Susan Munroe » skiing

Plane tickets: bought! And, why Americans should travel more.

Susan Munroe — Thu, 24 Feb 2011 04:57:18 +0000

Tonight’s my last night working at Solitude. These past several weeks have been a long, white blur. I come home at midnight, collapse into bed and dream until the beepbeepbeep of the alarm crashes the slumber party, waking me up to do it all over again. I also worked at my editing job this morning, downtown SLC. I stayed a bit later than normal, organizing projects, and by the time I took the train to the other side of town, I’d missed the bus that normally carries my bike and me all the way up the 7 mile hill (a gentle hill, but a hill’s still a hill…still). So, I got an hour of biking exercise and was an hour late for work. This is why tonight’s the last night for me at the Inn at Solitude. I don’t have enough time to do important life things in between jobs. The alternator for my car has been sitting on my desk for about two weeks, waiting for me to have time to order and install its replacement. Too many days I’ve had to dash out of the editing office, leaving projects unfinished, dumping them in the laps of my co-editors so that I can catch the train or bus to get up the mountain to work at the Inn. I really like my editing job. Time to put it a little bit higher on the priority list.

I’ve only three weeks left of any work, anyhow. I pulled the trigger tonight on $1,000 plane tickets to Lima and Bogota to work for Awamaki, the Peruvian non-profit. March 14-May 9. Felt a bit more fluttery about the whole thing than I think I ever have for an international trip. Last night I waffled around on kayak and expedia and LAN websites, making notes about small price differences if I arrive in Medellin instead of Bogota, cruising the traveler’s forums on Lonely Planet Thorntree learning about no-go areas in Colombia, running bus routes in my head for feasibility. Looking at the map, at the surprising distance between Lima and Bogota, I recalled the 28-hour misery marathon riding from Santiago to Arica: a head cold aggravated by constantly changing altitude, legneckbackfeetarm muscles cramping as I twisted myself into a thousand different positions across two bus seats. This time around, I decided, I would splurge on the plane tickets.

Three journalists from Vermont, Chicago, and New York are staying in the hotel tonight, on a all-expense paid ski vacation underwritten by Ski Salt Lake. During the course of our conversation, I mentioned my own writerly aspirations, and gave them the address to my website. In return, they gave me some advice: join Twitter. So I did. Twitter and Facebook in one month – look at me, joining the world of the internet! Ted (or, Traveling Ted TV) is my very first follower! Taking a minute to look at his website in return, I found this simple and convincing list: Five Reasons why more Americans Should Travel Abroad. Reason #4 was my favorite: see that we are lucky to have what we have. Oh, yes. Lucky that we aren’t picking our worldly possessions out of the rubble that’s left of our house. Christchurch has been foremost in my thoughts these last few days. Here’s my addition to the list. #6: more Americans should travel in order to know cities like Chch, in order to understand the images on the news, and to have an impression of the city before the quake to balance the sensationalism and pain being broadcast post-quake.

To end on a good note: 20-36 inches of snow predicted this weekend. Life is, well, it’s pretty good.

Follow me on twitter! @susanmtraveler (I think that’s how you put it…this is new for me)

How does Susan Munroe Mountain?

Susan Munroe — Wed, 05 Jan 2011 03:46:53 +0000

The Canyons Resort out here in Utah is offering one lucky blogger the ultimate mountain gig: money, fame, gear, and sweet hook-ups, all for blogging four times a week on the subject of The Canyons and their awesomeness. Applicants had to submit a two-minute video on the subject of “mountaining”, a verb they coined to mean pursuing goals and pushing limits.

I wasn’t going to apply. Yes, I have a blog, but I figured, they’re looking for a personality. Someone flashy and trendy and cool. I, uh, I am not cool. But then Chris started bugging me to apply. Other friends asked me if I’d heard about the job. A woman I’d met once, on a motorcycle camping trip, called me to say that she’d heard about the gig on the radio and thought that I would be perfect for it. Really? I’m just…me. I don’t even have any flashy video software. I took a class in college on video production, but that was several years ago, and I’m a little bit out of touch.

