TR: The Land of Enchantment

[Coño Frío]

TR: The Land of Enchantment (con't)

Part 2

TSV skied firm on Monday. The temperatures dropped substantially from the previous day and the soft snow hardened. The cold temps and firm snow had Jbear longing for the warmer climes of the Phoenix Grill by 11am. As she settled in with a gatorade and a bag of chips she suggested that I take off for a run or two.

“Why don’t you check out the peak for us. See how it’s skiing today.” She said. “Just leave me your iPhone so I can watch gymnastics videos.”

Girls. I don’t understand girls. But I also don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. I gave her my phone, wrote down the passcode in case it locked, buckled my boots, and I was off. Up chair 4, then a quick slide to the new lift, and up I went. Without the responsibility of my spawn on the slope I decided to venture further out on the ridge. Certainly there had to be some snow that was not skied off in the past few days since Kachina had officially opened. Nope. One thing about the locals…they hunt pow like the white man hunted buffalo…to extinction. Steep, I found. Some soft, here and there, but thin and firm in between. Satisfying as an accomplishment, but unsatisfying all the same.

I cursed Ullr for forsaking me with his promise of powder only after we will have departed. He must have heard and been moved by my oaths, for shortly after my outburst, I raked a barely covered granite spike on the back side of a mogul on the “run out” of Kachina Peak, resulting in the inaugural core shot to my new Blister Pros…which really shouldn’t have been out at low tide anyway. I bit my tongue to keep from swearing further oaths only to have the skies darken above, the winds pick up, and the temperature drop to downright cold.

Faintly in the distance, in the direction of the cloud covered peak above me, I thought I heard something. It sounded as if someone had said “Dropping”. As I stared into the clouds the snow started to fall and I felt, no I knew, that Ullr had dropped in from the Northeast to exact his vengeance.

We left Taos in haste, trying to beat the storm to Santa Fe. Ullr was hot on our tail. He chased us along the Rio Grande Gorge. A geological feature that, not to be cliché, is simply gorgeous. I felt Ullr breathing down our necks as he blew snow, dust, and tumble weed into our path. Comfort only came when we finally saw the lights of the Hyatt Place on Cerritos Road. Its hot tub and heated pool welcoming the weary travelers from the hinterlands.

We woke Tuesday morning finding that Ullr had only recently departed but not before covering the blood of Christ with a fresh layer of soft New Mexico cotton. Due to an early evening flight from ABQ to BWI we planned to hit Ski Santa Fe on Tuesday, our day of departure. This decision was confirmed correct as Ski Santa Fe reported 6” to Taos’ 3”. In fact though, the runs off the peaks had much more than 6”, as I was boot deep at times, and Jbear was buried to her shins. The snow was blower. Perfect. Bone dry and light. Jbear, who usually hates skiing powder because “it’s too hard to turn” was crushing it. She flowed down the mountain, skis together, like she was skiing groomers. Later, when the fresh snow was cut up, she continued to plow through like it wasn’t even there.

I was in heaven. After second guessing my decision not to bring my 102 waisted TSTs, I welcomed the redemption. It was the perfect moment for the Moment Blister Pro. These skis surfed the fresh like I was on a snowboard (as I imagine anyway, since I’ve never actually been ON a snowboard) but it was in the cut up crud where they truly shined. I would let Jbear get well ahead and then I would charge, all out, busting through whatever pile I could find. They absolutely murdered whatever was in front of them. They had no speed limit, that I could find, at Santa Fe anyway. If only I could have had a day like this at Taos! Now that could have been epic.

Our flight was scheduled to depart at 5:45pm, so we were only able to ski 1/2 day. Lucky for us, Ski Santa Fe offers half day tickets for both the AM and the PM, so at least we didn’t have to miss out on runs that we had paid for. After a morning of pure bliss, I told Jbear that we had one run left. She expressed a bit of disappointment and asked if we could take Chair 3 to the top and ski to the parking lot. I agreed that that would be an awesome way to end the trip, so we skied down to lift number 3, hopped on and headed up for our last run. Imagine my surprise when we got to the peak at Ski Santa Fe and we discovered that “the easy way down” was a blue square named after TGR’s very own Flowy Alpy! I asked Jbear if she wanted to take this blue cruiser top to bottom and she laughed at me.

“I think Parachute is more my style, Dad.” was her reply.

