Inner Visions of a Mountain Man

[carpathian]

Maggots!

I have finally finished writing this book, 'Inner Visions of a Mountain Man'. I have been working on it for a while now have just uploaded it to Amazon here:

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00SPIJHRQ/...kindle_ext_tmb

It is a collection of short adventure stories played out in the mountains and oceans of Alaska and British Columbia. Life, death, struggle and inspiration! I have always been a passionate 'outdoor enthusiast' and I tried to capture some of the mystery and allure of the great unknown in these stories.

Enjoy!

/spam

[carpathian]

The surface of the sea started to hump up into glassy swells. We had just rounded the rocky point of Caines Head, about 6 miles due south of Seward, Alaska. The 42' Delta known as the Viking plowed into the oncoming 10' seas easily. She had seen much worse as Captain Liska had been plying these waters for years in pursuit of salmon, halibut, bears and waves.
Liska slowly rounded the corner and started running across the deep troughs heading west towards the surf break at Bear Glacier.

There were 15 of us on the boat and we were getting amped! We could see the waves crashing through the pillars of rock and ricocheting into the hanging sea caves of the rugged coast. Vertical faces of rock leapt skyward peppered with hearty hemlocks and the occasional mountain goat.

The blue ice of Bear Glacier loomed in the hazy distance. The haze was created by the heavy surf that exploded on the spit of gravel that stretched across the head of the bay. It was a terminal moraine of Bear Glacier and on the inside was a fresh water lake on which tall icebergs rolled lazily.

"The Icebergs?!" I thought in my head. "How the hell did I get here?"
The last time I was here was about July 2001. I was with Liska at the time on the same seaworthy Delta. Back then I was but a lad of 21 and I figured that I could teach my self to surf that very day. I had never surfed but I could downhill ski and snowboard pretty good. It seemed applicable.

I basically got my ass handed to me as I quickly got stuck on the beach. By beach I mean bowling ball sized rocks slamming around in VW sized rocks as white water rakes through. Two hours later I flopped onto the deck of the Viking after struggling and struggling to get back out through the white water.

12 years later I decided to move with my wife and 3 year old daughter to Maui for 6 months. I was tired of the cold and ice that I had known my whole life. I needed to thaw out my cold bones. It was pretty sweet because my wife and I could take turns on the beach with our daughter while the other one caught waves.

About 1500 waves and 6 months later we returned to Alaska as what? 6 Month surfers. Two days later I am on the Viking again fresh from the tropics. I recount tales of being wave punched and chundered by rogue gnarlers. "It was at least head high! It was so shallow! The natives gave me stink eye!" All badges of honour in the world of wave catching.
Liska hollered, stunning me out of my reverie, "When I say go, GO!" A minute later he had pulled in tight to the shoulder of the break so that us keeners could get right in the action without too far of a paddle from the soon to be anchored boat. Myself along with 3-4 other guys all jumped in and zipped over to where the break appeared to be.

The water is shockingly cold. Not 30 seconds later a large set came through and someone caught the 1st wave and disappeared. Someone else took the 2nd bigger wave and disappeared. "Holy Shit! These swells are huge!" I yelled out to no one in particular as the 3rd wave came rolling in FAT! A vertical wall of water stood up and looked to have caught Liska off guard as I could see the 42' boat climb the face and roll off the backside at quite an angle.

The people still on the boat cheered as I did not even think to catch this wave. I sprinted to the outside and by sprint I mean that I moved my arms as fast as they could in the 6mm wetsuit I was wearing. I was now sweaty and breathless and feeling the burn after less then a minute in the water! I thought I was in good shape…?

The last of the 15 people on the boat were now in the water and a few were already caught inside on the rough beach. All of the sudden the lineup felt crowded. It was funny because I had grown tired of the busy surf spots in Maui and now in this frigid water there are all of these people?! I guess surfing is pretty fun and these waves were seemed to be pretty sweet, though I had yet to catch one.

Fot at least an hour I could not get on a wave. I would paddle, paddle, paddle as fast as I could but the waves kept rolling out from under me. Several times I got to the top of the lip and looked down into the pit a loooong way down and I wondered if I even wanted to catch one of these things.

I had to get a wave but now I was so tired. I wanted to try this new SUP I had just finished in the garage the night before but I would not live it down if I did not catch a wave on prone surf first.

I had to get deeper in the wave in order to catch one. The 1st wave I caught actually felt like I was too late as the wall of water was passing vertical 8-10 feet over my head. I thought I was going to get crushed!

It turns out I was actually in the sweet spot and I managed to pop to my feet for just a second. I started to arc a big toe side bottom turn but the heel edge caught and I was launched butt first into the pit in front of the wave. In mid somersault I was looking backward at the house sized curl as it punched me to the depths.

It felt like I was rolled under water about ten times. I was completely disoriented and running out of air. I opened my eyes and only saw opaque green in all directions. "All right cool," I thought, "longest personal hold down record, no big deal…"

A second later the moderate float of the wetsuit took me to the surface. "Holy Shit!" I gasped in sweet oxygen. I got back on my borrowed 8' board and turned and looked and was shocked to see the size of the next wave coming at me! I was shocked that I was in the water in front of it let alone trying to surf its kin.

