I Did It Friedl's Way (cont.)

You Are Here:

Home >> I Did It Friedl's Way (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 February 2004

Page:

I Did It Friedl's Way (cont.)

OUTSIDE THE CABIN, I could smell the jet fuel. The rotors were spinning, the pilot looked cool as hell in his shiny helmet with its Darth Vader visor, and soon we were lifting off the ground. In minutes we'd snuck out from under a low-lying blanket of clouds and into a world of blue sky and mountains. There were signs of avalanching in every direction and at almost every altitude. Looking out at the hazards, I was relieved that it was my day off.

Our first run was in a large open bowl well above timberline, and we skied for what seemed like an eternity down a series of ravines and into a wide valley, where the chopper was waiting. And back up we went. Each run, Friedl skied off first, and we followed. He seemed unconcerned about the tail end of things—perhaps because he was carrying a set of climbing skins and could get back up to whoever might have busted a leg or hit a tree. I'd have gladly skied as rear guard if I'd been asked—or, let's be honest, if I'd swallowed my pride and offered. After a couple of laps, I concluded that Friedl had no intention of getting us into the hazardous steep terrain. Given the poor snowpack, that seemed like a good plan, so I decided to stop feeling responsible for people in the mountains and just enjoy the scenery.

The powder came to my boot tops, and we never seemed to come close to our previous tracks, leaving long, gorgeous snow squiggles that stretched for miles. During our picnic lunch, I tried to make conversation, hoping to reassure Friedl that I meant no harm. "So that's the border with British Columbia?" I asked, pointing east.

"Yes," he answered, not exactly bursting into conversation. Now, instead of ridiculing me, Friedl was just ignoring me, skiing ahead with the more well-heeled clients, with whom he seemed to enjoy a better rapport. I'm not sure which approach was worse, but I wasn't going to let either ruin my day.

By late afternoon, we'd gotten in four runs of five thousand vertical feet each, and we were entering heli-skiing's sneaky bonus period, in which clients can keep skiing at an added cost of about $45 per run, but only if everyone is willing. We'd already gone for one extra lap when Deirdre and I politely declined the last; her ankles were getting beaten up and my wallet was getting hammered. Friedl looked at us for a good, long while, stalling until I caved in to silent peer pressure. Finally, I said that we didn't mind waiting alone near the pickup point—and we didn't, having been in a few cold places before.

As we sat on a log and enjoyed the solitude and beauty, I asked Deirdre what she thought about my dealings with Friedl. Had it been my ego problem, or his? "Mostly his," she replied. I pondered that a bit and realized that being in the backseat had given me a fresh insight on guiding. I've always tried to put clients at ease with humor and to let them know that we were all new to these games once. I decided that, from there on out, I'd work harder to climb into their boots—and to remember that everybody likes to feel like a rock star now and then.

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.