So with that we skipped the dig on FA and skied gaily down the wind buffed pow of Parachute for our final run. Charging. Smiling. Laughing. The whole way down.

[Coño Frío]

The Land of Enchantment

Part 1

First, let me apologize for the lack of images. For this is a place of dramatic beauty where the camera could add depth and texture to the narrative, but, unfortunately, my photographer was curled up in the fetal position shaking with fever and fighting off nausea (I told her to get the damn flu shot) as the day of travel arrived. It was with a heavy heart that I had to leave her in the care of my oldest daughter and my trusty hound.

For as long as I can remember I have wanted to ski Taos. My friends might say it was because I grew up on Taos Drive in San Diego. Perhaps that is part of it, but when I reflect on it more, I suppose that it really stems from the stories told to me by one of my boyhood hero’s, the son of a family friend, Bobby, who was a decade or so older. I remember getting excited when my mom would tell us that Bobby would be stopping by on his way from Taos, where he worked winters as ski patrol, to the Pacific Northwest where he spent his summers working as a river guide on some of the most intense rapids in the country. A true adventurer and free spirit, Bobby would pull into our driveway in his VW van, with his dog, a friendly, well trained, long haired shepherd/malamute mix, named Wizard, riding shotgun. Bob would regale us kids with stories of steep, uncrowded slopes, covered in the driest, lightest powder one could imagine. Wizard would wag his tail and smile in a sort of canine form of agreement. These stories seemed but a dream to those of us who were just learning to ski the groomed sierra cement that was prevalent at at our local hill, Dodge Ridge. I’m not sure if it was Taos’ inherent inaccessibility or its reputation as a playground for the accomplished expert that kept me away. Until now.

Saturday February 14, 2015 we began our journey to Taos Ski Valley located in the Sangre De Cristos mountain range in Northern New Mexico. The range lies in the Southern most portions of the Rockies. Sangre De Cristos. How appropriate considering that it feels like a pilgrimage. Like the Haj, the pilgrimage to Mecca which is the duty of each practicing Muslim to attempt at least once in his lifetime, a visit to Taos is the duty of those who their place faith in the boot, the binding, and the ski.
These mountains, whose snowpack melts to feed the Rio Grande, a river that divides two great nations, two great cultures, a river that sustains at least 11 cities on both sides of the border, are worthy of their lore.

Skiers that live the stoke, the ones with skiing in their blood, who appreciate the history, and maintain its traditions will either wholeheartedly, or at least begrudgingly, agree with the assertion that Taos, along with Squaw Valley and Jackson Hole, make up the holy trinity of ski resorts in America. Yes, there are resorts that are fancier, get more snow, have more vertical, or more skiable acreage, resorts that are much more easily accessible, and even some that many (including myself - see Big Sky) will find preferable, but that does not change the fact that these three are ‘core to the core. Gnar-incarnate. So I find it somewhat romantic that I get to close the triangle, and bag Taos, my third in the triumvirate, over Valentine’s weekend, with my teenage daughter, my posterity, in tow.

Usually on a trip of this magnitude, one that checks a bucket, I might travel alone, unencumbered by the poor punctuality of another, or perhaps with a brother who has proven his sturdiness and worth in a previous adventure. For this trip, however, I have partnered with my daughter, Jbear, a 13 year old firecracker who shares her father’s passion for the mountains and has a sweet spot for skittles. She knows enough about her dad’s personality and passion’s not to expect a relaxing weekend of teddy bears and candy but instead realizes that she will be pushed to the limit, beyond her comfort zone, charging hard, bell to bell.

When I rousted Jbear at 6:30am it was 15 degrees outside. We left the East Coast, and seemingly winter, at 9:50am. When we touched down in Albuquerque at noon, the skies were blue, and the thermometer read 60 degrees, on its way to 70. We picked up our luggage, rented a car, and headed towards Santa Fe. We drove past desert countryside peppered green with ancient creosote bushes, but the smell of desert rain lay dormant, as a ridge of high pressure maintained its grip on the West. Meanwhile, those we left behind texted pictures of cars covered in snow, as old man winter continued his assault on the East Coast in what is turning out to be a truly extraordinary season in the Northeast.

