Mar. 12, 2008 - Issue #647: Westward Ho
Can a feisty feline hang with the tomcats?
Big Red Cats
I had come to Red in hopes of attending a Bettygohard snowboarding retreat. I’d been talking with Natasha Lockey about her all-female progressive action sports community for several weeks, and she invited me to join them. Unfortunately, the program was cancelled because not enough women registered. And thus I found myself stuck with the men. Again.
It’s unlikely I would ever be in the same situation with 12 other girls. It’s difficult to get us all together—women wear a wardrobe of hats and action sports aren’t always on the top of the list. Having a sports community for girls in a male dominated sport is therefore critically needed, but often poorly attended. Girls are also commonly afraid to say they can huck it. And men are too quick to believe the stereotype.
After a 30-minute cat ride from Red to Mount Mackie, the Big Red Cat dropped us on the ridge overlooking tight glades and heavy, wet snow. Our lead guide shouted over the men’s excited din. “Partner up! You’ll be calling to each other throughout the trees so as not to get separated.”
I looked around. There were eight telemarkers, five skiers and one boarder. Thirteen men including the guides, and me. The guys, who ranged in skill from 30 years experience to professional mountain guides, ended their talk of Alta and Aspen and quickly chose partners.
All except me. I kicked the snow a bit and put my hand up, stating the obvious. “I don’t have a partner.” A tall guy with a kind smile hesitated, then obliged. “I’ll try not to hold you up,” I said, feeling the pressure of the others’ obvious assessment. “Oh, that’s ok,” Kevin replied and gave me a half-shrug.
The others jumped into the trees. I nodded at my partner to go ahead of me. The trees were indeed very tight and there were a lot of them. It was only my second day on my whole new set-up, and the first day my new ride had christened me with five face plants. I didn’t want that to happen today.
I managed to keep my face out of the dirt, but I did catch a branch in the chin as I scooted between two trees. I reached the meeting point ahead of my partner and a few others, so I felt pretty good.
“Bobbi go hard,” said Burly, our tail guide. “You’re bleeding already. Nice,” he said with an approving smile.
“You should see the tree,” I smirked. The cat crawled over to us and scratched and clawed up to another ridge. I balked at the long traverse past an open bowl. “Make sure you don’t fall in there,” warned Dougie Lama. “That’s big time avy danger.”
As I scuttled along the pounded out traverse, painfully aware of my partner before me and the tail gunner behind, I looked over the cornice to the open bowl ... and caught my toe edge. Within a heartbeat, I was launched over the cornice. I landed with my head down, folded in half with my board at my nose. I started to slide. Just before I was swept away, I grabbed the only tree on the face, stopping myself from careening down the steep slope.
Nauseously aware of my precarious predicament, I carefully dropped my toe edge past my head and got onto my knees. I stuck my arms elbow-deep into the cornice and looked up at Burly.
His face was a mix of shock and terror. Mouth open, eyes wide, he stepped to the edge to assess my situation. “Let me help you,” he offered. “Nope. I don’t need it.” I responded, determined to save my own life. I repeated sticking my arms into the snow and jumping upward with my board, until I crawled over the ridge.
“That’s pretty hard work,” observed Burly. I was sweating and shaky. “Let’s go,” I shrugged and headed into the trees.
My day improved from there, as I got more used to my board and more comfortable with the guys. I was constantly reminded of my handicap, but the boys were gracious in saying I was the most able-bodied disabled person they’d ridden with. Not that I had the choice to be otherwise.
The sun pushed its way out of the clouds and we continued dropping into untouched territory. Big Red Cats recently opened a north-facing area of Mackie, and our trip was only the second to experience the graciously treed area, broken by small pleasure meadows.
With sunshine raging, it felt like spring skiing. The sky was crystal blue and close enough to touch. We ended the day riding through a clear-cut gentle slope, sun glinting off our goggles and over the mountaintops.
The kitty picked us up at 4 pm. As if I wasn’t drunk enough on adrenaline, beer and tequila flowed through the cab as we reviewed the day and regaled each other with which runs and hits were the finest. I sat back and listened. While I wasn’t one of them, these 12 guys were gracious enough to test and then accept me. I’ve realized that’s the card women have been dealt, and it seemed more than fitting that I should have ended up there—having meant to attend a women’s program, but circumstances evolved into proving myself as a female rider. V
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