for untracked real estate. Then I caught up with friends Keith and Tyler and Targhee-newbie, Ted. We continued to float through the trees, never straying too far out of sight from one another, another important skier’s code. At one point, I glanced uphill to see my red-jacketed buddies floating between aspens, a wake of snow spraying around and behind them and a veil of fluffy flakes falling between us. Music from my I-pod formed the backdrop to a dreamy, almost out-of-body scene. Not being a particularly emotional person, I was shocked when my heart nearly burst with Agape.We broke for a quick lunch where we met Bill who was busy drying out his helmet—the unlucky target of the waitress’s slippery tray of water glasses. Keith peeled off his damp parka and fumbled with an odd lump in his sleeve. Curiously probing the cuff of his sweater, he found bonus material, which began to emerge from his arm like a furry weasel. We gawped as he pulled and pulled and out flopped a sock!
“So that’s where it is! My wife was looking for this!” he muttered as we cascaded in giggles at the dumb fuddled look on his face!
After lunch we headed out to find the famed Ski Patrol Shrine, buried deep in ungroomed timber. Along the way, Bill took advantage of an innocent little sapling that got in his way. Gentleman that he is, he restrained himself and left it unmolested. As the runs added up, groups of skiers morphed into new groupings and a few skiers peeled off, headed for the hot tub. I ended the day in the company of Keith and Roma, a five-foot bundle of energy and fun.
The following morning broke to a tantalizing blue sky, which teased us out with fewer layers and high hopes for stunning views of the backside of the Tetons. But by the time we’d summited, Targhee’s famous fog poured over us like a bottle of whole milk. We brailed our way down to lower elevations and spent the day enjoying the remnants of an epic powder day. I finally caught up with Alex and his friends Jonathon and Amy. But I didn’t catch up for long because they bounced through the cut-up snow like the pros they are, leaving me gasping for air and praying for a few more BTUs from my thighs.
By 3 PM Sunday, even the die-hard skiers were back, changed, packed, and ready to head home. Again, we squeezed everything into the bus and headed out of the dizzy peaks to enjoy the leftovers of Porters hospitality. As we munched and guzzled, the bus headed toward the setting sun that cast a Midas glow over fecund fields of Eastern Idaho. In the distance on our left, another pearl-necked range of peaks watches over Eastern Idaho’s agricultural belt. Giant wind turbines hunker over wind-prone ridges, gleaming with promise against the darkening sky.
Holy smokes, Linda. What a great trip! The pictures are excellent, and your description of the trip, the scenery, the snow – all of it – was fantastic. Glad you were able to make the trip. And now… here’s to your trip across the pond! Cheers!
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Thanks, Lenore. I am slowly working my way back to reality now that my back-to-back trips are behind me. It’s bitter sweet. I had such good times, but I had so much stuff waiting for me when I got back! Yikes.
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Fantastic! I can’t (well, I can now) imagine what it must’ve been like.
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Oh good. It’s only fair that I share my experience with you since you share your sea-side experiences make me feel like I was the one who was there, instead of you.
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Wow! I love your descriptions and pictures and I applaud your skiing level. I am a poor skiier but love trying. And this place sounds super.
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Thank you! Targhee is a wonderful place because skiers of different levels can actually ski more or less side-by-side, each enjoying the experience their skill level craves. There are lovely ungroomed tree glades in between nicely manicured runs. (Of course, on this particular occasion, the groomers were way behind so I’m not sure what happened to the groomed-trail skiers. I think the snow was so good that even they had fun.)
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There is no greater joy than a powder day! And better yet to enjoy the great day with friends. All smiles. Miss ya Linda!
Jim
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Holy cow…Paulekus here? How cool. Thanks for commenting. I think you’ve hit the bonanza for powder days. So happy for you.
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What an amazing time you had ! Words and pictures are perfect, painting a delightful and amusing images of your adventurous outing.
You ROCK !
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Forgot to add: Someone gave my daughter a T-shirt which said:
“I found Jesus — he was behind the couch!”
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Oh no! That’s a hoot. He ain’t behind MY couch! Glad you enjoyed the post, Sybil.
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Wow….Double Wow! Does that ever take me back! Fabulous piece of writing, Linda – including “fog like a bottle of whole milk”. Oh I remember it hitting my face!
On a ski trip to White Fish, Montana, the fresh snowfall overnight put our diehard hearts into high gear and we were the first down the hill. I don’t know what I did, but suddenly I was flying through the air and landed flat on my back in a cushion of comfy snow. I paused to make sure all was okay. I moved my head to check my neck and caught a glance up & behind me. I was flat out under a monster statue of the Virgin Mary! I couldn’t believe it! I got up, gave thanks and was so full of joy that I didn’t feel another bump or mogul for the rest of the trip down!
I hope Germany is somewhere close on this scale.