I dove to the rocky bottom but could feel my legs getting pulled and then I was sucked up and over into the maelstrom. I came up again, another wave. I paddled with all of my might and was barely, barely able to crest over the top. On the horizon was a break in the set,

"Thank god," I thought.
"Do you guys see how big this is??!" I asked in general. Hoots and hollers of agreement. Some surfers were better then others. Some were stoked while others were terrified. I fit in somewhere in the middle. I realized that I had survived the initial carnage and it put a smile on my face.

Over the next two hours I managed to catch 5-6 more waves, each over my head and each bigger then anything I had ever done. We were stoked! The board I was borrowing would hiss down the line as i got around a few sections and got pummelled by a few.

One of my practiced techniques on smaller waves that are about to closeout is the flying leap off the back, sans board. I tried that only once on a wave that I could not see over and it did not work. I don't know if I thought I would slice cleanly out of the back of the wave like a dolphin or something. I pretty much got stuck head deep in the now falling lip as it cart wheeled me off the front into the pit.

"Note to self: don't do that again."

Wave! Wipe out! I am battling my way out from the inside. Winded, gassed. I need a break.

At the boat the survivors and spectators soaked in the sun. It was awesome; vertical snow covered peaks, good friends, good waves. Welcome to Alaska! Who needs Hawaii?

I hemmed and hawed about getting back in the water. I wanted to test this board I had just made. I did most of the build up before Maui and when I got back I scrambled to to finish for this trip. It was 9' x 29" copied off a popular Jimmy Lewis Kwad model.

But Liska said, "NO paddle boards! So and so hit me last week and blah, blah, blah…"
Whatever, I had to test this thing. The crowd in the water was shrinking quickly. Liska was still in the water, I think he is part sea lion.

I felt like a spectacle in my firmly suctioned wetsuit and funny looking board. Cat calls form the boat. "Who brought the SUPPER?" It was all fun and games until someone gets hurt, eh?
I made my way to the lineup. "You better watch out!" I mocked warned everyone. It felt good to get a paddle in my hands. More horsepower, new muscles for the day. Beautiful walls of water waiting to be shredded. The board felt good, buoyant, maneuverable. Here comes a wave, I caught it! The board bombed down the line and I actually made the next section. "Needs more sanding," I thought. I could feel the drag, but I was in a hurry last night just to get the thing water tight.

I made another wave and another. I was stoked! I had previously made about 40 pairs of custom alpine skis and 3 snowboards. I knew the satisfaction of riding your own handiwork. BUt this felt like the next level, to me at least. I know guys have been shaping boards for a long time and now I see why.

I needed to get out of the water while I was still ahead of the game. Then I saw it. A wall of water that rivalled the 3rd wave of the 1st set four hours earlier. I was in a prime spot. The boat heaved on the anchor line and the crowd cheered. "Holy shit, I have to get this!"
I turned and paddled with all of my might. "Come on baby, come on!" I actually spoke out loud. I could see my buddy Matt and Liska bobbing down in the soon to be monstrous pit. I could hear Matt yelling, "GO! GO! GO!" The wall caught me and I instantly was at the top of the lip looking way down to the bottom. I was actually on this thing and my little board seemed to enjoy the speed as much as I did. I arced a long low bottom turn and purposely buzzed right under Liska. He was smiling as he knew I was not going to hit him and I think I was clearly stoked! Another happy customer on the Viking.

I made to the right on my toe side and contemplated making a run down the line when the face caught up with me and i pulled to mid face for a second or two. Just enough time to look around and take it all in. Then I saw the impending massive closeout that was forming so I drifted up the face and popped over the back and cleanly transitioned back to SUP skier stance.

That was enough so I got out of the water.

[huckbucket]

Will have to check in out.

In the meantime ....

[carpathian]

After 20 months of hard labor I have managed to move the family back to the Islands for the winter. This time we will be on the Big Island for almost 6 months. Vesna is 7 months pregnant and we decided to make a somewhat drastic move to come and have the baby here. I could do some surfing and hopefully learn some more fiber glass skills, Rosie is loving kindergarten and Vesna can live in a bikini.


Day 1:

I arrived with a conservative optimism. I knew I could get by on a standup board but I really felt the need to get in some time doing more long boarding and maybe even get on a short board. I had to run around town collecting fins and boards from cargo and wax and information.

Colin was down at his favourite break at the bottom of the road called Pine Tree. I sorted out names in my head; The Bay, A Bay, K Bay, Kahalu'u, Kukio, Harbor Right and Left, Elevator, Rat Bowl etc. I should have figured my first attempt being on a wave called Rat Bowl might be trouble.

Everyone is one short boards. I have not seen any stand up paddlers. I have rebuilt and restylized the 9' board on which I shredded the giant out at Bear Glacier. Removed the ghetto quad setup and put in standard tri thruster boxes. I had not bought fins for the side boxes yet so I compensated by using a wicked old school wind surf board fin that stuck down about a foot.

