GMD DISPATCH: Rookie entering the Promised Land

On Thursday I moved into the Goldminer’s Daughter. The lodge sits about 50 yards from the Collins chair at Alta, Utah. I’m going to spend my winter here, in a small hotel room that has suffered the abuse of hosting young, core skiers for years. In the top drawer sits a crushed Keystone Light. The toilet doesn’t flush. The TV doesn’t work. But these things seem futile. My bed is just steps from a ski lift at Alta.

This is my first winter after college; the first time of my life in which skiing will be my biggest priority. I think I’ll use my degree eventually, but for now, I’m just trying to live a little. I went to school in Bellingham, Washington. I chose Alta for the obvious of snow and terrain, but also because, like Mount Baker, it is modest. At Baker, the nightlife is limited to a bunch of codgers swapping legends in the Tap Room. Similarly, Alta has a history of keeping it pretty real.

My transition from the Northwest to the Latter Day Saint Land of Zion has been rocky. Coming from elitist beer circles of Portland, home to more microbreweries per capita than anywhere in the world, these 3.2 regulations are problematic. I brought four cases of beer across the Idaho/Utah border, but this won’t suffice for long. At Westminster, while visiting a Mormon soccer teammate from high school, after days of boredom while I waited to move into the GMD, I made the mistake of introducing “The Dude” Lebowski to a group that generally refrains from watching rated ‘R’ films. My LDS friends weren’t quite sure what to make of the incessant use of the word, ‘fuck’ and its various derivatives. As a result of the film I suffered through a conversation questioning how bad the word ‘douchebag’ is, and whether or not they should use it. It was pretty bad.

But now I’m in a different sort of promised land—one that sits at 8,500 feet and is slightly less conservative. In exchange for this room, a small stipend, three meals a day and a season pass, I’m going to work in the GMD’s restaurant as a line cook. It’s a sweet deal, though with college and car debt and a mere $18 to my name, it requires some sacrifice.

Throughout the season I’ll chronicle my experiences with weekly commentary on powder.com—dispatches ranging from the excitement of big storms to the frustration of accumulating debt and the absence of family and friends. I recognize thousands of skiers whose dedication to the sport has been committed to a similar lifestyle for years. We participate in a sport that is especially unique, a sport that encourages people to go to extraordinary lengths to find deep snow. I hope this column can be a medium that which ski bums can relate to, and 9 to 5ers can live through vicariously.