Earth Matters: Well outside the draw

Crested Butte is a place where we leave our doors unlocked but lock our dumpsters. I believe this custom first developed because we all trusted each other not to steal. Furthermore, few of us had much of value to steal, but the trash company charged money to haul away refuse. It was an economic consideration.

That’s the way it used to be, at least, and if it isn’t like that now, the spirit of such trust and freedom is still alive in our attitude. If and when that confidence and expectation disappear, we will have lost an irreplaceable quality of life.

Community at the head of the draw provides benefits that compensate for isolation that at times seems stifling. Think cabin fever and social inbreeding. Think escape. Think remove from the mainstream; everything else is downstream.

That remove is an affordance of place locals enjoy and visitors envy. Still, being so distant from ordinary life in the fast lane requires adjustments. It doesn’t suit everyone. For example, I grew up in Colorado Springs about five miles from ground zero if the Soviets had nuked NORAD. Vaporization would have been instantaneous. Here in Crested Butte, it would take a while for nuclear winter to freeze me out.

That particularly nasty scenario came to mind as news of North Korea’s nuclear escalation trickled into our headwaters. Back in the day, that news would only very slowly have made its way from mainstream to upstream. North Korea might have developed and deployed its weaponry before we in Crested Butte ever even knew they had nukes. But now we know.

Kim Jung Il’s expressed intention of lobbing nukes at South Korea, Japan, Alaska and wherever else, demonstrates The Dear Leader’s inability to be a world citizen at any level. North Korea is isolated not by geography like Crested Butte, but by ideology and intention. The country’s aggressive and belligerent posture sets it apart from the rest of the world; no one really wants nuclear confrontation.

While I seriously doubt foreign policy wonks will be soliciting my opinion, I think the United States should stay well out of North Korea’s nuclear face. After all, during 1950-53 we adventured on the Korean Peninsula and it didn’t go especially well for us. The Chinese People’s Volunteer Army overwhelmed U.S. forces causing the longest American military retreat in history. North Korea withdrew from the 1953 armistice May 27, 2009.

Intent on payback this time with nukes, Korea’s bellicose intentions would only flare with United States intervention. Instead, with its newly earned world stature as Olympic host and banker to the United States of America, the People’s Republic of China should throw some of its weight at The Dear Leader. Nuclear threat or not, it is doubtful Kim Jung Il or his illustrious successor will dare the Chinese tiger. And the United States should let them do it, you know, just to the 38th Parallel.

With North Korea off the foreign policy plate, the United States could then concentrate on another distant proto-nuclear threat. Iran is neither as crazy nor as isolated as North Korea, although with Ahmadinejad calling the shots, crazy doesn’t seem too farfetched.

While North Korea neither knows nor cares what the rest of the world thinks, Iran’s culture and education, political geography and oil reserves place it at the forefront of world attention. Iran and North Korea have only nuclear aspirations and antipathy for the United States in common, but that’s probably enough.

Different beast that it is, I used to brag Iran up. I defended the country’s democratic process; just because they elected someone we don’t like is no reason to, for example, pre-emptively invade the country. I believe the people of Iran are educated and sophisticated enough to exercise and enjoy democratic rights.

Ahmadinejad believes that also, which is why we may never know true results from Iran’s recent election. Defending allegations that the vote was rigged, President Ahmadinejad has shut down the internet, cell phone access—anything that might help opposition supporters organize revolt. Riot police and hard-line Ansar-e Hezbollah militiamen (so-called “ninjas”) are fighting riots in the streets.

That is something else North Korea and Iran apparently now have in common: government by brutal dictatorship. You can take that to the dumpster and lock ‘em in.

Gravity Works: Meaning

I am fairly sure what I’m doing is basically meaningless. At the end of the day, who really cares whether I ski every month for the rest of my life or never again. Will it help me get into heaven? If I don’t, will I end up in hell? The big gravity sucker in the sky probably isn’t even paying attention…meaningless.

So far I’ve only skied nineteen months, but when—not if—I ski during June I’ll have spent twenty months with my feet in ski boots for at least a few turns. Sound hot and sweaty? Oh, yeah. That’s what exercise is all about. Besides, all that alpine touring gear is expensive, and I want to get my money’s worth.

I’m sure that after skiing for twenty months I’ll be sorely tempted to rack up four more months, two years of consistent skiing. Then in November the ski area will open, and I’ll ski another six months…and so on and on until they burn me on a pyre of old skis and spread the ashes on the West Side. How meaningless is that?

Meaningless or not, it hasn’t always been easy. Finding snow and dredging up motivation was most difficult in August, September and October. Although I kept my gear packed and ready to walk out the door, skiing was a long way from the front of my mind when summer sun baked rocks and wildflowers pushed through alpine meadows. Skiing? How meaningful can that be?

Skiing during May isn’t as easy as you might think either. After putting the gear away in April, resurrecting it a month later requires devotion to gravity-driven experience. Motivation is easier to summon than later in summer, because all the moves are still there. Muscle memory still clamors and reflexes remain honed.

And usually there is still abundant snow in the high country. Last summer we could pick and choose; my favorite ski trip was on the back side of Ruby in July. This year, though, Utah red dust caused the snowpack to melt more quickly, and sometimes creates a saturated snowpack that is avalanche dangerous and posthole difficult to ascend.

Nor does Utah red make for particularly good skiing, because the stuff is slow and catchy. Purists don’t like to ski the red because they believe skiing should take place on a pristine white interface. No question: it’s like skiing mud, but other than its higher coefficient of friction, what the hell? It is snow and it is skiing…even if I did have to hike for it.

And naturally, I loved it. Our May ski trip was a return to Schuylkill, where many years ago I broke my fibula and had to ski 1,500 feet down on a broken ankle. I’ve gotten over it, though, since Schuylkill is close-in and after wading a swollen Slate River, reasonably easy to access.

Schuylkill’s northern exposure holds snow, important because I figure if I’m going to spend the energy hiking up, I damned well want to ski all the way to the bottom. I want to minimize postholing in debris covered drifts in the trees, and I don’t want to slog through mud and willows…too much.

Two days before May transited to June, I knew if I was to ski twenty months, I’d better get my ass in gear and get up the hill. True to form, my ski stuff was packed—a little dusty from disuse— and ready at the door. We felt no urgency; given the dust-covered snowpack and relatively cool temperatures we started late, took our time and the snow held our weight.

I discovered—no surprise—that hiking up hadn’t gotten any easier over the year. Still, my resolve was solid, knowing that my rewards would be great. Carrying skis and boots was a chore, but easily preferable to hiking up in ski boots. When finally we donned boots, skis and skins, it felt good to have the boards on my feet.

And they felt even better on the way down. And that has meaning.