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Our pilot, an ex-Navy flyer, finesses the bird onto a ridge and cornice section. He carefully taps the landing skis into the snow a couple of times to test stability and sets her down. We systematically file out, remove our gear and the A-Star lifts away. We are left in another dimension filled with pristine white terrain, silence and the feeling of joy, knowing it is all day fluff from top to bottom until your legs just give up. It has been snowing for two weeks and our guide does not hesitate in laying out the rules. We are to be extremely careful every run until he can assess the stability of the snowpack. Jacob digs six-foot snow pits before every run to determine the probable safety of every slope that we are on. Our first runs are heaven, we are not doing anything extremely steep or technical at this point, but we are cruising enormously wide slopes with five feet of fresh powder. The snow is excellent, heavier where it has been sun-but like weightless crystals on shaded slopes. The island is like a nose, flatter at the top, steeper toward the base. As you carve downward, it is constantly getting steeper, peeling away from your visibility. One is always cautious zooming through sections that lead to chutes, cliffs and other potentially rocky, vertical surfaces beyond that line of visibility. |