I opted for the long board for the apparent short board wave. Colin had already been out there for an hour. I navigated barefoot through the lava rock until I could mount the board. I made it out through the white water with relative ease. I gave Colin a wave and then I purposefully stayed back in the line up.

There was an inside wave that I was trying to get on but the big sets from the out side kept barreling through. The 4-5 feet of water would noticeably rush backward off the reef as the swell hit and the wave would stand up from no where out of the sea. The sweet spot was tiny and I could not hit it.

I turtle dived. I nearly got up on a knee once. I pearled like a mofo once but never hit the bottom, which was nice. Colin called me over like a bro trying to help a kook. “Get in here,” he said as I dodged another shredder coming in hot. I was sideways in another wave. Struggling, getting tired. Wearing t-shirt to protect my oh so white skin from the sun. I realized that this was futile after about 20 minutes. I staggered to shore tired but not too exhausted. “I would have to play it cool around here,” I thought.

Day 2:

I decided to get out on my paddle board right at 7am. There 3-4 guys down the way a bit but no one was one the Rat Bowl. I got out though the rocks and made it through the white water easy enough. On a paddle board you can get on your knees for more stability when the going gets rough. For the first time a realized a flaw in my board design. I did not use a foam grip pad on the top deck of the board like on a normal SUP. I used wax like a surf board and that is fine when you are wearing a wet suit that protects your knees. I felt rickety, off balance and white under the early morning sun. Some surfer girl jumped in off the rocks from the north.

She eyed me warily as I tilted and keeled about wildly trying to catch a wave if not my composure. I made a half ass wave and turned heel side as the single fin set up washed out. Crash, in the water swimming with paddle. Wave on head. Wave on head. Struggle back to the outside. I don't feel balanced enough to stand. The last time I had used this board style effectively was after I had been in the water every day for the previous 5 months.

I flailed onto another wave. The short boards were moving in on the peak. I decided to make an early exit to save what remaining dignity I met have. As I paddled onto shore it got real shallow. Where was that micro channel though the rocks? I was too far down the beach but only like 20 feet from shore. Small waves surged around me as I have crawled the last ten feet. My foot got stuck deep in an urchin pocket of rock and it hurt but it held me as I made last step to land. “God dang!” I said out loud.


Day 3:

I went to another spot near the fish traps at the Harbor. The fish traps are rock walls built a long time ago to catch fish with the falling tide. Today they make a nice swim spot and access point to the waves. On this day the waves were too small to catch but it felt good to get on the board with no one else around. There was a nice looking wave way out in the distance that I would keep my eye on in the future.

Day 4:

I felt pretty good getting in the water at a place called Kuhalu'u. There is a little white and blue church perched along the edge of the rocks of the bay. I could see beginner looking waves rolling on the inside. I had to catch a wave. Just one would be nice. I put in the water amidst a gaggle of snorkeling tourists and started out. The waves were not that big but they were pushing in consistently.

I paddled out on the long board. I paddled and paddled and felt like I was not getting through the whitewater. I was not that big but it just kept coming. I kept my eye on the church which was now behind me. I also landmarked off of a rock that was sticking up on the outside. I paddled and paddled and was getting no where. I would stop and watch and I could see the current moving me north, out of the bay.

Basically the waves would come in from the west and the flow would gyre out the north. I did not know this before getting in the water. I tried to catch a couple of white water waves to no avail. I was growing tired and as I watched the current kept pulling me north. In the back of my head I knew that if I went with the flow I would horseshoe around and out into the line up. There was one old man who I kept catching glimpses of as he caught wave after wave.

I was getting more tired as that faint panic feeling was rising in my gut. I was now past the church. I looked at the waves crashing in the rocks and along the stone walls that border the residential houses from the sea.

“Dang getting out of here would suck,” I observed to my self. I started quartering this way and that trying get across the current. I paddled and battled my way. Every time I stopped I would look at the bottom of the clear water and see coral moving by. I would go 90 degree across the current and then rest and watch again. I was getting tired but felt somewhat in control. I could see the life guards on duty probably watching me as I had been paddling against the current first one way then the other.

Damn I was getting tired but I knew I would make it at this point. I staggered back up through the snorkeling tourists and put my board down after a half hour in the water. I went up to the life guards and asked about the currents. He pointed to a public display showing the currents and waves patterns. I was too tired to go back out as I watched the local after work crowd show up. They all parked down the street a ways and jumped in off the rocks I had been stuck nearby. They floated right out to the line up in less then a minute.

When they got out they rode the gyre right back to a hidden little cove in the rocks and climbed out while I had been running in a big hamster wheel.

Day 5:

Pistol Pete and is cousin Cody were coming that night from Alaska, ready to get after it.

I was glad that I had finally I caught a few head high waves at a spot called Kukio. I needed to know my way around a bit before playing tour guide, you know. It is a nice left that breaks across a reefy plateau that lies adjacent to the exposed lava point. The water was so clear that you felt like you were floating on air over the coral and small fish.