Finally, I began to think of the application as a creative exercise. A way to stretch my brain a bit. Chris has all sorts of tricks to exercise his brain to stave off Alzheimer’s: shaving his face in the shower where he can’t see the mirror, deliberately using his non-dominant hand for different tasks. Recently I’ve noticed how very right-handed I am, and have been trying to train the other half of my brain to do things like brush my teeth, zip my pants, and stir cookie batter. So. I made a video. And it was fun. I got to rifle through old pictures and video clips and try to cram my over-the-top world view into two neat minutes. I had to think about my goals and why they made me a good candidate for the Canyons’ job. I started thinking that maybe I did have a shot. A few strong words of encouragement from Dad helped, too (thanks, Daddy!).

In the end, I didn’t make it. I went on the Canyons’ website the other day and saw the videos of the three finalists. “Oh,” Chris said when he watched their applications. Theirs were much better than mine. In the end, though, I wasn’t terribly disappointed. I got something out of the process: a little mental exercise, a fun project, and a good ego boost. And now, you all get a little something out of it, too: you get to see the video!

Overacheivements

Susan Munroe — Sun, 05 Dec 2010 05:13:56 +0000

Feeling a bit over-extended these days. But oh, it feels good. I’m making up for five months of being unemployed and purposeless, I guess. A lot is happening all of a sudden. I’m going into my third winter in Utah, and I’m reminded of my third year at Clark University: the first two years were rough-ish, but I’m finally hitting my stride, and opportunities are beginning to present themselves. Suddenly the world feels very small and very possible, a feeling I learned to recognize while riding the wave of serendipity in my past travels. I met Clint when I first moved to Salt Lake City, at a block party to celebrate the inauguration of Barack Obama. It was a chilly night in January, but the party organizers had rented gas heaters and wood scraps were burning in barrels along the street. I’d chucked my old tennis shoes at a cardboard cutout of G.W. Bush (“Shoe out the old!”), tucked five dollars into the plastic jar at the refreshment table and mixed a hot chocolate and Bailey’s before finding my way indoors and switching to beer. I thought he was cute, in a round-faced, curly-blonde way. I didn’t know many people at the party, and was grateful to have someone to talk to. He mentioned his wife, Linda, and the conversation wound tipsily around his work as an entomologist and hers as a forester-cum-editor. Almost two years later, I don’t remember how Linda and I eventually met, but we now swap hiking guidebooks over martinis and Mediterranean food. Her husband and my boyfriend have been friends for longer than we have, but she and I have bonded quickly. Mutual friends roll their eyes when we meet up at parties, because they know we’re going to monopolize each other for the rest of the night.

Linda works for an environmental consulting firm. Last spring, knowing that I have a degree in English, she mentioned that the company was looking for a part-time editor. At the time I was packing to hit the road for the summer, and knew I’d committed to snowmaking in the fall. Interested, yes, but it felt like poor timing. A month ago she got in touch to tell me they were still thinking of taking on someone new, so I sent in a resume and cover letter. It was the most challenging job application I’d completed oh, since college, probably. I haven’t applied for a serious, “professional” job in five years. My food service, customer service, and outdoor/physical labor resumes are in tip top shape, but an editing resume? Um. Well. Yes, I have this degree, yes I worked in a publishing house (seven years ago), yes I’ve always been very good at grammar and research, yes I’m a perfectionist and a good reader, but phew, finding solid work experience to back up all of those general acquired skills was challenging. I spent the better part of a day compiling, wording, and re-wording my resume and writing a cover letter. I wasn’t sure it would be good enough to get the job, but I told my parents about it, bragged to my boyfriend, and felt a warm, satisfying pride in actually doing it. I can still complete hard assignments! I do have some innate talents, five years out of academia! Kari, Linda’s boss, wrote back immediately to tell me that my resume had been received and was “in the mix”. Ah well, I thought, at least I tried. It took another month for her to call me and offer me the job, but she did. I was sitting in the waiting area in my local Firestone while the mechanics changed the oil in my car, and I accepted. I started the next day. That was three days ago, and I’ve been giddy every since.

