This next story is a bit of a long one, but it’d be a disservice to the story to spare any details. If you’ve enjoyed my other stories, I really think you’ll enjoy this one. It is one of the most exhilarating, challenging, and dangerous experiences I’ve had in my entire life. I’ll conclude this post with my reflections and lessons learned. To my family members, specifically parents, you may not want to read this one.
On day one in Niseko (01/15/2023) I talked about hiking to the mountains tallest peak after getting off the King Chair #4 lift at Grand Hirafu. The hike was challenging before, but the views and run made it worth it. That was on a day locals had called one of the worst winter riding days ever for Niseko. On a day with an abundance of heavenly powder that supports Japan’s crown as best powder riding in the world, I thought I couldn’t pass it up. There was the same “Out of boundary” sign at the trail head as before, but significantly fewer people hiking up past it today.
The trip up to the peak was much slower this time around and took much longer. The powder was deeper, requiring more effort and balance with each ascending step. The wind was howling, and only strengthened as I rose higher towards the peak. By time I reached where I thought I remembered the peak being days prior, I couldn’t see anyone or anything around me. I walked around a little bit, and eventually found a small warming hut at the top shared by Australian adventurers. I caught my breath from the hike up, rehydrated, then left the hut to find my drop in point.
A few days prior, visibility from the top provided breathtaking views of miles and miles of northern Japanese scenery. Today, I couldn’t see a person standing 5 feet in front of me. I walked towards the edge of where I dropped in the day prior and looked at the white nothingness in front of me. Honestly, the thought of stepping back and not riding but hiking my way back down never crossed my mind. In hindsight, perhaps it should have. I knew that the way back to the familiar lifts and runs, towards the King Chair #4 lift, was to cut over far right. That was my only goal for direction. Before I dropped in, I took a video of what I was looking at, and said, “here goes nothing.”
As I began riding, the powder felt absolutely incredible. It was pure gliding, true floating, ground hovering. Pure bliss. After about 20 seconds, I stopped because my goggles were completely frozen over and I couldn’t see out of them. I lifted them up to rest on my helmet, and visibility really didn’t improve. Thick snow carried in by powerful winds made seeing anything around impossible. Other skiers, trees, and rocks; All I could do was hope I wouldn’t find any. Literally all I could see was my board beneath my feet. I was in a realm of sheer white snow, beneath me, all around me, and on me.
Of course, it was an exhilarating feeling, but also, fear and doubt started to creep in. “What if I injure myself? Nobody would be able to find me. Nobody can hear me over these howling winds. What if I get buried in powder and can’t get out? I can’t see where I’m going, what if I get lost? What if I set off an avalanche? This peak bowl was closed yesterday due to avalanche warning, and there’s only been more snow since then. Why did I come up here?” All valid concerns and reasonable possibilities. I then took a deep breath and thought to myself, “panicking never does any good. You’re here now, and all directions lead down the mountain and out of this whiteout. You’re an experienced border and can ride cautiously and safely down any mountain. You got this!” I then proceeded to carving at a moderate pace downwards, and returned to enjoying the bliss of what I can only describe as another world where only my board, myself, and all the snow I could ever imagine existed. A couple of breaks were taken periodically to rub and thaw my freezing eyelashes so I could keep my eyes open as I rode down.
Around 5 minutes later of enjoying riding in my own world on the most powder I’ve ever seen, I reached an elevation down the mountain where I could barely make out some trees in the top of the tree line and skiers across the shoot. I felt relieved that I made it out of that possible place of no return. I rode down through a valley of backcountry tree lines and was back to my moving and grooving snowboarding self. After several minutes of carving fresh tracks in thigh-deep Japanese powder, I finally reached a traverse where there was a chair lift in sight! I unbuckled the board and hiked until I was underneath, then rode to the bottom. I was at resort Hanazono, one resort over from Grand Hirafu. My plans to cut far right and stay at Grand Hirafu were laughed at by the whiteout storm atop the mountain. I would say it was the best run of my life, but it wasn’t even a run on a resort. It was out of boundaries. It was a peak line, and it was the best of my life.
After a break to warm up and dry off, I returned to the mountain, rode up the single “pizza chair” lift (King Chair #4) to the top where the start of the hike to the peak was located, and the area was now completely fenced off with a new sign, “Hiking to the Peak Area is Forbidden.” This sign was not there before, when I made the hike up and challenging ride down. I may bend rules from time to time (and “rarely” break them), but this is one I won’t consider breaking in the future. Stakes are too high. (Note: Earlier in the week in Niseko, a group of hiking skiers were on Mount Yotei and triggered an avalanche. One woman died).
Reflecting on the experience, I’m very happy with my ability to work through the fear that crept in at the beginning of the ride. I’ve heard a quote that goes something along the lines of, “Having no fear is not a good thing. No fear can lead to terrible things. Courage is having the ability to recognize fear, and proceed forward. Hear what it has to say, but don’t listen only to it. Don’t let it control you.” I understood there were certain risks and high stakes for where I was at on top of the mountain, but I trusted myself and believed in myself to get out of the situation calmly and collected. I think most people have moments and feelings in life like you have no idea where you are, where you’re going, what you’re doing, and so on. Lingering on these thoughts and letting the emotions that cause these thoughts consume you in an unhealthy way is self destructive. Look back at all that you’ve done, where you’ve been, and where you are now. Trust yourself to have your own back and to take care of yourself. Believe in yourself. Fear and anxiety may try to slow you down, stop you, or have you change your course. Like the mountain’s slope, our lives are eventually heading in one direction: forward. Listen to your fears and anxieties, because these feelings can guide you to move forward with increased intention and provide insight and benefit. Don’t get lost in them. If you take one step at a time, or in my case, one turn at a time, you will arrive at a better place. A place that was always meant for you.