Out toward the point the reef drops off vertically to 60 feet or so. I found it to be somewhat distracting as the water ebbed and flowed off the reef with each wave. I would stand along the shoulder which broke along the drop off of the reef edge. I could see huge roundish looking fish or sea turtles down under the edge that formed a cave. I started to purposefully get deeper in the break just to avoid the deep water.

Off the end of the reef the waves would step up out of 100 feet plus of water and slab up and then collapse on itself immediately in the true pit. A secondary shoulder would form as the water turned to race off the reef to grow the face of the wave. Tracking, tracking. Deep heel side bottom turn.

Rinse. Repeat.


Day 6:

The next day the Cody and I went out to the Harbor break. There was a lone wave that was breaking way out far like half mile...? We easily navigated out of the fish pond and started paddling. The wave was way out there and fairly biggerish with 5-7 foot faces. It was tricky keeping track of where you lined up. The shore was a smudge of brown under a mountainside of yellows and greys. The Costco and Home Depot complex dominated the view.

The water and wind pushed south lightly. The sun was out and we caught big friendly waves. The biggest sets were perfect for shredding. There was a long period so you would crash and pop up all ready for a pounding and the next wave would be standing up lazily in the distance. Pete was on it, smile on his face. Glad he was not in Alaska.

Cody's turn, my turn. Making long turns across the green face was pleasantly exhilarating. After a 3 hour shred with no one else in the water we reconvened back to the Kukio beach. Stop at security to get a beach pass. Drive past billionaire weekend cottages to private parking. Pretty swank.

The wave was working perfectly. The light was a little grey and the wind came up so you could not see the distracting bottom so much. We surfed another 2 hours until we called it a day and went home. The surf forecast said something about the swell of the decade that was due to arrive the following afternoon.

[carpathian]

February 3, 2005

The story begins around 9:30 pm on a Tuesday night in Smithers BC. Vesna and I were hanging out in our camper parked behind our office, Interesting Productions Studio, when Breeann came banging at the door. I stick my head out and she starts telling me about how Shames just got plastered with 100cm of snow in the last 24hrs and that we should start driving to Terrace right then so that we could go skiing in the morning.

Vesna and I had to take some real convincing from Breeann and her boyfriend Trevor before we were sold on the idea. We had been wrapped up in pulling a David vs Goliath maneuver in the independent film industry concerning our spoof documentary, ‘Escape from America?’ and had been immersed in an imaginary world of numbers and ideas. Breeann and Trevor, in unison, had to keep repeating “100cm, 100cm, 100cm…” until Vesna and I relented, “Let’s go!”

We were on the beat. First, Vesna had to call her yoga students and tell them that she would not be teaching class at 7:30am on Thursday, because she was going to ski 100cm. All the students seemed to understand. I had to jump on the computer to close a few deals and check the weather from around the continent.

“Alyeska Resort up north? 0 inches. Alta Resort down south? Trace. Kicking Horse out east? 6cm. Shames Mountain? 95cm and snowing!” I considered that market research and decided to blast an email to the guys at Powder Magazine, to let them know that I was on the story. I had never really thought of writing an article for a magazine until right then. It sounded like potential for some high drama in the mountains so I gave it a shot.

Vesna and I had been looking for a good ski story to film. I had done a few ski movies while in Alaska and together, we worked on a political documentary. We were looking for a combo of some sort. Tell a story around the sport of skiing. So while we are emailing, packing and laughing, we start filming our movie right then. This story is kind of behind the scenes look at what it takes to get the perfect shot, if not the perfect run. An hour later the truck is purring along in a torrential rainstorm as Vesna and I scheme on ways to get up mountains and down.

Terrace was warm. Ominous. It was past 1am now, and we were waxing skis out in the shed of Trevor and Breeann. It was made even more ominous because their house is right next door to an abandoned morgue that supposedly is the home to a bunch of stray cats. I am looking at the sky, smelling the warm air and a seed of doubt is planted, but I don’t say anything as I close the door to the shed to be enveloped by the crooning of Bob Marley.

I got some good footage of waxing skis. I had never done that before. Seemed kind of ritualistic, the melting of the wax and smoothing the surface for efficiency. We feel asleep around 3am listening as the camper was battered by wind with mixed rain and snow.

“Shames is up there, should be cold,” we rationalized in to dreams.
7am came quickly.
“Tim Horton’s is on the way! Coffee, donuts? Check!” Four of us in a Ford Econoline van chugging up the hill with the tunes rolling. From the gravel access road I could see Shames through the viewfinder. I could see snow in the trees and it was lightly snowing.

“She’s holding!” I could relay to the passengers in the back of the van. “It is warm out though,” I thought to myself.
In the parking lot it was quite. I heard some tunes coming from a car off somewhere, but the atmosphere was subdued. On the chairlift no one wanted to talk about the intricate patterns the rain had left on the surface of the snow.
“We’re down low, maybe we’ll get above it?”

Optimism seemed to have failed the group of people standing at the top of the lift. Absent was the mad rush for first tracks to be followed by the hoots and hollers from the trees.

