Feb, 1997
Where is the Edge and What is Beyond It?
©Aaron Lefohn 1997
Note: This was originally an email to close friends and familyHello my dear friends and family,
I sit here in front of my computer in a quiet daze. I am back at school now after a weekend skiing at Red Mountain in Canada. As all of you know, I and most of you, are in constant search of experiencing life's gifts in the most amazing ways--we all share some methods and also have our own unique ways. As it is for many of you, skiing is one of the main tools I rely on to repeatedly open the bottle of life for me. Please find the time soon to read this long email for that bottle was nearly shattered yesterday.
Yesterday was our 3rd consecutive day on skiis--going HARD! The first two days were filled with AIR, AIR, AIR, steeps, hiking, and breathtaking views. It was myself, my mountain soulmate, Greg Wyckoff, and his cousin, Courtney. We all knew each other others limits and repeatedly ensured that we were performing as close as possible to those limits--yesterday we went too far.
It was 11 am and our third run of the day. We ducked into the trees just below the "Closed: Cliff Area" sign to avoid being seeing by the patrol. Ironically, I had heard about this chute while riding up the chair with a renegade patrolman the day before and we were following his directions on how to avoid being caught. His description was one of a 50-55 degree chute with cliff bands crossing it several times. He left with a promising note, "It's no-falls the whole way down. We hate picking people up out of there--kinda ugly--just don't fall and it's killer man!"
The trail through the trees quickly turned into little more than a precarious trace of ski edges on a 40 degree face. The cliffs, ice, snow, and trees of the back bowl were spread out in front of us and below, to our right. Perhaps 1000 feet below us was the wide open bowl we'd skied on our last run. We had scouted the chute from below on our last run but it looked very different from the top. We couldn't see exaclty what was between us and it just yet. Courtney pulled out in front and dropped in first. One by one, we made a couple of scary turns and traversed to our "starting gate."
In front of us was the main chute we'd spotted from the bottom. What had looked like firm snow with some recent tracks in it from the bottom was actually 50 degree boiler-plate "snow" mixed with water ice with rocks visible just below the surface--and there was at least 800 feet of it below us with two cliff bands traversing it--one part way down that looked avoidable and a 15-20 foot band guarding the entire exit of the chute.
Greg began speaking of going back--kicking steps back up, but I repeatedly opposed it--it was too steep, too icy without crampons and too dangerous--we had to ski it. Courtney again jumped in first and managed to make a couple of turns before side stepping and slipping down to the last cliff. At this point, he screamed, without turning to look at us for fear of slipping, that we should try to turn around--he kept repeating "there is no way out!" Greg and I again considered turning back and again decided that it was too dangerous--Greg dropped in.
What little soft snow was available for edge purchase had gone down with Courtney. It was now all but impossible to turn so Greg begain to kick side steps into the ice with his skis. One ski at a time. Suddenly, we heard a blood curtling scream and looked down to see Courtney landing in the bowl far below. He exploded on impact--skiis, poles, hat, goggles flying in all directions. A minute or so after he came to rest he stood up and, holding his knee, motioned that he was okay.
After 20 minutes or so of tedious side-stepping, Greg found "safety" on a small ridge above a small tree. I dropped in convinced that I would be able to turn. I began to set up for my first jump turn but froze when I took in the sight below me. There was nothing to stop me for 800 feet--hard snow, water ice, and rocks relentlessly ending in the bowl below. If, just by any chance, I didn't land exactly right and stick exacltly where I intended to on the jump turn.... The helmet on my head seemed pretty insignificant when compared to the fall I would take. I'd fallen earlier in the weekend on a black diamond mogul run and was shocked at how fast I'd accelerated and how far I slid--this was twice as steep. I felt the surge of panic flood through me that I've only felt before when climbing on bad rock with lousy protection--the realization that you are looking the big black-hooded fucker right in the eye and that if you make even the slightest mistake...
I zoomed in--only with my complete focus on each step and a calm head did I have any chance of making it down uninjured. Each step took four or five kicks into the ice with my ski to make it solid. I'd try to "self-belay" by buring my uphill ski pole into the snow to serve as an anchor if I fell, but often the snow was less than 6 inches deep and I was mearly planting my pole on granite. Sweating profusely after 15-20 minutes of this, I reached Greg's perch next to the tree. He'd managed to find some softer snow and kick out a flat platform to stand on--a momentay rest.
Courtney was still far below us and was now scouring the area of his wreckage for his other ski. After a quick discussion of other descent options and the realization that we had to follow where Courtney had gone, Greg continued the slow descent. I was getting impatient with him--my boots were cutting off the circulation in my feet and my fear was building--I wanted off. I was stuck, however, until Greg was safely in the bowl below because if I were to begin after him and fell...we would both go. Seeing how slow he was moving, I decided I had to regain circulation in my feet. I buried my uphill pole to the handle, reached around with my other hand, and unbuckled two of the three buckles on my left boot. I stood up again...and waited.
Greg looked up at me from about 100 feet down with a look of horror on his face. "Lefohn? I don't know what to tell you man! I just uncovered the rest of the snow off of the last 15 feet. There's patches of water ice but its just fucking rocks man. I'm sorry...there wasn't anything I could do. I thought you could traverse around it but there's no way!"
