My day started with the best breakfast burrito one can find, from Abe's Cantina in the tiny hamlet town of Arroyo Seco, NM, about 12 miles from Taos Ski Valley. Not long after I found myself warming up on a few groomed runs in perfect conditions. Arriving at the top of the highest lift, the view of the ridge opened up with it's bright white cornice reflecting the morning sun. It was time.
[caption id="attachment_1425" align="aligncenter" width="640" caption="The Goal"]
[/caption]Loosening ski-boot buckles for comfort, I lifted the skis onto one shoulder, placed poles in my other hand, and after two steps, decided it was getting warm. So I dropped the skis and poles to adjust my jacket. A bit of fussing and finally I'm ready- the hike begins from 11,819ft. My goal was Kachina Peak at 12,481 ft in elevation. To get there, one must not only climb in elevation, but traverse across about a mile of ridge line as well.
I've done the first section of the hike dozens of times. It rises a couple hundred feet or so from the start and is steep. It gets your lungs going, but isn't too bad. After the stair stepping onto the ridge, another 100ft of traverse gets you into some really nice chutes- my usual runs as I had never bothered with the extra mile to Kachina before. It was here I paused for some pocket fuel of dark chocolate covered espresso beans and a slug of water from Black Diamond Espresso.
[caption id="attachment_1427" align="aligncenter" width="112" caption="Pocket Fuel"]
[/caption]The snow was deep. Each step was more like "post-holing" than walking. After a few hundred yards, the begins to narrow in width until you reach a false summit. False summits are the ultimate mirage. It looks like the summit is right in front of you. As you get closer, one realizes the actual summit is much higher and farther away. This happens because the slope of the ridge changes and you can only see the hill immediately in front of you while the full mountain is hidden by the angle at which you are looking up. It is one of the meaner optical illusions.
Perhaps unusual for false summits, there is actually a saddle between where I stand and the continuation of the mountain. I have to descend what looks like one or two hundred feet before resuming the climb. So I step back into the bindings and ski down this section before traversing across the slope's face to resume the trail. This third of a mile or so passes quickly, being mostly downhill, but ultimately only adds to the final elevation climbed.
[caption id="attachment_1429" align="aligncenter" width="600" caption="Looking back up at the first false summit"]
[/caption](sorry for the pic quality, I only had my phone with me this time)
Back on the trail, I slowly ascended the rest of the peak, one step at a time. By now, one's ski boots are feeling really heavy, especially at 12,000 ft where there is some 37% less oxygen. Imagine climbing the Empire State Building step by step, with over one third less air. For sure it's not Everest, but let's pretend it's extreme anyway (I feel tougher and cooler that way). It doesn't take long to discover that was only the first of several false summits. Even the hawk overhead seems be laughing at my disappointment.
Finally, about an hour later, I reach the top. After pausing a good long while to thoroughly enjoy the view and perfect day. I snap a few pictures, finish off my water and chocolate beans and realize the adventure is only half over! There is still the descent- an exciting finish to a hard hike. Clipping back into my bindings and checking my gear, I'm ready to negotiate the rocks. A couple of quick turns and I'm headed down, fast.
The whole Taos basin opens up in front of me, thousands of feet below, framed by snow covered peaks and a deep cobalt blue sky. It's the kind of sky you only see on the clearest of days, far from pollution and at high altitude. You almost expect to see stars it is so deep blue.
I get used to turning in the several feet deep powder, being careful to plot a fall line between the rock outcroppings. Deliberately jumping off an outcropping, I let out a hoot. Clumps of snow chase me down the mountain, rolling on top of the snow, reminiscent of a mini-mini-avalanche. Nearing the bottom third of the bowl, I decide to straighten my course, building speed and carving much longer amplitude "S's". My skis are hydroplaning ("snowplaning"?) on the surface of the powder, barely scratching the snow's surface- I'm moving fast now.
But I suddenly feel my skis start to give. I'm not able to keep the ski's floating on the surface under such speed and my brain gives just a millisecond of warning "you're about to fall". An instant later and I'm flying head first towards the snow as the tips of my skis dig ever deeper into the powder. Calling it a "fall" is generous. "Wipe-out" is more like it. I tumble over and over until finally coming to a stop, sitting upright, but I can't see anything. Realizing I'm not dead or blind, I start to wipe the snow off my face. Oh, I'm covered in snow. On my goggles; in my goggles; packed into the neckline of my coat; in my mouth and packed into the coat lining too. Having wiped the snow away from my face, I see that I've stopped rolling only about 25 yards from the top of the lift where a half dozen or so onlookers peer in my direction. Instead of defeat, I feel elated and throw my arms into the air as a sign of victory. The onlookers, probably relieved I'm ok (or so I'd like to think), cheer back- probably in laughter. A glorious moment indeed! Picking myself up, I enjoyed another 2,700 feet of primo vertical skiing. Joining a friend down below, we stop for a green-chili bacon cheeseburger and a beer.
By now you are probably wondering what all this had to do with money and economics. Well, this little ski day was perhaps the best $54 I've spent in a long, long time. The point should be obvious- you don't need celebrity style wealth to have great experiences (take that, materialist boys and girls). No credit default swaps, no Wall Street bonuses, no private jets or islands- just a simple day of enjoying simple things. Remember, money is a means to an end and not and end to itself.
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