Blower No. 1

I am looking out the window of an office nestled deep in the Salt Lake Valley. The tinted panes stare blankly west, searching the horizon for a front, a storm, anything other than blue sky. Hope, however, is limited by the disgorged Oquirrh Range to a mere 30 or so miles, its innards laid bare by the massive Kennecott copper mine.

I write about skiing; I even pretend to do it for a living. This might have something to do with the fact that I would rather be slashing high-speed powder turns than sitting in front of a computer screen, writing about it. Regardless, the season has yet to begin and I find myself once again grappling with the keyboard.

The hardest thing about ski journalism-or any kind of writing, for that matter-is originality. We read what we like and transform those thoughts and styles into our own expressions, over and over again.

Recently, I struggled with what I love to write. As repetitive thoughts gouged muddy trenches in my mind, I pondered over the musings of POWDER correspondents of the past. Much of it could be summed up in a few simple categories: the angst of living in a ski town; the pent-up energy and frustration of autumn; cool places to travel through the winter; and the glory of a deep, dark powder day.

The questions attacked me: How can you be original writing about a sport like skiing? Hasn't it all been done before? Trends come and go, but since POWDER's inception more than 30 years ago, the cycle of rehashing old subjects has continued.

I closed my eyes in frustration and made a turn. It was the first turn I'd made almost every season since I'd undergone the self-initialization into ski bum life in Breckenridge, Colorado, years ago. The snow was packed and firm, a narrow white thread twisting through a dry, brown forest. It was three feet of fresh with the mountain 100-percent open, legs balking at the joy and pain of floating so much deep after a summer of boredom. It was a hike-to snowfield filled with knee-tweaking sun-cups; I fought to bring the boards around.

I opened my eyes and noticed two cotton puffs that had drifted over the Oquirrhs. Behind them was a creeping, dark grey, edged with the fuzzy borders that warn of an impending storm.

There is no such thing as a "same" turn on skis. We ski favorite lines, bank off the same snow spines, and slip down well-known icy groomers hundreds of times each season. But the turn is never the same.

It turns out the fuzzy, dark cloud was nothing more than that: a fuzzy, dark cloud. But just as the weather shifts, snow covers rock, and skiers learn to huck, I realized that every ski story is original. Some might be the quality of bulletproof crust; others, 40 inches of blower; but every last one makes me smile.

Welcome to Blower, POWDERMAG.com's latest editorial column. Hopefully, most of my musings will be of the neck-deep variety...I'll save the corn for spring.

Josh Rhea is the online editor for POWDERMAG.com. He resides in Salt Lake City, Utah, where he runs a brine shrimp fishery on the Great Salt Lake.