“The bars don’t open until 11,” I heard someone say as I skied past the group, loaded with camera gear.
Down at the T-bar line-up, Brad and I were the first in line as we waited for avalanche clearance from patrol.
“I don’t know, that snow seems pretty hard,” Brad speculates. Brad was a fellow American who was sleeping on the couch of Trevor and Breeann.

As I was theorizing on the thickness of this crust, a local guy skis up from the back of the line and says, “You know, we were thinking about it back there and we decided that we don’t want the Americans in front of the line.” My immediate response was that of shock then dismay as Brad looks silent and I offer my place in line. Politics are great fun and all but I had not expected such remarks from the backwoods of northern BC. The guy laughed and said he was joking but it caught my attention.

The T-bar fired up and most people were heading straight for ‘Hangover.’ Everyone skied over to the top of the run in disbelief. All of the cultivated positive thinking went out the window as soon as your ski fell beneath the 2 inch crust. The crust was the chastity belt that sheathed the surface of the mountain. Underneath the crust was bottomless, cold powder. Mostly, I remember my face and head grinding through the crust as I crashed for the first time in ages. I came up, hatless and laughing as I could see the same wise-guy from the T-bar straight-line the entire run to the bottom.

I could hear people laughing all around as everyone’s idea of how to turn a ski was redefined. I filmed and asked people what they thought of the snow. People did not know what to think of it. It seemed like everyone had to adopt a certain humility in order to get down the hill. Except for the solo straight-line, people took their time and stood around. I can honestly say that it was the most difficult skiing I had ever experienced. You can talk all day about extreme this and that but that is all moot if the intermediate run under the lift is nearly unskiable.

Down at the bottom of the lift, I overheard, “What am I going to do all day? I skipped work for this!” I got on the lift and went for another run because at that point everyone had kind of agreed to all ski the same run so that the crust would get broken apart. Once the crust was gone the snow was of a glorious quality. White smoke type of snow, only this variety was laced with shards of ice that felt like glass. If your skis were below the crust your kneecaps and shins were being ripped and torn as you powered through a turn. The only way to keep your tips above the crust was to take the posture of being in the extreme backseat. Hanging out in the backseat is about the surest way to destroy your knees so many people opted out for the day and hit the bar.

Vesna met us on the deck with camera and drink in hand. She was getting good footage of people telling their stories of the crust. “It was like putting your head through a windshield!” People were beginning to come to understand the affect the crust had had on them. In experiencing the humility, people began to see the humor, and were liberated by what had transpired. After all, Shames still was the epicenter of Ullr’s attention and we were his worthy recipients. We had braved Crust Day and would be rewarded. The forecast said it was supposed to cool off a hair and turn clear by Sunday. That means we had 3 days to celebrate and ski snow, regardless of its consistency.

[carpathian]

Towards the afternoon, Trevor and I found some crust that was not so breakable and we were able to scrape some turns out in ‘Deliverance.’ Back at the bar, no one believed us, “Get out of here! It’s Snownami Wednesday!”
“No way! We’re believers,” we responded. (It is interesting to note the comparison of the greatest natural disaster in recent history to a skier’s perception of a natural disaster.)

After giving praise to Ullr for such a battering, we hobbled to the van and drove down the hill in heavy snowfall, extending our optimism into the week ahead. In Terrace, Vesna and I got the camper stocked for the week and chugged back up to the Shames lower lot.

By 8am about 10cm of snow had fallen but our fires were slow to stoke. The new snow once combined with the original crust, created crud. There was no one complaining though, because compared to the day before it was beautiful skiing. After lunch I put the skis away and busted out the snowboard. I know some of you out there might actually put the magazine down and walk away at this point and I tell you it is your loss. On the board you could shralp trackless crud lines all day without breaking a sweat. It was great. In the afternoon, we drank beer and once again, gave thanks to Ullr.

The next day the weather continued as expected. The air cooled and soothed the snow into something more manageable for the skier. The crud began to dry out and firm up as the crust evolved into being the foundation for the skiff of new snow.
We were getting ready to cruise out with the touring gear into ‘Phazars’ when a couple of guys showed up. Turns out they were from Whistler and they had heard about the 100cm dump. They got on a plane and raced up here to ski and take photos for their website, www.doglotion.com. I got a quick interview on the camera and then some good shots down in the trees. Can’t go wrong with skiing powder in the trees with new friends.

In the afternoon, word got around that Matchstick Productions was flying in that night and that got everyone going. The industry elite gravitating to our very own Shangri-La only further validated our devotion to Ullr. Tonight would be the perfect night to burn skis.

Trevor had carried 10 pallets up the hill in his van that morning so the stage was set for the Lower Lot party. Get everyone stoked to drink beer and call for snow with the sacrifice of a pair of worthy boards. Trevor had a pair of Dynastar 4x4 Bigs. It nearly brought a tear to my eye to see the real life flames lick at the acrylic flames on the top-sheet. I filmed as the mighty tips, the 4x4 was known for, finally fell flat and succumbed to the heat. We sat and passed the Whisky Fireball Shooter around until it was gone and we plotted great things for the morning and years to come. We were where IT was happening and we knew it. The sky had turned clear and cold and the stars were out. Sometimes the snow has to sit around a bit before the skiing gets good. Ullr would provide.

