Skiing in the Sierra Nevadas

I thanked my parents on Facebook yesterday for insisting that I take ski school at Steamboat, Colo., "when I was in middle school and in level 2 with all the 5 year olds."

Why? Because ski school started my love of skiing, it taught me how to ski properly and it made my experience skiing in the Sierra Nevadas yesterday amazing.

The ski base of the Sierra Nevada Mountains is an hour bus ride away from Granada. I went with a group of about 10 students from Cegri. Promotional materials for the mountain boasted a season in which 80 percent of the days are sunny, which is why I was skeptical when we loaded the bus and started to ascend into the mountains while rain fell and the sky was completely overcast.

When we reached the base at 9 a.m., we bee lined to the lift pass line and ended up paying 16€ more than we thought for the pass. (This tends to happen a lot when trying to navigate Spanish websites.) But this didn’t faze us because, after all, we were about to go skiing — in Europe!

Then we set out to find Ski Sol, a shop where we could rent our skis and boots and get a student discount. But every worker we questioned had no idea what Ski Sol was. We decided that maybe it was farther up the mountain, so four of us loaded onto the gondola. A ski school instructor got on the gondola with us, so we asked him where Ski Sol was. And of course, he said it was indeed at the base. But we didn’t turn back, since we were all itching to get on a run as soon as possible.

After we rented our skis at a shop that wasn’t too much more expensive than Ski Sol, we were greeted by a blizzard outside. We made our way up one lift, at the top of which were even more white-out conditions. I had packed goggles and snow pants with me to Spain, but the three other girls hadn’t. Elizabeth had sunglasses, which shielded her eyes a little bit, but Tori and Lizzy had to squint their way down the run. But even with goggles, I could not see where I was going. Literally, everything was white. I’d be moving, but I had no idea if the run was getting steeper, if it was a catwalk or if I was going up a hill. The only other time I'd skied in white-out conditions was in Jackson Hole, Wyo., but even that wasn't as bad. As we slowly made our way down, we eventually heard music, which meant that we must be near the end of the run! Elizabeth, Tori and Lizzy decided that they needed to rent goggles, which were at the base, so I went on another run by myself and then bought ski mittens because my thin liners were not sufficing. We were winter skiing, after all!

Morning white-out conditions.

 But eventually, maybe it was around noon, everything cleared up. The sun came out, the sky was blue and we could actually see the mountain. We had said before that if it didn’t clear up, we would have no idea if the mountain or if the view from the mountain was beautiful. But alas, it was gorgeous. And we could see where we were skiing! It’s amazing how that makes skiing so much more enjoyable.

However, there were a lot more people on the runs then. Perhaps the locals know not to get to the mountain too early, or else risk their lives. Even so, it seemed like most everyone didn’t know how to ski properly. People were zooming by, out of control, falling all the time, while others looked very insecure in their skiing abilities. For once, we felt like the big (wo)men on the mountain.

There were hardly any trees on the mountain, so we could clearly see all the ski runs.

Soon we decided it was too crowded where we were, so we ventured farther to the right on the mountain, where we found more difficult runs. We approached one run that had a net that warned the run was only for experts. But the run was only a black and didn't look like the blacks in the United States, so we took it, and it ended up being our favorite run! I'd say it was the equivalent of a difficult blue out west in the United States, and the powder was great. If you're not familiar with skiing, the type of snow can really make or break a run. If you can hear ice scraping under your skis when you turn, that's bad snow. But when you can see snow fly out behind you when you turn, that's amazing snow.

Tori and I — so happy that we can see!

After lunch (in which we ate the bocadillos our señoras had made us outside in the lovely sun), we came across a red run. I've never seen a red run before, but in the Sierra Nevadas, the difficulty level is between a blue and a black. I decided to take it, even though it wasn't really clear where the run was. In the United States, runs and very clearly labeled, but here, everything was ambiguous. Sometimes there were colorful poles stuck in the ground that denoted the difficulty level of the run you were on, so we followed the red poles. But soon we found ourselves on almost a vertical drop, with rocks jutting out everywhere. Great idea, Kirsten. There was a narrow area of snow with rocks on either side. I debated trying it, but decided that I wouldn't be able to make turns quick enough to control my speed and at the same time not hit the rocks.  Tori decided to traverse across the run (though I don't think we were on an actual run anymore). But Lizzy decided she would crawl it, so I took her skis in my arms and she took my poles. Elizabeth, in the meantime, was trying to turn around but took a tumble and almost rolled off the cliff. And that's really not an exaggeration.  We slowly made our way across, and Lizzy eventually just slid down on her butt. I found this situation oddly exhilarating, and we were able to laugh about it at the bottom when we knew we were all safe. I knew we had all looked like a hot mess though, because everyone on the nearby lift had been staring at us. But that's OK — everyone needs something to talk about on the lift rides.

At the end of the day, we turned in our equipment, which was basically a free for all. I compare it to trying to buy a drink at Firehaus on a Wednesday night when there are a million barcrawls going on. It's basically survival of the fittest, and no chivalry is shown for the ladies. We struggled our way to the front of the line, where huge male snowboarders towered over us and little kids tried to squiggle their way in. We quickly turned our stuff in and got the heck out of there.

After that, it was time for a drink and then the bus home.

We asked for a hot chocolate with Baileys, and we got Baileys with some melted chocolate.

 Despite the weather mishap at the beginning of the day, we all knew we wanted to come back in the spring, when prices are lower and we could maybe make a weekend of it with hiking.

Beautiful views on the bus ride home.

I also decided that I need to marry someone who either a) knows how and loves to ski, b) is willing to learn to ski or at the very least c) won't have a problem with me taking off with the kids to Colorado.

I can't put my finger on what exactly is so addicting about skiing. But the fresh air, the beautiful views, the challenge and the adrenaline rush combined factored into a fantastic day in the Sierra Nevadas.