WITH A SLOW 2019-20 season in the rearview, the idea of a redemptive winter was enough to cause a buzz in the mountain guide world. That came to a crashing halt in December 2020, when the Japanese government closed the borders to 150 countries, including our main client bases in the United Kingdom, Australia and the United States. I was glad I didn’t have any employees to worry about, but life sud-denly felt like a dead end. Even Japanese clients were pulling the plug, leaving the local guiding community in the lurch. Winter shapes life on Hokkaido. Everything from park benches to telephone booths are designed to withstand mul-tiple feet of snow. Clearing that snow is a part of the culture here. In the cold months, you are busy shoveling snow and, if you’re lucky, skiing. During the summer, well, you are prepar-ing for the coming winter. This winter, there was less shoveling. Hotels remained buried under snow because they were often completely empty. Hok-kaido’s fragile mountain economy had crumbled. Honestly, I wasn’t faring much better. At times it was hard to get out of bed. I felt like a train wreck, like all I could do was disappear. The mountains were the perfect place to escape the news. There, the biggest variable determining my success was my own skill and determination. As snow began to fall, for the first time in months I felt like I was in control. More than ever, the central Hokkaido high country seemed like home. Without foreign seasonal guides and international visitors, the iconic snowfalls of early Japanese winter were all ours. And without any guide work, I discovered the sweetest silver lining: For the first time in years, I could ski with friends. In December, the snow at Furano, my home hill, was deep and dry, the slopes impossibly empty. We didn’t rush for first chair, savoring our time at home, knowing we’d see the same handful of skiers later on and a complete refresh inbounds. Standard lines remained fresh. There was no need to text or even call anyone—I could identify who was at the hill simply by checking out their tracks. It felt like we’d wandered into a secret, disappearing into winter in a way I never thought possible. There was no pres-sure to do anything, go anywhere, or answer to anyone, our surplus of time was a prize divvied up among the friends who had stayed in the mountains rather than seeking more pros-perous shores. I may have been cash poor, but my humble lifestyle paid off in an abundance of turns. IN THE COLD MONTHS YOU ARE BUSY SHOVELING SNOW AND, IF YOU’RE LUCKY, SKIING. DURING SUMMER, WELL, YOU ARE PREPARING FOR THE COMING WINTER. Hokkaido 057
The Ski Journal Volume 15, Issue 2: Page 57
