Turns All Year: Month 70

I have not been motivated to ski this summer. Maybe it's been all of the housework or the streak of sunny days, or maybe it's that - after 69 consecutive months of chasing anything that remotely resembles snow - I'm a little tired. 

By this time last summer (May-August) I had skied 13 days. The season before I did 9. This year, I've done, 5 and I'm fine with it. I've still managed to get in one day a month, and last weekend I completed my 70th month of Turns All Year. That's nearly 6-years of strapping skis to my feet for at least an hour to make turns. If it sounds like a long time to you, believe me, it is! But I have friends who are in the 200s...if I'm feeling this unmotivated now, who knows what the future will hold?

Nevertheless, I'm happy to have made it to 70 months. Fingers crossed the annual September turns at Mt. Hood will go great, we'll get snow in October, and then it'll be smooth sailing November-April to make it an easy glide toward 79 months, which is practically 100. My goal is to make it to triple digits, then see how I feel.

Hey. Wanna go for a hike? Photo by Jason Sellers.

For August turns, I texted my friend Jason to ask if he wanted to go on a hike. Only after he said yes did I clarify that by "hike" I meant driving to a far away place where snow still exists and hiking for a long time, then hitting snow and hiking more so I could ski. AKA we were going on a trip to Mt. Rainier and a hike up the Muir Snowfield. Lucky for me he was still game, and he brought his fancy camera resulting in awesome photos for me. Win win.

I picked Jason up downtown at 7:15am on Sunday, August 20, and we were in the parking lot at Paradise by 9:30am. The Park has completely repaved the road from the Longmire entrance all the way to the Paradise lot, and let me tell you, it's incredibly smooth and easy driving. It makes for a much less painless trip up zee mountain. Even so, the lot was nearly full when we arrived.

Not pictured: the lines of folks we just passed to get this shot. Photo by Jason.

We were hiking by 9:50 and cruised past a bunch of tourists on the way up. I have to say, I've been wearing the damn tutu for five years now and I've noticed a sharp decline in comments about my outfit. I'd like to think it's because I'm so famous on Instagram so people already know who I am, but in reality I think it indicates a growing level of disenchantment among people in general, which makes me sad. Smile people. Strike up a conversation with a stranger. I promise, it's not going to kill you.

I carried skis for about 90 minutes to 7,400' before transitioning, just above Pebble Creek. Jason - who doesn't ski - waited patiently while I swapped from hikers into ski boots, and then we were off. We never intentioned to go all the way to Camp Muir, but the climbing was easy and Jason was gabbing and before we knew it we were within sight! After 3 hours and 40 minutes, we arrived at Camp Muir.

The Muir Snowfield looking up toward the Nisqually Glacier. The snowfield was...dirty. The glacier was calving like crazy all day.

So close we can almost taste it! Photo by Jason.

The weather was slightly overcast and calm, but still warm enough to sit at Muir in shorts and a tank top, airing out my sweaty boots and letting my sun shirt dry. Jason hasn't had "my beer" yet, so I brought a Kick Step for him and he had a good time taking its photo. That can is darn photogenic!

Two legends together at last. Kick Step and John Muir. Photo by Jason.

Look Ma! It's the beer I made! Photo by Jason.

Kick step gets two thumbs up. Except, my other thumb is busy right now holding my beer. Photo by Jason.

With beers in bellies, there was only one thing to do: head down. I'm not going to sugar coat this for you: the skiing was horrific. From 10,000' at Camp Muir down to about 8,000', the skiing was a VW Beetle sized shit-show. With huge, sharp penitentes and deep, slugbug sized holes, it was like trying to ski down an angry, frozen ocean of terror. 

Thinking I would get way ahead of him, Jason hurried down the hill only to turn around and see me stopped every time. He thought I was waiting for him to get ahead. In reality, I was waiting for my legs to recover and hoping my heart wouldn't explode from the combination of exertion and fear. For the first time in my life, I regretted having skis and wished instead for the sweet comfort of glissading down on my bum.

We managed to get only one photo of the heinousness, and I'm not upset about it.

Survival skiing to the max. Photo by Jason.

Eventually the snow smoothed out to your standard dirty, pocket-filled, August affair. Then the skiing was okay. Dare I say almost pleasant? According to my tracker, I even managed to hit a whopping 20.1mph. Watch out Lindsey Vonn, I'm coming for you!

Jason glissading down. I was jealous.

Then that was that. We were done with the snow and before we knew it we were back at the car by 4:30pm. The whole thing took 6.5 hours, including an hour break at Camp Muir. Not bad for a day's work.

The crowning glory of the day is this photo Jason captured of me on the ascent: 

Legs for days. Photo by Jason.

I stand at 5'2". You would never know it by looking at this photo. When I posted it to Instagram saying, "proof that short girl dreams can come true", another girl couldn't believe I wasn't 5'7". Thanks to a low angle, short shorts, a hip pop accentuated by the pink tutu, and heel risers, for the first time in my life I look like I have legs. 

Thanks Jason. This photo makes my week! Who knew heel risers are the only type of heels a girl needs?