Dropping just in front of his older brother Grant, Drew Petersen descends Colorado’s Mount Elbert. Photo: Thomas Woodson MILE 1,922; APRIL 19; MOUNT ELBERT, CO; 14,439 FEET My alarm beeps at 4:45 a.m. Again. I am exhausted, but—de-spite the gas station taquito and hot dog boiling in my stom-ach—I feel as alive as ever. We’re at the base of Mount Elbert, 39 miles south of where I grew up outside of Silverthorne. My older brother Grant, my original ski partner, is with me for the day. Atop the summit, we re-create pictures from the last time we were up here, when Grant and I made the hike in the summer at ages 9 and 7, respectively. We laugh, at each other and at ourselves, as only brothers can. We select one of the Box Creek couloirs, emptying into a bowl on the east side of the mountain. I ski first, utilizing the wind-deposited snow to lessen the severity of the refrozen ice underneath. From below, I watch my older brother, whom I chased around the mountain and tried to emulate my entire childhood, make his own tracks down the chute. MILE 1,672; APRIL 18; WHEELER PEAK, NM; 13,159 FEET Rather than using the shelter of the rocks, I sit facing the wind. This view is too good to pass up. Across the way is Taos Ski Valley, where I remember sitting atop Kachina Peak six years ago, looking this way and marveling at these mountains. Even then, I had wondered what it would be like to stand upon this spot, above everything else. Mostly, I had wondered what it be would like to ski. It’s as good as I imagined—sort of. The snow is dubious, but the sunset and flood of nostalgia make up for the lack of powder. 072 The Ski Journal
The Ski Journal Volume Eleven, Issue Two: Page 72
