Jackson Hole Snowboarder Magazine 04
life preservers EDITOR’S NOTE:
Surviving adversity on and off the mountain WORDS: ROBYN VINCENT P H O T O S : B E N G A V E L D A & WA D E D U N S TA N
I
n the mountains, we are small, vulnerable. When something goes wrong, our true character is exposed, on full display for the select few who brave the elements with us. Friendships are forged, deepened, or dismantled in these precarious alpine cathedrals. When I consider that truth, one harrowing day in the backcountry with this magazine’s new publishers, Jenelle and Olaus Linn, comes to mind. We were in Hakuba, Japan, outside Goryu Resort hiking beneath a jewel-toned sky. We climbed a ridge and glimpsed our objective—a slope of untouched, pristine powder dotted with thick trees, their branches sagging heavily with sleeves of white. As we descended, one at a time, our eyes on each other, the snow’s stability changed. Soon we found ourselves in an
Robin Van Gyn slices down the face of a peak in the Crazy Mountains, Montana. Photo: Ben Gavelda
avalanche path blanketed in debris. Each turn we made was breathless, wrapped in angst. We picked our way down that ridge to safety and glided through a gulley, its jagged, icy walls towering on either side. We were out of the woods, or so we thought. Our next obstacle in the land of the rising sun—a raging, winding, icy river—rose from the shadows as we descended a treed slope. We removed our snowboards and leapt down to the river’s deep, pillowy banks. Surely there was another way across. A faint set of boot prints emerging from the other side of the river told us there was not. We deliberated. Yes, the river was the only way. After a few giggles and jokes, futile attempts at levity, we shifted into serious river fording mode.
Olaus and Jenelle removed their snowboard boots and socks and rolled up their snow pants. They would cross the slick, rocky riverbed barefoot. It was the right decision, one that Olaus urged me to follow. He reached the other side mostly dry while his rapt audience, Jenelle and I, watched. Worried that without my boots on I would slip on a rock and plunge into the frigid, snarled water, I crossed the river wearing my boots and fell in anyway. I was utterly soaked in prickly, icy water. When I made it to the other side, Olaus was prepared. The gregarious snowboarder who I had shared laughs with moments earlier was a different person: concerned, methodical. He produced a towel and fresh socks from his pack and instructed me to remove my sopping boots and socks.