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Wow, Amy…Virgin Mary, no less. Cool. I didn’t know that you are a skier. Do you still ski? On my way back from Germany, the plane flew the northern route from Amsterdam to Portland. It was all during the daylight so I had the pleasure of gazing out the window at Greenland and all sorts of snowy, arctic regions. As we approached Vancouver, BC, I could have sworn we flew over Whistler/Blackcomb.
Germany didn’t have this quality of amazing powder, but it was an amazing trip on many other levels. I hope to soon get my head around the trip and find the time to write about it.
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What a great story to the Best Ever ski weekend I’ve experienced and the 2nd day was just as you decribed. Enjoyed skiing with you! Let me know how the Germany experience goes.
Keith
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Keith, thanks for commenting and letting me know you stopped by.
No seeing the God’s powder in Germany, but fun on many other levels. The damned Germans can still ski me into the ground, even with all my “new moves.” Hope to write about it when I get caught up and have time to digest the experience.
I really enjoyed skiing with you Keith.
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Linda, at the risk of repeating myself, I have to say you are a master of words. I just can’t get enough of your descriptions, and the ease with which you conjure up pictures in my head of situations I have never been in (nor am I planning to go there). Although you did a great job of making skiing sound like fun…
You must have all the fun in the world in Austria, say hello to ‘your’ Germans from me 😉
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Sandra, I´m happy to be able to bring you through the snow. I am in Berlin at the moment, with my young cousin and his girlfriend. They treat me like a Queen. We even saw the sun yesterday and enjoyed signtseeing by bike. Even peddaled down Qdamm in the early evening. Thank you for your kind words and good wishes! Tschuss.
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I’ve been wanting to ski powder that deep and silky for almost half a century and finally made it! It was totally worth beating up my arthritic knee. Plus the snacks and the company was outstanding.
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Me too, Donna! What an experience it was!
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Yeehaw! I agree.
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I always wondered what happened when powder got that deep! “Snorkel deep.” Skier’s language always nails it! Have fun in the other mountains!
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I never believed the snorkel bit, Dia. But I do now.
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Hey Linda, Another great recap of Porter’s annual Targhee trip! Those “snorkel” days are far and few between. How lucky we were to experience that great ski day. I enjoyed our giggles on the ski lift and look forward many more. Thanks for the compliment!
Roma
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Roma, I thought I’d already replied, but my back-to-back trips have left me in the outfield. Don’t thank me…I’m thanking YOU! You are my hero. Now get busy writing. 😉
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Well, after reading this story, I can’t wait to hear about your trip to Germany.
I hope that you are doing well, and that it’s doing your soul as much good as it does mine to catch up with distant family.
Back to this story, what a trip. They don’t make them any younger than you, and that’s not meant to be patronizing. I find it astounding that I’m 29 and am already feeling like I’d never make it through half a day with you without having a heart attack.
Am I digging a pit here? Hopefully not… I mean well. 🙂
Always good to catch up with you. Again, best wishes for you while you’re traveling.
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Dink, (is it okay if I call you that? I really don’t know your given name…) You never dig a pit. You are a thoughtful, considerate soul who asks only honest questions and I love you for that. I love that we come to life with different perspectives, yet we find common threads and from those we weave a fabric of respect.
Ya, I know people much younger than I who seem much older. It is in the genes…(jeans…there is a family joke here, that I may delve into in a blog.) I come from fine stock. Finer than I can live up to. My trip was go, go, go. That I didn’t melt down or get sick is amazing. I spent January a February in a concerted effort to prepare for the German genes. It is no small feat. Europeans are far more active than Americans…at least my Europeans are. I have a ton of stuff to catch up on, but I hope to write about this a bit. Thanks for your continued support and interest.
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Most people on WordPress call me Dink. I’m okay with that, and I even enjoy it. 🙂
Just so you know, my name is Nathan. Feel free to call me Nathan or Dink.
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Cool, Nathan. The new P & S isn’t here yet, which is okay because I don’t really have time to play with it. The demise of my other camera forced me to come to terms with the camera in my phone. And fortunately, my relatives all had cameras and know how to use them, so I do have plenty of photos to document my wonderful adventures. Now I just need the time to do something with them all. If you’re a Facebooker, you can peek at my album there.
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Your writing has become so relaxed and smooth, Linda. Words like “gawped” and “dumb fuddled” add to the wonderful descriptions, such as this: “the setting sun that cast a Midas glow over fecund fields of Eastern Idaho.” It wasn’t that long ago that you were doubting your abilities as a writer. I’m glad to see that your confidence is showing.
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Uhhh…Thanks Charles. I just got bold enough to not edit those out. I especially worried about the Midas glow phrase.I had to battle the ghosts of my tech writing instructors in order to leave it be.Thanks for letting me know that I didn’t shoot my toe off.
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