The next morning was a bit of a gong show with all of the weekend crowd and the hangovers making them selves known. “We’re charging off to ski where? Huh…?”

It took some patience but it all fell together. Brad and I were aiming for the ‘Iron Curtain’, a steep spine face across the valley from Shames. We boot-packed five minutes up to the top of ‘Deliverance’, skied to the valley bottom and then climbed up the other side of the valley. It took us a good two hours to get to the top of the run. We had two cameras with us. Vesna was posted across a small drainage and had a good barbie angle while I was on a steeper, profile angle. Brad was the star as he made the first crux turn at the top over moderate exposure. He made about 6 steep turns down the runneled face and spit out in the bottom of the gulley.

I got to go next. I choose a cleaner spine to the skiers right. It was sweet. Steep turns around tiny trees as my hip grazed the flank of the fin I was on. Vesna was directly across from me, not more then 50 meters away. She got the shot as I zinged in three more turns out the bottom and skied over to cheer with Brad. “The Iron Curtain was a hurtin’!”
We laughed about how America slayed the Iron Curtain of Communism and now we were skiing like Americans in Canada as we slayed the ‘Iron Curtain’ of Shames. That could be a bumper sticker, “Ski like an American in Canada!” You could take that many different ways.

Anyway, back to the snow. The crud had turned to a kind of carvable foam that was had been plastered on all aspects no matter how steep. I had made a couple of turns where, if it had been 24 hours earlier, the snow would have collapsed under its own weight and sloughed to the bottom. Instead, it was firm and predictable. Good times.
Despite the fact that I had lost a $200 camera battery at the top of the run, we were elated with surviving the run. It is amazing what some technical skiing does for the senses. It was good day to test the snow, see what is going on in the snow-pack. We felt good about things and began to solidify plans for the morning. We were going to climb and ski ‘Geronimo’ and get it on film from across the valley. Vesna and I had been eyeing up the aesthetic, exposed fall line all season. That would be a good way to end the story I thought.

We made a relatively early start. At 10:30 we were slapping on skins and preparing to climb. Our group consisted of Trevor, Trent (the photographer), Vesna and myself. Brad had to teach at ski school in the morning so he was going to be on radio so he could get the long cross-valley shot when we dropped in. Our skin track was there from the day before so we could move fast. I was able to make radio contact with Brad around 12pm when we neared the summit. He was set and the camera was ready. Apparently he had to cut his lesson short in order to get the shot, so with a few words of encouragement he set his students free and took up his position.

At the top of the run there was confusion. We were looking right down the planned run and it looked ugly. The wind had come up in the evening and continued to blow under brilliant blue skies. Our run looked heinous; hard crust with wind-sculptured drifts.
`
“One turn powder, one turn drift, one turn crust, one turn powder”, that is what I predicted in my head. “Alright, maybe we should circle around to that other ridge? It looks cleaner, less exposed,” I offered. We all scooted around the ridge a couple hundred meters to get a better look.

“That ridge is just as narrow,” Vesna pointed out, “there are still four of us.”
“You’re right.” We stopped and ate lunch… took some time to mull it over. The wind had stopped for the moment and the view was fantastic. My mind could not be further away from the world of dollars and deadlines. In the discussion of our potential run we decided that it was a better filming opportunity and safer group management if we split into two groups and skied different runs.

“Hey Jake! Can you hear me?” Brad asked over the radio, “I’m ready to go.”
Snap back to reality! We decided on a plan. Trevor and Trent would continue around the ridge and ski the second run while Vesna and I continued with the Geronimo plan.

As Vesna and I skied into position a red helicopter flew by on its way into the mountains, no doubt carrying the likes of Hugo Harrison and Dan Treadway. I caught myself beginning to think about how jealous I was because I wanted to be in the helicopter filming with Matchstick Productions or blah, blah, blah… then I realized that I was on top of a crazy mountain with my lovely Vesna and we had a camera guy waiting to film us. There was a task at hand! We were the professional skiers, here to shred!

Neither Vesna nor I made two consecutive powder turns in a row on the entire run. It was sun-crusted, wind-scoured, exposed and kind of scary. In each turn the wind held the snow suspended in the crystalline sky all around my senses. Time slowed.

Halfway down the run we tucked ourselves in a tree grove and posted up to film Trent and Trevor on their run. We filmed their sweet powder turns as they charged down the shoulder stopping just above the open glades. Trent was taking pictures as Trevor made a solid ski cut that released a decent slough that traveled to valley bottom. Radio chatter. Communication. We waited for them to make valley bottom before continuing our run, the sun was getting warmer and I wanted off that face. We worked our way slowly through avalanche gullies and steep trees. Slab here, slough there! Exciting stuff. At the bottom we raced across the run out through freight train sized debris piles, remnants of Wednesday’s storm destruction. The four of us regrouped at the bottom of the drainage, exchanged hi-fives and started prepared to climb once more.

