Uh Snow Part 1

I've previously rhapsodised about my love of the mountains, so I'll spare you the hyperbole in this next blog. But when it comes to the beauty of Mother Nature, what I love equally as much as the mountains is the snow. Even for those naysayers, I'm sure you'd agree that the sheer effortless beauty of falling snow is difficult to deny.

Ah the serenity!

So as far as dream chasing goes, I'd convinced Julia to join me and head to the coldest place in Japan: the Northern Island of Hokkaido. As far as palmares goes, Hokkaido itself has hosted the Winter Olympics, is geographically quite close to Russia (incredibly just over 5 hours by ferry) and is famous the world over for it's superlative ski fields and conditions. 

All that white stuff is snow.

What all of that previous hyperbole (I thought I'd spared you sorry) also means is that it is absolutely fucking freezing cold. I'm talking 30 degrees below zero freezing. Fortunately for us, accordingly to the locals we arrived during some relative reprieve and the temperature only reached a low of minus 27 degrees Celsius.

'OMG MINUS 27 DEGREES'

Ever since my experience as an exchange student in Japan some 10 years prior I'd dreamt of experiencing a true winter wonderland. Specifically I'd dreamt of skiing but mostly and most excitedly I dreamt of bathing in an outdoor onsen or rotenburo in the snow with the snow falling around me. I know that's a pretty specific dream but truly, I'd dreamt of it many times over. So with a girlfriend in toe I'd returned to chase some dreams. A special thanks and shout out to said girlfriend for her dream believing.

Flying into Sapporo the ground was blanketed white with snow. The mountains had their peaks smothered in the white stuff too and when the pilot announced that the temperature on the ground was a mild  minus seven degrees below zero I knew our wintry journey was just about to begin. After some 2 hours of train travel further and further higher and higher into the cold cold middle of the island we arrived at a skiing village named Furano. Furano is famous for its sheer amount of dry powder that it receives. Stepping foot in the town, the cold was just that - bitterly cold. Any surface of skin that wasn't protected was involuntarily punished for my own stupidity and naivety. We'd just come from an unprecedented heatwave in Melbourne where the mercury had consistently gone above 40 degrees for over three days straight. So needless, to say that to our un-acclimatized bodies the aforementioned conditions were literally a shock to our systems.

'WHAT A SHOCK TO OUR SYSTEMS'

Regardless, we braved the harsh conditions and went about procuring all the necessary gear to begin part one of the dream. Fortunately we'd packed a good amount of winter gear and with the exception of our gloves which simply weren't designed to cope with minus 27 degree conditions, we had enough stuff to keep 90 percent of our bodies warm.

I'll be the first to admit that I haven't done a great deal of downhill skiing, the last time being some 3 years ago and would definitely be described as a 'beginner'. However, I should clarify that I've done many years of cross country skiing which is arguably more difficult from a control and balance point of view - especially considering the often narrow tracks which we use versus the generous wide runs which you are afforded with downhill skiing. So with those points in mind, somewhat concerningly I was tasked with giving Julia an impromtu downhill skiing lesson. Herself having skied a couple of times, it proved to be productive for both of us as we used a small knoll to familiarise ourselves with the infamous snow plough and some basic turning.

Smiles can be deceiving!

Julia, feeling a little overwhelmed at the conditions and the prospect of some fairly steep looking 'beginner' and 'junior' runs, decided to take a breather and head off to the adjacent cafe. My bravado (and sheer excitedness to be fair) got the better of me and I found myself at the top of the longest, steepest run I'd ever laid eyes on. Feeling composed and reminding myself that cross country skiing is much more difficult, I let gravity take hold and hurtled down the mountain. Initially exhilarated, very quickly I realised I was completely out of control and I had to apply the self-destruct-fall-over-voluntarily button to simply stop and regain control. Conveniently the top layer of powder dampened my fall but did little for my ego and by the time I made it to Julia in the warm cafe, I had to try very hard to put on a brave face and convince her that I thoroughly enjoyed my first hit out. Worst still, I had to try and convince her that despite her nerves, she should join me and would have no problems with the runs on offer.

The slopes were very close to our hostel. 

After our first day of mixed success, Julia and I regrouped; deciding that it would be best for her to get a lesson - alone, and for me to explore - alone. Still very motivated despite my first days' setbacks, I awoke early. With Julia still in a slumber, I left determined to be the first person on the lifts and subsequently the slopes. It turns out another keen-o beat me by a matter of metres, but being second wasn't so bad. It meant that there would be a fresh coating of white gold (powder) on top for me to plunder.

Riding the lift up the mountain, the incredibly cold conditions surprisingly seemed to matter little as the breathtaking scene around me unfolded. Behind me was a snow capped mountain range peering ominously over my shoulder. To my front was the summit of a Mountain poking it's head out between the snow laden treas surrounding us both; branches sagging under the weight of last nights snow fall. To add to the unfolding scene around me, there was a sharp breeze that blew only the very top layer of snow into the air and in turn created a mist of snow which wound its way between the trees, further enhancing the mystical environment.

Beautiful in 2-D. Terrifying in 3-D.

I sat there still oblivious to the cold, and knew exactly what it felt like to be living the dream. To feel so very fortunate for the situation that I'd found myself in. By an arbitrary genetic lottery, I was born in a western nation; afforded opportunity in nearly endless supply. And sitting there in the moment I couldn't help but feel that not everybody in our vast world begins life with such privilege and opportunity. Just as arbitrarily I could have been born in Syria, a country currently in the throngs of a blood filled civil war. But here I was, a holiday philosopher on a ski slope in Japan. In summary it was a combination of some of the most bitter sweet and humbling emotions I'd ever felt in such quick succession. And just like that, the skiing seemed wildly irrelevant not to mention extravagant.

With all of that to ponder, I zigzagged my way down the mountain. Both heart and mind racing faster than the beginner slopes would allow me to ski. Safely, I reached the bottom, unsure if I felt exhilarated or exhausted. For good measure, I made my way back over to the lift and couldn't help but head up one more time. Life was great. And I was lucky.     

What doesn't break us makes us stronger. Totes BFF!