Sidestash, Utah

Sanctuary, Cobabe Canyon, Utah

We explore this fabric of terrain like a cricket might explore a rumpled picnic blanket; disappearing into every shadow, crawling out of the creases, looking around from the high places. My response to light is to move back into the cold, quiet protection of the the forest. Sam instinctively leaps from the sharp edge of a limestone fold to an uncertain landing. Below him I swing to a stop in a narrow drainage, choked by scrub willows. Above us, Thomas has given little to gravity and slowly descends the ridge, waffling between sun and shadow, stillness and wind, the aspens and firs. Sooner or later we’ll tumble out of the canyon and tell our stories, share a ride up, and plan the next adventure.

Douglas Fir

Crossing Easter Bowl, I’m immersed in an achromatic tank of fog and snow. The going is tentative and I let gravity pull me along a slightly curved, edgy line. In this weather, on this treeless slope, there is no visual reference and most people’s spatial awareness is about 90% disabled. In my case, a mild vestibular disorder makes things worse. Behind the goggle lens, all I see are the familiar, protozoan specks of debris floating around somewhere in my eyeball that sometimes move across the white page of my bedtime reading. When I reach a place where drifted snow has blocked the ski track,  I’m unaware that my gentle traverse has stopped until I rock forward and nearly topple over. The wind is driving snow onto the right side of my face. Lacking sight, I try to recruit a better sense, and the stinging on my cheek is good feedback.  I adjust and push off again. Ski poles like whiskers guide me toward a hard edge of immense Douglas Firs.