What is this new job? Say that Kennecott Copper Mine (the largest open pit copper mine in the world! the website brags. I can literally see it from my house) wanted to dig another pit. The National Environmental Protection Act (NEPA) provides laws and regulations that the mine must follow in order to do any expansion, so Kennecott would hire the company I work for to run tests, inspect the site for archaeological artifacts, and write up an Environmental Impact Statement, which I would then edit. The writing is technical, but fascinating. In two days of work, I’ve already learned about the history of the Shoshone-Bannock tribe of Idaho, and that one of the major issues with building a solar panel farm in the Arizona desert is the amount of water the farm would require. I feel like I’m listening to NPR or reading National Geographic articles while working. I love it. I’m getting paid (well) to learn new things and use my college degree! The best part (or, one of the best parts) is that I’ve been hired on a temporary/part time basis. I don’t have to commit to working in an office for the next year. Kari (who’s my boss now, too) told me they could have anywhere from zero to twenty hours of work for me a week. I’m more or less functioning as a contractor. And once I get the hang of the company’s style guidelines, I will likely be able to work from home, on my own time. This is a dream come true for me. I’m building skills and connections that will ultimately allow me to earn a living from home. This is just the beginning.

So, a new job! On top of still making snow at Alta (we should be finished any day now, except the weather won’t cooperate. Salt Lake is stuck in an inversion: polluted, 35°F air in the valley trapped by high, 45°F air in the mountains. I scrape frozen pollution off my car windshield every morning.), I’m coming up on the dates when I told Brighton and Solitude Resorts I’d be able to start work. Weekends at Brighton, weeknights at Solitude (no housekeeping this time, just reception/bellman work at the Inn), and my daytime hours split between skiing and this new, professional editing position. Plus, I have friends! GIRL friends, even. I’ve stuck around long enough to make meaningful connections with women whom I admire and respect. And strangely, staying put seems to be helping me to achieve some of my greater life goals: writing, adventure, travel, baking… I’m writing more, and more easily, than I have in a long time. Adventure lurks around every corner (motorcycling in Moab, downhill mountain biking, dating a man with a 10-year-old). I’m planning my travels purposefully instead of randomly (at least for the moment). The next trip is slated for mid-March, back to Peru, with a possible two week side trip to Colombia. And while I still rely on store-bought bread for my own personal use, next weekend at Brighton I’ll be selling all kinds of baked goodies at the 2^nd annual craft fair. Life is moving like a flooded river: fast, and full. It is good.

Living the ski bum dream

Susan Munroe — Wed, 18 Feb 2009 18:10:25 +0000

Happy Susan.

My new God’s name is Ullr.

Floating. Floating all day. On 24 inches of freshies, on good vibes between friends, on rays of sun sparkling on snow crystals in the air. Floating in the afterglow of a fantastic day. The Wasatch got dumped with snow all day yesterday, and I called in “overwhelmed” at my Solitude night job, leaving my Wednesday wiiiiiide open to pay tribute to Ullr (ooh-ler), the Norse god of snow.

I went out with Brighton friends, Jack, Koogs, and David. We rode to the top of the Great Western chair and slipped our way out of bounds and paused between the huge, smooth, wind-sculpted cornices that hung over Lacko-Waxen, a 100-meter (wide and deep) bowl on the back side of Clayton’s peak. We peered through the tips of our skis at the sparkly white expanse of untouched snow below and dropped in one at a time. David launched a small jump at the bottom of the bowl and landed in a cloud of snow. “I CAN’T SEE ANYTHING!” he howled as he continued making turns in the nearly chest-deep snow. Hiking back up, out of the bowl, I followed Jack as he broke trail up the side of the hill. It’s quiet outside of the resort. Placing my feet carefully in each boot-shaped hole, I climbed, hearing only the breath moving in my lungs and the crunch and squeak of the snow in the boot pack. My skis rocked slightly in their straps on my backpack. The sun came and went, warming my back and highlighting my shape on the snow in front of me.

Following the boot-pack back to the top...so we can ski it again.