Once one gets away from the relatively modern Albuquerque, North of the Southwestern Chic of Santa Fe, the Pueblos begin to resemble more of Old Mexico than New. Humble adobe abodes stand next to humbler mobile homes and trailers. If Colorado is cowboy. New Mexico is Indian. You pass through no less than nine reservations on the way from Albuquerque to Taos. The white man’s gift for allowing their culture to be conquered. Apparently the gift did not come with the adjoining water rights to the Rio Grande, as the landscape of the typical Res looked much drier than that surrounding “civilization”. The only modern construction on each reservation seemed to be the grand casino which anchors each town. A sort of monument to the silent monetary revenge being exacted upon the white man. One play at a time.

The scene in Taos is unique. One is more likely to see a multitude of perennially tanned, sun damaged faces, behind straggly long hair, and if male, a beard, than you are to see the perfectly coifed, unblemished, botoxed faces one might encounter in Telluride, Aspen, or Sun Valley. If the Hollywood set had ever discovered Taos they have long since forgotten it. And therein lies her charm.

We woke early Sunday to hit the slopes. Our efforts (my demands?) at punctuality paid off in that we were fed, ticketed, and in line to catch the 3^rd chair. It was like a spring morning but with better snow. Warm Sunny skies had us shedding layers before our first run. Based on some intelligence gleaned in the hot tub Saturday evening, we forewent the rush to the backside, and instead made our way over to chair 8, which unlike WMD in Iraq, proved to be as expected. Perfectly groomed snow unmolested by other skiers awaited us. We made lonely run after lonely run, carving the wide open slopes as if they were the Thanksgiving Turkey, wondering where the crowds were. It was President’s Day Weekend, wasn’t it?

After leaving our marks upon all the runs off of lift 8, we hit lift 2 to take us up and over. A winding green trail deposited us at the terrain park, typically not my jam, but Jbear was stoked to hit the jumps, and MAYBE (but alas, no) the box feature. I must admit, catching air off the rolling jumps, and landing on the perfectly pitched downslope, was more fun than I had imagined. After a few more runs off chair 7 we decided to take a coffee/cocoa break in the Phoenix Grill and contemplate our next moves.

We decided to take a ride up chair 4 and cruise the terrain that it had to offer. Towards the top of the lift we had a perfect view of Kachina Peak. The crème de la crème of Southwestern Gnar. There were actually quite a few skiers spread out along its slopes. I looked at Jbear.

“What do you think?” I asked.
“About what?” she replied.
“About that.” I said as I pointed to the top of the Peak.
“What?” she said “Are you crazy?”
“You can totally do that.” I told her.
To my surprise, she said with a fateful acceptance, “Yeah, okay, let’s do it.”

And with that, Jbear and I traversed over to the new Kachina Chair. The sign at the entrance blazoned “Experts Only. There is no easy way down.” I took Jbear’s picture next to the sign and we hopped on for the 1,100 foot vertical ride to the top. The view from the chair was amazing. The runs below showed their teeth. Steep. Bumped. We alighted at 12,450 took another picture and slid out of the way. A quick left through some bumps and we were on the run. The snow at the top was nice. Soft. To skiers left of the chair was a patch of unbumped powder and I directed Jbear to take that route. She surprised me with her courage and her ability. She skied the peak top to bottom without complaint, cries, or curses. We fist bumped at the bottom of the run out and then tore down the groomer to the Phoenix Grill for a well-deserved lunch of pizza (her) and a beef burrito, with cheese, onion, red chili, and jalapeños (me).

After a phenomenal day of skiing, we checked into the El Pueblo Lodge, unloaded our gear, and strolled into town to hit Doc Martin’s restaurant in the Historic Taos Inn for chili relleno, ultimo margaritas, pasta, and milk. The margs were off the hook, as was the milk, or so I was told. The rellenos were good, though a bit gourmet for my tastes, with a pumpkin seed crust. I prefer them simple, with fresh chilis, ample cheese, and an egg batter.

[Enigma]

Now I need to hit Taos! Sounds sick. Great read.

[klar]

Nice read. I have great memories of skiing with my dad around that age, good for you and her.

[Meadow Skipper]

...we planned to hit Ski Santa Fe on Tuesday, our day of departure. This decision was confirmed correct as Ski Santa Fe reported 6” to Taos’ 3”....

You should have said something. I work there and would have been glad to show you around.

Nice TR, though.

[TBS]

Well written. I love Taos -as a tourist
Hope you and daughter got to take in some Taos history/culture like Kit Carson museum and DH Lawrence's Forbidden Art at La Fonda.