RIGHT Despite being one of the last skiers to compete on the first day, Colin, the author, and his trusty steed Bruce, were the very first competitors to hit the course on day two. They kicked off what would be a five-hour flurry of activity, before the day capped off with the fan-favorite Big Air competition. Photo: Eric Dyer I’m not the only one new to this. So are my teammates, Jake Birchell and his 7-year-old quarter horse, Bruce. Jake is family, and we conjured up this skijoring plan over home-brewed IPAs back when February seemed a long way off. Jake’s a rancher, cowboy and father of three, and he’s one of the calmest and most collected people I know. Still, I can tell he’s a bit nervous as he saddles Bruce. The horse, bred for “cuttin’ cows” as Jake puts it, has been practicing by towing the kids around their pasture on sleds. We talk strategy as I boot up. “It’s zero to 35 [mph] in about three jumps,” he warns. “And when I get him wide open running, I don’t know how easily I can shut him down.” The last part scares me. I don’t want to crash, but my biggest fear is the rope ripping out of my hands at the start, leaving us dead on arrival. We decide that for the first night’s run we just want a clean finish and aren’t too concerned with getting Bruce up to his top speed. We’re racing in the novice division, so any decent time tonight should keep us in the running for Saturday’s final. Racing starts with the sport division. There are plenty of wipeouts and dropped ropes. The crowd cheers with each run. Cowbells clang and country music blasts. The Real Housewives of Salt Lake City (and their film crew) are in attendance. Competitors range from a 7-year-old girl on horseback pulling her 5-year-old sister, to an 82-year-old former ski patroller. Both extremes of the age spectrum get big cheers from the bundled crowd. So too do the skiers decked out in lederhosen, Hawaiian shirts and full-on leather-fringed chaps. And, of course, every crash gets an ovation. Brian runs up and down the course, calling the action with microphone in hand. He’s charming in a way most commen-tators can only imagine practicing in the bathroom mirror. He repeats the mantra, “The number one rule of skijoring is ‘don’t drop the rope,’” so many times the crowd starts yelling it back at him. The pro division is a whole different level of competition. Many of these skiers represent race teams from nearby resorts like Sundance and Park City. The riders are local 4H and rodeo stars, atop steeds from breeders whose logos adorn sponsor banners. The pros start well back of the actual starting line—run-ning perpendicular to the course—so that when the horse gets moving, the skier shoots through the starting gate like the end of a bullwhip. Rather than cowboys and cowgirls, the term “jockey” comes to mind. The riders yell with that high-pitched he-ah of spaghetti westerns, pushing their horses faster and faster. For them, it’s not a game of finding a happy medium on the speedometer; it’s about hauling ass and hoping their skier can keep up. Dillon, the teenage champion, is in his element. He is ungodly fast, absorbing the brunt of the jumps with his knees so that he seems to gain time in the air rather than lose it. Dillon’s style combines the powerful carving strength of a racer with the loose and forgiving flow of a park skier. It’s hard to believe anyone could beat him. When the sun sets, it cools off fast. Under the stadium lights, the snow gains an icy sheen. Turns chatter like televi-sion static. The course has gone from friendly to boilerplate in under an hour. My toes are numb by the time it’s finally our turn to run. I’m too cold to be nervous. Bruce starts up at a trot and we ease our way out of the start. By this point, the course is rutted and it’s easy to find the right line. The first few gates feel painfully slow, and I yell at Jake to hit it. He does, and the run feels good, not much tougher than a beer league GS course. Jake and I hoot and holler as we cross the finish line. A clean run—it’s exactly what we wanted. It felt pretty fast too. There’s a letdown, though, as Brian calls out our time: We’re a good five seconds out of contention—even in the novice division. 066 The Ski Journal
The Ski Journal Volume 14, Issue 1: Page 66