It was so good, we did it again. This time taking a slightly different line, to the right, I tore over a small knoll and turned into the funky fall-line, carving in powder that would be over my head if I fell, my head bursting with pleasure with each smooth, soft slice. The snow made a sound like pffoooooo as it exploded under my skis and flew into my face and into my lungs. It’s like breathing in dry diamonds; tiny frozen crystals melting on the walls of my lungs. The four of us climbed back up to the ridgeline and followed it farther out of bounds under the summit of (Mt.) 10-4-20. White snow and glowing sun and black, rocky, mountains overlapped against the inconstant, day-after-the-storm sky like a collage edged in silver. Light snuck through the clouds and dappled its way along the tops of the trees, blessing the evergreens with golden-green halos. I moved down through the aspen trees, twisting and turning and still finding endless, deep, untracked snow, arriving at the run out, where an established ski trail snakes through the flats and the trees, back to civilization. Rushing through the trees with my skis plastered to the trail, I slid around and up the sides of corners like I was on a bobsled track, ducking branches and drafting behind Koogs on his snowboard, dodging and laughing when he tried to trip me up.

Popping out of the trees back into the resort boundaries was like waking up out of a dream. There were so many people, happily churning their way down groomed trails that have already seen a dozen, a hundred other skiers. Their very presence was noisy, and I was stunned to remember that this is where I am usually skiing, and happy to be there. Hours later, I sat in the bar with Jack. We were both smiling, vaguely, as we sipped from our Pabst Blue Ribbon 24oz cans and studied our cards over his caribou-horn cribbage board. I slowly pegged my way to victory, and Jack turned his cards over and sighed, tired, satisfied. “What a day. What a day.” Amen to that. Praise be to Ullr, and praise be to Wasatch Powder.

the last entry for a while

Susan Munroe — Fri, 02 Jan 2009 15:08:00 +0000

Salt Lake City is organized on a numbered grid system, with the Mormon Temple at the center (0,0) and the rest of the streets fanning out north, south, east, and west in straight, orderly lines. The valley is flat; mountains form protective stockades on the eastern and western edges. It’s the eastern peaks that draw the powder addicts: the Wasatch front, a 10,000 foot high wall, home to six of the biggest ski resorts in Utah. I live at 9600 S (96 blocks south of the temple) and 800 E (8 blocks east of the temple), in the suburbs, where every road is four lanes wide, every lane is thick with cars, and every car has only one person in it. I commute, on foot, on bike, and on bus, riding up out of the valley and into the canyon early every morning, half asleep. I bum rides from friends and coworkers every night. The valley plays hide and seek with us as we drive down after dark; the huge, flat, salty expanse twinkles with little lights that appear and disappear behind the high canyon walls.

I work weekends at Brighton, and now, weeknights at Solitude, where I work for the condo management company as a hybrid housekeeper-supervisor-houseman-front-desk-gopher type person. The job is varied, physical and lets me ski all day and earn money at night. And there are other perks: brand new telemark boots, my size, that I found thrown in the garbage, and the three bottles of $30 wine sitting on my dresser, also salvaged from the leavings of a group of millionaires I had to clean up after. The best part of it, though, is the housekeeping staff from Mexico, Peru, Boliva, and Ecuador. I speak Spanish with them all day, joke about traditions, reminisce about locations, and at lunch share their maiz tostada, mote and platano frito. I can’t describe how much this means to me, how happy this makes me. And the housekeepers are pretty excited about it too. As in Peru and Ecuador, the respect I earn for speaking their language is enormous. Here, however, I find our interactions more fulfilling. Most of these people have lived in the US for 7, 8, 9 years, and have adapted to our culture. When we talk, there’s no frustrating gap in understanding. We aren’t explaining to each other, we’re conversing; between my knowledge of Latinos and their knowledge of Norte Americanos, we’ve got a good middle ground where we can relate to each other.

The skiing is unbelievable. There are six ski areas spread across the Wasatch Front. With the right gear and a lot of traversing, it’d be possible to ski from one ridgeline to the next, leapfrogging from one ski area to another. The possibilities are dizzying. There is so much snowfall every winter that everything is skiable. Even the most rock-studded and tree lined chute will yield great, soft turns once it’s filled in. I had my first powder day two weeks ago, in Solitude’s famous Honeycomb Canyon, a fresh tracks treasure trove. Visibility was poor: it was snowing, and snowing hard. The mountain’s lower elevations picked up four inches of freshies in two hours. From the top of the chairlift, Honeycomb Canyon is accessible via a tiny track running around the top of the canyon wall, and my friend Patrick and I shuffled and side-stepped our way across it, through the trees and over rocks for five thigh-burning minutes to arrive at a steep, open pitch: covered in snow and completely untracked. I followed Patrick over the lip into the waist deep snow, took two turns, and laughed. “I’m never going to leave this place, am I?” I shouted down at Patrick. My legs were on fire and my face was numb, but I was grinning like a crazy person.

