Chapter 2 - Lines in The Snow
The Twenty-Two Project
“When I was little, it was all about the fun, the speed, the feeling of cranking a turn. After a while I also started to like the way you could almost paint the mountain with your tracks; choose nice lines and see how they fit into the mountain.”
My first memory of being on skis was as a three-year old at the now long closed Broadmoor Resort located outside of Colorado Springs, CO. My father, a career officer in the Air Force, was stationed at the Air Force Academy. Though the memory is foggy, I recall having a morning lesson and then being thrust into day care as my parents enjoyed a day on the slopes without a toddler in tow. My dad’s continual assignments in the west only acted to fuel a love for sliding on snow. Those formative years of living in Colorado, Montana and Wyoming left a lasting impression upon me.
Through grade school and into middle school, my parents provided ample opportunities to get on the slopes. These moments began with an early morning departure from the house with a destination of a western ski resort. It was usually a father and son affair, with the two of us skiing nonstop, maximizing the expense and privilege of resort skiing. These experiences with my dad were always special and continue to this day to be so, as once a year he heads to Colorado to get his ski fix with his son.
Jesse painting Deadwood’s southwest face with his ski edges (summit #6 at 12,285’).
When I began high school, the ski days ended and a career on the basketball court took precedence. It wouldn’t be until after graduating college that I would get back on skis. The snow conditions in New England were as expected for a winter climate that often fluctuates from snow to rain in a single day. The soft powder of the west was missed, but the skills learned while attempting to ski ice and other variable conditions became beneficial when I returned to Colorado and began climbing and skiing off summits.
My full-time return to the west ushered in a new era of my ski career. The years of living in the southeast afforded only limited opportunities for playing in winter. Every year, I would make it a point to get to the west, New England or eastern Canada for a hit of winter through skiing or ice climbing. The move to assume the leadership of the Outdoor Pursuits program at Fort Lewis College, ensured that winter would once again be an essential part of my life. That first winter in Durango, I embraced the immediate access to the snowy landscape. From increasing my avalanche education to adding telemark skiing to my snow sliding repertoire, I made the most of every opportunity presented to play in the snow. It wasn’t long before the locals were showing me the allure of the backcountry and I was spurning the crowds of resort life.
Jesse enjoying a late afternoon hot lap near our camp on the shoulder of Helmet (11,969’)—summit #7.
There is just something enticing about floating down an untracked slope of white that hasn’t been shaped by a grooming machine. Backcountry skiers are artists with the snow-draped mountains acting as their canvas on which to paint a masterpiece. Their skis or snowboard serving as their brush. The draw for such experiences is addicting. So much so, that snow artists will sometimes unknowingly risk it all just for that one brush stroke. The canvas is always in a constant state of change and can slide and tumble violently downhill when the painting conditions are unstable.
Taking a break while on the approach to summit #8…Silver (12,500’)
Though not much of an artist in any form or medium, skiing in the backcountry is my attempt at art. Much like Henrik’s quote, my draw to Mother Nature’s studio is to apply my brush strokes to the always changing landscape. Sometimes they are aesthetically pleasing and seem to flow naturally. Other times, they are disjointed and broken. The Twenty-Two project may be objective driven, but underlying each quest for a summit, is the yearning to experience a moment of perfection by drawing a line of unblemished “S-turns.” These moments are far and few between. But, as long as I have access to the studio, then I can keep perfecting my craft. Skiing has been a life-long endeavor, one that I don’t plan on giving up…even if, I ever paint the perfect brush stroke.
