Along the ridge at the top of Squaw Valley's Emigrant chair lift, I pointed a couple of snowboarders in the right direction.Yes, that really is the easiest route - just drop down around the rock.With wide eyes, they sought clarification.
The BIG ROCK, or the little rock?Keep in mind that easiest is a relative term, not to be confused with easy.
I had the great good fortune to spend the past two days exploring Squaw, with fresh snow on the slopes. I can only imagine that my talented (past) ski instructors would cringe if they saw me now, as I dredged up their valuable lessons from the dim recesses of my mind. No abrupt turns in powder returned with the jolt that landed my backside on the hill.
Having committed myself at the top of Red Dog face before realizing that I meant to drop in at a lower point, I found myself in a steep field of moderately-sized moguls.
I don't belong here.Coaching words from long ago echoed in my head. You can do this. Relax. It wasn't pretty, but I stayed upright and was more exhilarated than relieved when I reached the bottom.
There is no escape route.
There is only one way, and that is ... down.
Squaw is different from other areas where I have skied, in that there are few trail markings (or named trails). A tram, a gondola, and many chairlifts are scattered around the mountain, and those are rated according to the general difficulty of the terrain they serve. Hop off at the top and point your skis downhill. Even the extreme skiers agree, though, that some bits are not skiable.After spending most of today working on technique, I was happy to avoid following the crowd down "the road" to the base, choosing instead to ski the short pitches. Approaching a wide, relatively flat field, I recognized that I needed to take it at speed (or risk slowing to a complete stop). At the time, I focused on being relaxed, lest I catch an edge and wipe out; I knew I was moving pretty fast. In fact, I attained a new personal land-speed-record-on-skis: 38.6 mph.
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At Zermatt in the mid-80's, there were no trail signs at all. Coming down a broad, wide run, I saw lots of skiers pausing and heading over to the sides. As I approached that spot, I saw that there was a jump, perhaps 6' high, stretching across the trail! The folks skiing to the side was squeezing around it at the edge of the woods. Above the jump were no warning signs, no crossed bamboo poles: no marking whatever. Later on, at a bar, I asked a local what was up with the unmarked jump. "Oh, that's the national downhill race course," he said. "Everyone knows that jump is there."
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