Post - Lesson Collective

The San Juan Mountain backcountry.—photo courtesy of the LC — The San Juan Mountain backcountry.—*photo courtesy of the LC*

The Beginning | The Unknown

“Oh HELL no, I don’t do subs!”

This was the first thing a student ever said to me as I greeted them at the door in late September. Like the slap of a 30 MPH wind gust at 12’000 ft or heading out for a tour in the dark, I was taken aback. To be honest, 7th graders can be just as intimidating as a considerable avalanche forecast. What are they thinking? Will they let me in today? These are similar questions we ask ourselves about the white dragon in the mountains.

Back at the doorway I have two options. Like being in the mountains I can bail, or I can collect some more data, put my head to the wind and press on. Other students pass by and most of them don’t say anything at all, better than a red flag, but still not giving me too much data of which to work. Eventually, a student walks up and bluntly asks, “who are you?” Hesitantly, I answer and tell them I’m their new student teacher and will be working with them for the next few months, “cool,” he replies, and even gives me a fist bump as he walks into the room. A sign of stability!

Working out the Kinks | An Uphill Battle

Like a steep skin track kick turning through blue spruce and evergreen, the first few weeks of student teaching were filled with unknown, challenge, reward, and ultimately, a clear path to the top. My expectations were set, like a skin track laid the day before, now all I had to do was ride it out and hope the person who put it in knew where they were going, only in this case, that person was me.

Cruising Along | Bluebird

Ultimately, things started coming together. A few of the students even started taking a liking to me and I was surprised at how something as simple as consistently being there earned their trust and respect. I started taking over classes and it seemed like a few of the students were even learning a thing or two. We read. We wrote. We discussed. Socratic seminars about book chapters resembled the conversations my partners had about making decisions in the backcountry; each person had a turn to talk and respected one another’s opinions. Like sailing down a 35’ degree slope of untouched powder on a bluebird day, I was making tracks.

Is this actually happening? A crisp and deep morning within my own backyard.

Instability | Storm Snow & Pandemics

Spring break is right around the corner and I can feel it starting to take its toll on me, my students feel it too. During this time of year, we typically start thinking about our free time consisting of early starts, long days, and steep, exposed lines. The snowpack slowly heals and with each week we venture into more consequential terrain. Just like my forays into the mountains, I’m feeling ready to start experimenting. I’ve miraculously sailed through my full assumption, a period of three to four weeks where it’s all on you, bud, without any major storms, similar to the weather in the mountains the last few weeks. My mentor teacher will be back in the classroom and I’m looking forward to something new after a well-deserved break.

You can tell when it’s about to storm in the mountains. Low hanging stratus clouds blanket the sky, the wind picks up. Tad came in from next door and said there would be a good chance we were going to have an extended spring break due to COVID-19. Three days later it was an incontestable truth. Storms raged in the San Juans that week, dropping feet of new snow in a few days and spiking the avalanche danger. The Tempest had arrived.

As backcountry skiers we revel in our resiliency as a people. A cold storm may mean harsh winds and escalated avalanche danger now, but a wise backcountry traveler knows that all storms pass, and they often leave low density, cold powder snow in their wake. Educators are resilient too. A veteran teacher once told me to never let a 12-year-old ruin your day.

The Silver Lining | Cold Smoke

If a storm leaves powder snow in its wake, then what does the coronavirus leave behind for a student teacher who can’t finish his last month of work in the classroom? Truth is, in 600 hours I had gotten what I needed from the physical classroom. I had gained the trust and respect of almost 90 7th graders. We had learned and grown together. I needed a new challenge. Just as when a backcountry skier ticks that couloir they’ve been looking at for a few years, there’s often a bigger, more exposed line right around the corner.

I’ve spent the last five weeks teaching online. An experience that I would never have had if it wasn’t for the global pandemic we are still bound by. This is a new skill that I never thought existed, and one that I never thought I needed, but it will help me moving forward as an educator in many ways. Similar to when a skier has ridden all of the couloirs they can slide into with two planks on the ground, they start looking for the ones they can rappel into. Honing new skills is imperative to our growth in any aspect of our lives, and I’m happy to have had the opportunity to learn this one.

Similar to teaching online, who knew skiing could look like this?

In Reflection

If there’s one thing I’ve learned through all of this, it’s that maybe teaching middle schoolers and skiing in the backcountry aren’t all that different after all. And maybe, that’s why I like them both.

All photos are courtesy of the author unless noted. Follow Forrest’s amazing photography on instagram at @forrestkohere