As we skinned back towards the resort, we continued to gain an improved vantage point across the valley on the runs we just did. It was crazy! The scale and dimensions were just beginning to seep in as we sat at the top of North Bowl watching the sun cast longer and longer shadows across ‘Geronimo’ and the second run that Trevor and Trent dubbed ‘Pressaman.’

It was now 4:20 pm and as it turns out, Bob Marley’s 60th birthday. The crust and the mountains had yielded their conspired secrets. We paid tribute with a smoke and a moment of silence before skiing sweet, sweet powder down North Bowl, heading back to the truck and aiming for the office.

[carpathian]

Day 7:

We went back to Kukio in the morning. The sea definitely felt more alive as you could feel the first heavy pulses. One big wave came through and it ran across the whole mouth of the bay, connecting the left we were surfing with the right that was breaking off the point north of us.

Luckily we were all towards the outside when it came though. “Holy smokes!” I thought, “I see where this is going.” The friendly wave we had been surfing turned into a vertical faced slab of doom. As the tide dropped the normal sweet spot on the reef plateau was now getting sucked dry into the oncoming waves. In order to catch it you had to nose in at like 45 degree to the break as the slab eased off into a rideable shoulder. The face still collapsed in on itself but the rideable part was deeper, a little more hollow.

On one wave I caught the perfect crest deep in the pocket. I could see Pete down in the pit in survival mode. I dared not make a turn down the line because I could not guarantee to myself that I would make it past him. I had to straight line it out deep onto the slab floor. There were huge speed bumps then slam! MY ten foot board pearled to full depth as I basically moon walked off the back right into the full height of the curl. I piled deep and could feel some sort of double cycle.

I started swimming up and up and up. I opened my eyes and could only see bubbly blue. I was now power swimming to the surface. I think both me and my board had been wave punched like 20 feet down! Anyway, I made it up and ended up catching a few more waves before calling it for the day.

We went back to the Harbor. The swell was getting bigger. Now instead of the lone break in the distance, the whole mile long bay was crushing over head closeouts half way out and double that on the far outside. Pete was feeling adventurous while Cody and I were not into it. I love it when I can volunteer to take pictures!

I was nervous that Pete was going to get cocky and try to make a push outside. In the distance you could see the break unleashing thunderous barrels. A local had told me that this break stops getting taller and a certain point but gets thicker as the swell grows.

Pete did make one attempt to ride the channel out but was quickly halted by booming water. He caught a few inside waves and rode up on the rocks at one point. He moved to negotiate to the entrance of the fish trap. The water was flowing out like a river as Pete power paddled on his knees. He made it and we cheered.

Day 8:

The swell grew to insane proportions. There were calling for 30-40 foot faces with 20 second period! All of the west coast beaches were shut down so we took a few days off and toured around the Island to Hilo.

There was a nice flat water cruise in the Hilo Harbor and behind Coconut Island and up the river into town. It was a beautiful and idyllic scene watching a junior high school championship canoe race. The fans run up and down the beach screaming encouragement and some people just swim out into the water and cheer as the 6 man canoes go slicing by.

[carpathian]

Day 9 of surfing, 14th day on island:

The main force of the swell had passed but the seas were still heavy with faces of 8-12 ft. We were amped to get out after 3 days of no surf. There was two guys on standup boards and two guys on short boards already out there.

Just as I made it to the line up a double over head barrel of doom bombed through. One of the stand up paddle guys was wearing a life vest. Good idea I thought. Pete was a ways back so he did not see the power of that wave so when he did get out there he quickly moved in deep on the wave. I was playing prudent just on the edge of it all. The guy in vest caught a big one and disappeared down the face on his way towards land.

The other standup paddler was a guy on a little 8'6” looking board and he could not really stand on it in the choppy rolling seas. He would paddle around on his knees and then jump into position as the waves jacked up.

I got a on a wave pretty quick. I caught it easy but once I was going it seemed to just keep growing into a huge, broad green face. I stayed up on the top half of the wave, not daring to risk a sweet bottom turn. I kept glancing down the line and could see that this was one of those monster closeouts I had seen from shore. I was sure that it had surpassed my previous big wave record back at Bear Glacier!

I drifted up to the top quarter of the face and aggressively prepared for an exit off the top. I felt bold though and milked it, milked it... Here it comes, the lip! I danced over the top and transitioned back to skier stance cleanly. God damn, that will put a smile on your face! The board had hit hissing velocity and felt lively and nimble at speed. The bigger the wave the more it feels like snowboarding, I reckon.

Pete caught one deep. He rushed by and his tall lanky frame disappeared behind the green roll as it passed by. A moment later his head popped up through the foamy water. He yelled, “My leash!”

“Oh shit!” I was hanging right on the shoulder and started paddling in deep towards Pete. “You want me to get the board?” I hollered. “Yeah!” he yelled as he started making his way out to to Cody and his big board while I pinned it deep into the wave chundered belly of the beast. I knew that this was a short lull in the sets as I caught up to the board. I reached for it then glanced behind just in time to see a wave crashing in from above.