Christmas I spent in the valley, watching the weather out the windows of my friend Nick’s house. Wind, then rain, then sleet, then snow, finally, falling at more than an inch an hour. We tried to make a snowman, and had to use road-slush to hold the fresh, dry snow together. The day after Christmas I worked in the ski school at Brighton, helping tame the line of powder-hungry kids and parents that snaked all the way out of the lobby and down the hill outside, and counted my blessings that I don’t have to ski during the holidays.

So, life is good, and the skiing is great, and the writing…well, that’s been a little strained. In the interest of not forcing it, I’m taking a hiatus from the blog for the time being. This means you all will have to work a little bit harder to find out what I’m up to. Send me emails (susanmunroe@gmail.com), please, or call (email me to ask for the phone #) – I’m closer to you all than I’ve been in a year and I own a cell phone. Me not writing the blog shouldn’t mean that we lose touch; it should give us a reason to reconnect. In the meantime, enjoy life, and I’ll do the same. I’ll let you know when you can expect to see me back here.

And when the inspiration strikes, I will be back. See you in a bit.

If it’s white, it’s not ice.

Susan Munroe — Sun, 23 Nov 2008 18:24:00 +0000

This is what I tell my co-workers at the Brighton Resort Ski School when they roll their eyes about “icy conditions”. To which they respond, “You must be from the east coast.” The last week has been warm, the snow soft and thin in patches (this is, after all, pre-Thanksgiving skiing), but it has not been icy. “We’re just spoiled,” the locals will shrug.

I can’t wait to get spoiled.

Salt Lake City, Utah, home of the Greatest Snow on Earth (they say). With seven ski areas within ten miles of each other, all less than an hour drive from the city, all averaging 500 inches (12 m) of powder every winter, I don’t care if it’s the “greatest” or only so-so, just as long as they let me ski on it.

Twice a week I work the counter at the Brighton ski school, selling lesson packages and directing harried parents to the rental shop, the bathrooms, the cafeteria. My uniform is jeans, a fleece vest, and a baseball hat or beanie. I answer phones and smile at customers and when it’s slow no one minds if I read a book behind the desk or slip out to take some runs. I love my job. I hitchhike to work or to ski every day from the mouth of the canyon, me and a handful of other bums. Yesterday I rode up with a registered nurse who described to me the first time he witnessed a C-section birth. “Dude, I grew more in that half an hour than I did through all of puberty!” Today I waited in a line of cars that snaked for ten miles through the jutting canyon walls. I watched the emergency lights spinning for an hour, on the other side of the trees where a truck had rolled over the embankment.

I live with Kathy, a cheerful massage therapist, and her husband Troy, a construction worker. Winter and the flagging economy give him plenty of hours to fill playing WWII video games and shouting at the University of Utah football team. Kathy’s sixteen-year-old, Mackenzie, makes occasional appearances as a dark-haired zombie on a stool in front of the TV on the kitchen counter. I have a room to myself, furnished, full use of the kitchen and a living room, wireless internet, and the company of a balding cat when I want it. They’ve also loaned me a bike for the winter. Not having a car, the bike means freedom, and being able to visit the local library twice a day. I grin at how much faster a bike is than walking, even as my teeth chatter and my hands turn to ice in the wind.

