I wrapped up work for the week and quickly threw my ski gear into the van. I had a rare window of opportunity to ski Friday night, van camp and drive home in the morning. In the flurry of throwing gear into a pile, I grabbed a pair of crampons, my avalanche beacon, probe, shovel, climbing skins and crampons and tossed them in the van just in case. When I’m skiing with the kids, they usually want to drive home and sleep in their own beds, so we end up arriving home close to 11pm and then I have to clean up and empty the van of wet ski gear – it makes for a late night . I would much rather drive the 10 minutes from the ski area to White River Sno Park, throw up the window covers, turn on the diesel heater, make some hot chocolate and watch a movie or read a book before going to sleep to the drone of the heater.

On the drive up to the mountain I started listening to Into the Ice: The Northwest Passage, the Polar Sun, and a 175-year-old Mystery. I bristle when friends tell me they’re “reading” a book only to find out they’re listening to an audiobook. I’m not trying to be pedantic – I’ve never understood it. Listening to the story, I had a difficult time with the chronology of events, when the reader changes from the present to some past historical fact. The words, for me, have a visual aspect to seeing the shape of the word, the paragraph breaks, the pull quote or aside. I’ve read that people who don’t read have a tough time spelling a word because they’ve never seen it, only heard it. That said, it’s difficult to read a book while driving. And I recognize listening is an efficient way to plow through a long book. The miles rolled by on my way to the mountain and I learned about the pros and cons of fiberglass versus aluminum hulls in sailing through pack ice.

The night skiing was good, not great. I’m working on skiing steep moguls more smoothly and the snow was in decent enough condition to ski laps on the upper bowls. There is a special time after about 7pm (the ski area is open under the lights until 9pm) when the crowds disperse, the wind picks up just enough to refresh the slopes and my legs are sufficiently warmed up to ski laps top to bottom and back up to repeat. It’s the flow state, rhythmic and singularly focused.

After skiing back to the van at the end of the night, I changed out of my ski clothes and was quickly underway. After a few short turns down the mountain, I pulled into the Sno Park and found a spot among the other camper vans. The lentil soup that I brought for dinner was still hot in the vacuum bottle. I slipped on my down booties, put my feet up and listened to my story. The book includes a fascinating history of Greenland and it’s political relationship with Denmark, which makes the recent US interest in Greenland all the more ridiculous. This is even more removed from the indigenous Inuit population and their history with European explorers (e.g. Great Britain claiming land rights for the empire in the 18th century). It’s a good story. Recommended.

I set the thermostat to 56 degrees (it was around 18 degrees outside) and climbed under my down blanket with my down boots and beanie still on my head. In the morning I peeked out the window and through heavy snow, and saw a line of cars pointing toward the ski area. These are the early risers hoping to get first chair and fresh tracks. I flipped the bed away and packed up the comforter and pulled out the stove to make breakfast.

• 1/2 cup of Bob’s Red Mill quick cook steel cut oats
• 2 teaspoons of chia seeds
• 1/2 cup of water
• 1/2 cup of milk
• 1/2 cup of walnuts
• 1/4 cup of dried cherries
• 1 tablespoon of maple syrup

Anything worth doing is worth doing slow, so get the water, milk and oats cooking. Put the chia seeds in your bowl and hydrate them with water or milk. Once they’ve expanded, drop in the walnuts and cherries. After the oats thicken (8-10 minutes) pour it in the bowl over the chia seeds and mix everything up. Finish it off with the maple syrup. Makes 1 serving.

The sliding windows were frozen shut, so I cooked on the Reactor with the back door cracked to keep the snow from blowing inside the van. When I’m solo, I find it overkill to set up the big two burner stove.

After breakfast I stowed everything for departure and went outside to brush snow off the windshield. The snow was falling steady in calm winds and in the distance I could just make out the trees leading up White River canyon. This is the moment when it clicked in my brain. I was ready to drive home (I had business to take care of in Portland), but I was here. And it was beautiful. And I had my touring gear in the van.

With half the windshield cleared of snow, I snapped a quick picture and jumped back in the van to quickly change into my touring bibs and shell. I put on the climbing skins, dumped my climbing backpack to see what was inside and started to repack. I turned on my avalanche beacon … and nothing. Were the batteries dead? I popped the case and … no batteries. I must have taken them out and not replaced them. So – no beacon. I adjusted the crampons to my boots and threw them in my pack. What am I even doing? I’m solo, there is about 8 inches of fresh snow. Where am I going? At that moment, I scaled back my ambitions and decided to ski to tree-line and then ski fresh powder back to the van. And avoid any terrain where I would even need crampons or a beacon. This was bonus time.

As I started up the road making first skin tracks, I waved a quick hello at a pair of skiers preparing to skin the same trail. After about 10 minutes they came up behind me and we chatted for a few minutes. They were going up to the Timberline Trail and then planning to turn right toward the ski area and climb up to the top of the Vista Lift, then descend. I know from my Timberline hike last summer that the Timberline trail out of White River is completely washed out – and steep. Might be a steep bootpack over downed trees I told them. They must have shuttled a car – I didn’t ask. They continued on (I was a little jealous of their longer adventure) and I followed their skin track to the point where they dropped in to cross the canyon at tree-line and then stopped to assess my position. Someone had built up a snow bank to block the wind coming down the canyon. It looked like a choice bivy spot on a clear night. I was at tree-line and it was a good time to turn around. I’ve gone a lot further up the canyon here, but it wouldn’t be a wise move to push on solo any higher. The canyon gets steeper and visibility would be tough with no trees.

I quickly ripped off the skins, switched my bindings, clicked in, and made fast tracks back to the van through light, deep snow. Less then 4 miles total, but enough to satisfy the itch. Happy to be alive and experience the snow and the cold and the wind blowing. I climbed into the back of the van and turned on the heater to warm up before changing and making the drive home.

Sometimes I think I should have been born in a different time. I would have readily volunteered for a polar expedition, or a circumambulation of a Himalayan peak, making due with what I’m carrying on my back, seeking out blank spots on the map. As I’ve gotten older I’ve grown to appreciate the small moments, to savor them. Life is just a string of moments.