I dive off of my board under the wave. Come to the surface and see another wave. Repeat, repeat. Pete's board is long gone now. I make a few half hearted strokes towards it and then decide to reconsider as another set stands up. 1,2,3 waves on the head. This serious business.

Pete and Cody were doubled up trying to navigate inside the big waves along the edge of the rip channel. I steered nearby and could see that they were moving too far down the coast just as they were moving into the true danger zone. Then out of the mist the guy with the life vest appeared with Pete's board in tow. He must have caught one of the bombs and ridden all the way inside cleanly.

I felt kind of sheepish in my failed attempt. I did not know the protocol in such situations. I did not know the move. We eagerly paddled back out into the line up. Apparently Pete's leash had come un-velcro ed. It was a 11' 6”rental board after all.

It had been fun driving around town in the red Dodge tourist rental van with three huge paddle boards strapped on top. At 6' 1” I was the shortest to 6' 7” Pete and 6' 5” Cody. Pete dodged and weaved through traffic with a smile on his face. He pulled a 'haole right', a 'haole half park', and a couple of clean 'haole fakes'. They were almost as smooth as the stunning 'japanese parallel park' we had witnessed.

In the lineup Pete was equally bold. He got in late a couple of times on the short boarders and did not give way. I cringed a bit but my wife accuses me of being too empathetic anyway. I ventured in deeper and caught a nice medium sized wave and rode off a clean shoulder. When I looked back I saw a bigger one coming. Survival mode, here we go.

You have too turn and face down the giant and wait. Timing the move. I prefer one hand out front and the other choked up on the paddle, with the blade trailing. Building wall of doom, cresting way up there above me. Dive. Wait for the familiar pull of the big board getting pulled through... POP! There goes my leash!

I came to the surface and saw the the guy riding around on his knees. I yelled, “My leash broke!”
“Start swimming!” he answered. My leash was still on my ankle and something told me to just get rid of it. Not worth trying to save $10 dollar part. I was swimming now! Huge wave! It was easy to with no board now at least. The guy on his knees came up near me again. I laid on my back and got going, keeping my face to the oncoming waves so I could see them coming. I swam and I knew I was near the off shore rip current.

I tried to 45 degree out of it but I had to get deep in the crashing pit to go with the flow.

Set on head 1,2,3.

Swim.

Set 1,2.

Swim.

Set 1,2,3,4

The guy on his knees was pacing with me and offering advice. I entertained the brief notion that he was a guardian angle of some sort...

“What the hell is your buddy doing?!” He asked me.

“I think he is after my paddle.” I answered.

“Your paddle is way inside, the other guy is getting it,” He said referring to Pete. I could see the two surfers to my right periodically.

“Am I moving?” I called out.

“Not really,” he answered.

I was getting tired and felt like I was in the middle of the ocean. I was thankful that I had been running a bit trying to get my cadio up to capacity.
Set on head 1,2,3.

I waved to Cody, “Come help me!” He scooted over and I gave a “Hurry up!” He got to me and I was able to grab the tail of his board where the leash connects and I kept swimming along. I started think about what would happen if I was by my self right now. That would be trouble. Who am I going to surf with when Pete and Cody leave?

I encourage Cody, “GO! GO!” We were getting on the inside and I caught a glimpse of Pete chasing after my board. I saw another closeout coming and tried to stay with Cody for a moment but then realized not, “You are on your own!” I shouted as I let go and dove deep under the wave. I came up and could see that Cody had been destroyed. He came up a second later directly under his board. I could see his head bump up then go down again. Then he came up with me power swimming towards him yelling, “Go, go! We gotta be quick!”

We regrouped and plowed on. I gave a wave to the guy on his knees and he disappeared over the back of a wave with a look of being unimpressed.

There was Pete! He had my board and paddle. Later he told how he had come in on my board and had to get on it while trailing his by the leash. He came face to face with a closeout and tried to hang on to my board for dear life. It was ripped free of his grasp at the same time his leash came apart again.

I had been swimming maybe 20 minutes at this point while he somehow re collected all of the said items and was pushing out as Cody and I were making it in. My hero!

I hopped on my board and exclaimed that I was going in. It took a little patience but I finally slid back into the safety of the fish trap none the worse for wear. It was a pretty solid reality check for me though. This shit is dangerous as here I am convincing myself that backcountry skiing and all of that is too dangerous...

What would I have done by my self?

We regrouped and ventured south to Kealakekua Bay. This is the historic place where Captain Cook came to the Islands as a god and where he died as a man. We had a leisurely paddle across deep blue water. 500 foot cliffs sprang straight up above us. It was awesome and scenic and historic.

I was feeling gun shy at the very end of the day. Pete went and caught a couple of meaty waves off the rocky point. I pulled out at the van and sat on the large cobble stones and watched the sun dip. I reflected on my 'surf career' thus far. I found my self thinking how I need to get a job.