Necessity

Skis were made to slide down the mountain. But we tourers insist on doing things differently, pointing them uphill. Because the essence lies in the ascent, it’s only in that mass of contradictions that we truly find ourselves. The climb can be tough, it goes without saying. If it’s not one thing, it’s another: first you get hot, so you have to shed a layer or two. Then the icy wind picks up and you have to put them back on. You need to set a track, or find that the existing track is all but destroyed (blessed be the snowshoers). Your skins won’t grip the snow, your skins unstick from your ski, your skins form clumps of snow and ice. Crampons on, crampons off. You sink and slide. The traverse is so exposed that balancing on your ski edges feels like you’re walking a tightrope. And you sweat—did I already mention that? A lot. Stuff that you don’t have to deal with in everyday life (at least most of the time), but is unavoidable on the mountain. You proceed at the rhythm of your heartbeat, immersed in awe-inspiring scenery—something else we are increasingly less used to. And onwards and upwards you go, at your own pace. All your worries and cares gradually fall away. All that effort becomes a simple, repetitive action, that empties your mind and frees your body. At the top, the silence is punctuated only by your breath. Then it’s finally time to ski. You point your tips downhill, and as you pick up speed, the world starts turning again, and in the blink of an eye you’re back at the bottom of the hill. Only you know how exhilarated you feel. You just have time to turn and admire your tracks and all those thoughts that were gone come flooding back. Welcome back down to earth. But you feel somehow lighter, as if you’ve left some of those cares behind. And that feels good.

Getting up there is a necessity.