Whoa. This is some seriously scary shite I’ve gotten myself into.
I wasn’t as concerned about being faint of heart, letting a helicopter drop me off on the top of a near-vertical slope, strewn with seemingly bottomless crevasses, and patches of exposed diamond-hard, luminescent blue glacial ice.
Primarily, because I lack the primal mental acuity when to know better.
No, it was more being feint of physical ability and skiing agility, to handle the massive mountains of much sought-after deep blankets of fresh powder.
That’s actually me almost looking like I know what I am doing. Thanks Photoshop.
To summarize, the conditions were steep and deep.
Unfortunately, I was proven to be weak and meek.
My last post presented an overview, but there was more…much more.
While not necessarily the case in all things, when it comes to this heli-skiing stuff, getting up was much less an ordeal than going down.
Out in the play zone, getting up was quick and thrilling, while going down took ignoring the obvious and pretending that it felt good.
Points North Heli-Aventures makes it almost as easy as falling off a barstool, whisking us up from the lodge base in one of three, sleek, dark blue helicopters in a matter of minutes, up to almost unlimited possibilities of downhill runs.
The choices abound.
There are massive open slopes where skiers and boarders can make fresh tracks, day after day after day.
Or, for those with even less faintness of heart—or a total lack of primal survival instincts—there are narrow, steep paths, rimmed with razor-sharp rocks, known as couloirs, which is French for, “ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR EFFING MIND?!?”
Apparently, going down only once was clearly not enough for somebody.
So, instead of looking down (which I now find, sometimes scares the shite out of me), looking ahead to our next AA meeting (A-wannabe A-heliskier), I will reveal the coping strategies of this support group in this vertical winter playground.
Hint – it involves ice.