Beginning a life in a new place is always hard, and I’m a little bit lonely, despite the friendliness of my co-workers and the kindness of the Eaton family (wonderfully gracious friends from back east who gave me a place to stay when I arrived and helped me find work and housing). I’m still smiling, though, and I can look ahead to a month from now when the slopes will be overflowing with snow, when regular paychecks will be plopping into my checking account, when I know the names of all the ski instructors I work with, when I am too busy to think, when I’m apparating from powder day to night job to day job to drinks at the pub with the other scruffy snow addicts, when all of this is normal, when I forget that I’ve ever lived anywhere else.

lightning round

Susan Munroe — Thu, 04 May 2006 17:40:00 +0000

So much to say, so little time to say it! In the past three weeks, I…

Visited Queenstown with Moni – Drove his car, The Beast (twin turbo engine, sports shift, v6, responsive and oh so smooth on the corners), south through the Canterbury Plains and the barren, imposing Lindis Pass. Wandered about the town, which is the adventure tourist mecca of the South Island – all overpriced jetboat rides, partying backpackers, skydiving, and high-energy, super trendy pubs. Rode the gondola to the top of a mountain to see fantastic views of the town, Lake Wakatipu, and the Remarkables Mts. Drove around the lake through patchy rain and gorgeous, intermittent rays of sunshine, checked out a fantastic art house movie theater and had drinks in a warm, dimly lit wine cellar complete with fireplace.

Resigned from the Godley! Immediately after which, all of my plans for jobs and travel in the next months fell through, leaving me stressed and stuck and (with gritted teeth and swallowed pride) asking the Godley for my job back. Managed to get three extra days of work after my official last day (one of which was Easter Monday = double pay!), but then, out of the wreckage of my plans came an ideal job offer for the ski season: cleaning and reception work at an upscale backpackers in Methven in exchange for a free single room and a free ski pass to Mt. Hutt, the highest (and one of the best) ski field in NZ. The work is day on/day off, leaving me three or four days a week to be on the snow. Nights will be spent waitressing at the nearby Methven Resort Hotel, which will provide me with the cash I’ll need for food, petrol, etc. Hallelujah!

Spent two weeks traveling back and forth between Tekapo and Methven, sussing out the jobs, the town, and organizing ski equipment. Quite a laid-back two weeks, though, with much of my time in Tekapo spent at Moni’s place. I ended up moving out of my flat and across the driveway to Moni’s – he was the only one I really wanted to see in town anyway (Anja had left for a two week holiday with her Dad), and it would save me having to pay $70/week rent. Great fun cooking together, listening to music, drinking, arguing over who would sleep in the bed and who would take the floor, and discussing the business/finance plan for Moni’s dream of opening his own restaurant. On a couple of evenings, John and Mary (our landlords) invited us over for a bbq and dinner. I was talked into making apple pie, Moni roasted a chicken, John prepared fresh field mushrooms he’d found, and we sat up talking books and tramping late into the nights. Another time, John treated me to a ride in his tiny white Mazda MX5 sports convertible – oh, man.

Spent some quality time with Dr. Gonzo…he failed his warrant of fitness. 1) rusted exhaust pipe; 2) rear seat belts didn’t lock. Exhaust pipe, okay, I knew that was coming. Seat belts? Horribly expensive. In an attempt to save money, I put on the mechanic’s hat, and got up close and personal with the backseat of my car. Unbolted the seat, took out the belts, and went on a hunt for new ones, only to be told (after I’d visited three wrecking lots with no luck) that the seat belts were fine – the mechanic who performed the WOF had done the wrong test. Several cuts and a few scraped knuckles later, the Doc was bolted back together, and I went to confront the original mechanic. In a moment of triumph that left me grinning and clicking my heels all the way home, I plead my case: not only did I get the new warrant, but I stood up for myself and got my $40 inspection fee refunded! Take that, car mechanics who think women don’t know anything about cars and can be taken advantage of!!

Turned 23! Moni took me to Christchurch for a couple of days to celebrate. About three hours north of Tekapo, on the coast, Christchurch is the third largest city in the country (the biggest on the South Island), and is very English in its environs. Class-tastic birthday: dressed up (new shoes!) for a delicious dinner at a Japanese restaurant. Sushi, sake, and fish, lamb and veggies that the chef prepared right in front of us, the grilling and seasoning more like dancing than cooking. I even got a bday fruit platter with a candle in it! Also made the most of the trip to the big city with time spent in the art gallery, botanical garden, and took a white-knuckled (but fun) drive over the Lyttleton Hills, to the southeast of the city.

And now, off again! I’ve got a month before my winter jobs start, and I’m hoping to make the most of the time. Today I’m heading to the west coast, through the alps, then south to the glaciers, rainforest, and fjords. It’s been six months, one week, and three days. I’m officially half-way through!