Ski Naked (cont.) | Outside Online

You Are Here:

Home >> Ski Naked (cont.)

Today's Question
What should you do if you run into a cougar in the backcountry? answer

What is the number one backcountry skill people should learn? answer

Today's Question
What are the five best environmental movies of all time? answer

What are the greenest colleges? answer

What kind of dog will make me look manlier? answer
Is there a sport that safely combines my twin passions for guns and kayaks? answer
How come most of the world's cultures enjoy eating goat, but Americans don't? answer

Online Favorites

Special Issues

Photo Galleries

Outside Magazine December 2003

Page:

Ski Naked (cont.)


	THE GOOD LIFE: Some of the Hastings kids—like Julie, center—opted not to ski, but alpine magic still got into their souls. (Gail Albert-Halaban)

IF YOU'RE A FLATLANDER, you probably recall the transformative moment when you first set eyes on the high country. I grew up in eastern Kansas, and I certainly remember my initiation. It was a 1976 ski trip to Breckenridge, with my family and 50 residents of my hometown, Prairie Village. We packed into a bus and rode west all night on I-70. I was ten, and I vividly recall curling up in the overhead luggage rack, listening to the boozy babble of hard-partying adults in the back. Early the next morning, after passing through Denver, the bus seemed to take off like a jet as it ascended the Front Range. At first, the altitude made my head pound. But it abated once we reached the condo. I can still summon up the wax-scented rental office, the hair-raising first lift ride, the chili at the summit restaurant. My notion of mountains would never be the same.

So it goes for the kids of St. Cecilia, who wake up on Saturday morning to find Breckenridge's four molarlike mountains—Peaks 7, 8, 9, and 10—shrouded in thick, chunky clouds and the air outside a stinging 15 degrees. Inside the chaperones' condo, it smells like breakfast as the bleary-eyed students huddle around the table and sit on the couch and floor, staring blankly at their food.

"Eat up!" says Susan Sondag, who's already dressed in a tricolored turtleneck and black ski pants. "You'll need the energy on the mountain, guys."

The trip is still young, but it's been pretty righteous so far. We arrived at 3 p.m. yesterday, and the kids eagerly invaded the piney, three-level Tyra condominium complex. The girls were assigned to one four-bedroom condo upstairs, while the guys shared a couple of three-bedroom condos downstairs. The chaperones settled in next door to the boys.

After outfitting their respective lairs with stuffed animals, boom boxes, and bags of Doritos, the students piled into the bus and went night-tubing on the slopes at Keystone, a resort 25 miles from Breckenridge. Later, back at the ranch, the Swiss Miss flowed freely, and as I shoved off for bed I could see that the kids, looking buzzed from all the high-altitude activity, weren't about to pull the plug on the fun.

I was right about that. At breakfast, I hear all about the low-key revelry of the night before. The big news is that two kids swapped spit for a half-hour, setting off serious rumors.

"Who hooked up with who?" asks Katie as she slurps Cheerios. A girl named Melissa provides two names. "Gross," Katie says. Then she thinks about it and corrects herself. "That's not gross. That's totally nasty."

The other news is that half the kids, for various reasons, have decided not to ski. Some can't afford it, some don't want to get hurt, and some just feel like sleeping in, watching movies, and going shopping on Main Street. Sondag seems really disappointed but explains to me that if the kids want to deprive themselves of an opportunity to have fun and become more worldly, "it's their decision, not mine."

"OK," she calls out, "who wants to go skiing?"

Chuck, the Jackass fan, is first on his feet. A big, sturdy guy who played football for the St. Cecilia Blue Hawks, he's wearing camouflage hunting pants and bulbous amber goggles—making him look like the Jolly Green Giant under chemical attack. He waddles toward the door with his skis and poles banging the walls and ceiling, causing tiny plaster chips to fall like snow.

"Dude, what are you hiding from?" asks Juan, a dapper exchange student from Mexico.

"Huh?"

"Those pants—they aren't going to work in the snow, bro."

Page:

•	Subscribe to Outside and get a FREE Gift!

•	Give the gift of Outside Magazine!

•	Subscribe to Outside Online's free weekly e-mail newsletter featuring gear reviews, fitness advice, galleries, podcasts, and more.