"Shit! It's okay, Wyckoff--just go. I'll figure something out." It took Greg another 5 minutes to get to the edge of the cliff and another few minutes to find a safe line off of it. Then finally, a battle cry and a 20 foot drop sent him released from the clutches of the icy hell and into the bowl of crusty "powder" below. He stuck a beautiful landing and skied down to Courtney's single ski. I remained a couple hundred feet above them farther than ever from safety.
As soon as Greg yelled up to me about the rocks and ice, I knew what I had to do, but I had no idea if I could do it. I re-buried my pole for "self-belay" and carefully re-buckled my boots. I took a few mintutes to carefully step myself backwards into the main chute. I checked my edges, turned my upper body forcefully downhill and screamed! I began a series of short, piercing battle cries. On the third scream, I extended my uphill leg and launched myself into the air with a violent twisting motion. I landed 10 feet down on solid boiler-plate "snow." I was sliding and screaming at the top of my lungs--my life depended on my edge control right now! After a 5 or so more feet of sliding, I stopped--I had turned and jumped over at least 10 feet of surface in the process. I had to do it again--this time over the section of rock and clear water ice that Greg had uncovered. This time it had to be two, linked hop turns with a precise landing on a small patch of snow in the middle of the rocks. If I hit a rock or the ice...
I let out another blood curdling scream and launched myself again towards the maw below. I landed perfectly on the patch of snow, felt my edges stick and stop this time, planted my downhill pole on rock, and immediatley thrusted myself back up into the air. I landed this time in softer snow about 10 feet above the lip. I had just turned a 20 minute horror show into three turns--but three turns at 120%! I have only felt that intensity climbing and even then, never with the immediacy of life preservation so pressing!
I was now close to safety with only the cliff band between me and Greg and Courtney. They were both screaming, "Get speed, Lefohn! You gotta clear two horizontal cliff bands! Greg almost nailed the second one!" I jumped up and down hard on my edges, let out one more shrill warrior cry, and stepped into the 45 degree fallline. My stomach dropped from the acceleration, much as one's stomach drops in an amusement park ride from sudden downward acceleration. And how steep is 45 degrees? If you place your feet a foot apart and lift one foot up 12 inches--yes almost to your knee--that is 45 degrees--it was steeper above.
I pulled my upper body forward to anticipate the flight. Still screaming, I stepped up powerfully just before leaving the lip of the cliff. I looked down to see the second rock band below me and pulled my knees in a little tighter to ensure that I would clear it. I landed just past them and immeditaley went into a hip check--with 2 inches of "death crust," I had no intentions of trying to ski out of the landing. My face went into the snow, i felt my body get wrenched as my skiis caught in the breaking crust, and then both of my bindings released. A couple more cartwheels and I was at rest--my skiis were only about 50 feet below me and I was uninjured!!!
We spent the next 1 1/2 hours unsuccessfully looking for Courtney's other ski--it was gone. It was either buried under the crust or lost in the trees far below at the bottom of the bowl. Court's right knee was already swollen so he put his ski on his left foot and began the long ski out. He made it to the groomed road before finally accepting a piggyback from Greg. So here was Greg skiing in a snow plow with Courtney on his back and me carrying 6 poles and an extra ski--needless to say we got some strange looks.
Greg and I took one more run to convince ourselves we could still ski and then collapsed into the car. The three of us talked a little bit about it in the car but there wasn't a lot to say--we were alive, now driving the speed limit (it took an extra hour and half to get home becuae of this :), and humbled.
I curled up in bed with Yukon, my teddy bear, with my ski helmet lying on my desk in front of me. I began to think about the day and began shaking--I clutched the bear tighter, pulled my down comforter up to my head, and nestled in deeper. I wanted nothing more than to be safe--no adrenaline, nothing life threating. The following thought kept repeating itself in my head, "I could have died today. I could have died today." A tear began to come and then didn't--I did not die, I am alive, I am safe.
I woke up in an intensely calm mood. All morning, my talks with professors and students were different than last Thursday when I'd last seen these people--I could do nothing but focus entirely on their eyes and every word they said. Steve's Schvaneveldt, my research advisor, and I had a really good, real, intense talk on a level we'd never spoken before. More than anything, though, anything routine seemed painfully wrong--my emotions were on hyper-sensitive and people blindly following a day to day routine seemed like a sharp knife this morning--how could they waste away precious moments by idly asking the same fucking, "How are you?" question every morning without ever FEELING or CARING what the response was!!!????
I will leave you all now with one last image--I looked in the mirror at 10 am this morning after my first class and I did a double take--what was that face? Most of you have seen that face on me at some point or seen it on yourself--perspective I guess--a fullness in my face normally absent--but most of all it is the look of being ALIVE!...but...it is different this time. I went farther out on the edge than I ever have--farther than anywhere in France, Germany, Slovenia--on the rock, on the snow--this was farther and I DO NOT WANT TO RETURN SOON! Life is fragile, life is precious, and life is beautiful. I love you all very dearly and may you LIVE, truly LIVE and of course, be careful.....
