Ski it like you mean it

One of the comments that I received on my previous two posts, was that I am biased toward LDS. I’d like point out that I feel the same way about all religions (Judaism including), with perhaps a few certain traits in Buddhism being an exception.

I have been very busy this week, trying to find deals or rent Backcountry and Avalanche Safety gear, which is very expensive, so I can venture out into the Wasatch Backcountry and finally live my dream of Ski Mountaineering.

Lately the weather in Little Cottonwood Canyon was not the best. However I might be impartial, because Wednesday, February 18th, was the best day of the season in Alta. After almost 7 days of daily snowfall, it was sunny, warm and there was about 10 inches of powder in the Wasatch. All of the Powder-hounds from the valley ascended the hills of Little Cottonwood Canyon and the place was skied to shreds in just a few hours. The Zen-like purity of the perfectly shaped lone ski track on the mountain side is an art form close to the Chinese Calligraphy. The most impressive track of the day was left on mount Superior (click on the picture to see it better - track is marked with the red line). Not only it’s a very long hike (about 3 hours), the descend is rated S5 which means it is between 45–55° and you’d be lucky to live through a fall. Whoever left that track, has my outmost respect. This dude (or dudette) has the skill of a true artist and the “balls of Steel”.

I will write more next week, in the mean time, take a look at a few pics that I took in the Little Cottonwood Canyon:

http://picasaweb.google.com/karasikfried/LittleCottonwoodCanyon

From Joseph Smith to Mitt Romney

There are large numbers of materials on the web and otherwise, that give detailed account on how Joseph Smith was able to convince good number of folks that he was a Prophet. Naturally there was a great deal of skeptics. In fact his “preaching” pissed off so many people in both New York and Pennsylvania, that Prophet’s life was threatened. Old charges of being a “bullshit artist” and “imposter” kept creeping up. In addition there were accusations of adultery, theft and embezzlement of funds. Things had gotten so bad that Prophet Smith and his loyal “flock” had to flee to the frontier territory of Missouri, and Nebraska. In the process of establishing his “Church”, Joseph Smith managed to alienate not only none-believers, but also those who were his first converts (including his wife, Emma Hale-Smith and his son). Curiously enough, majority of early Mormon’s who broke away from Smith were still convinced that he was a Prophet, although an asshole or as some people would say a “complicated” and “controversial” person. One little episode in Joseph’s life was especially interesting. When he was caught having an affair with a teenage house-keeper, Prophet Smith announced that he wasn’t “cheating”. But he never denied that “he had a sexual intercourse with that woman”. Quit an opposite. Joseph called a meeting of the Church Elders and announced that “plural marriages”, sealed by “his authority or authority of the Church” was a sure way to heaven. He then proceeded to marry, or just have an affair with up to 27 women, some as young as 14 years old and some married to other men. Naturally not every member of Joey’s congregation was happy about the “plural wives” business. But not to worry, the Prophet had an answer to the nay-Sayers: “The women and their families would benefit spiritually from a close tie to the Prophet”. The women in turn were told that “submitting to plural marriage would ensure your eternal salvation and exaltation and that of your father's household”. A father who gave his daughter in plural marriage was assured that the marriage would ensure "honor and immortality and eternal life to all your house both old and young." A number of Josepth’s pals (or “appostols” as he called them) took this theory as far as telling women that screwing outside of marriage was also fine, as long as it was kept secret. This and many other shannanigans led to the arrest worrant issued by the state of Illinois for Joseph Smith and a several “appostoles”. Fearing that angry town folks would retaliate against himself and members of his Church, Smith turned himself in. But it didn’t help. While waiting a trial in the county jail, Prophet Joseph Smith was shot and killed by an angry mob that stormed the prison building. The chucrh leadership then went to a fellow named Brigham Young, who, fearing further hate crimes against Mormons, led them far West through the Rocky Mountains. There they settled on the shores of Salt Lake. Brigham Young went on to establish a Salt Lake City, became a governor of Utah Territory and commander of the Mormon Militia. Brigham Young also commissioned a stone temple in the center of Salt Lake City. Near the temple he built his own recidence and adjecent “Lion House” that accomodated his 55 wives and children. Since the early days of Joseph Smith and Brigham Younhg the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints has turned from a quirky cult into a major religious movement with 13 million followers world wide (Asia and Latin America count more Mormons then USA). Salt Lake City has became the most secular city in Utah, with it’s mayor traditionaly being a none Mormon and sometimes even a Democrat. The Winter Olympic Games in 2002 and waves of outdoor sport junkies from the East Cost and Mid-West added to the divercity. The “near by” Park City is a play-ground for the “rich and famouse”, especially with it’s annual Sundance Film Festival adding to the glamour. It must be noted that despite reports of abuses by Prophet Smith and other “apostoles”, many “plural wives” of governor Young and other male church members were very smart, educated and capable women. They entered the marriage voluntarily after reaching adulthood and did so because they belived that this is their way to solvation and heaven. Even though polygamy was banned by the Church of Latter-Day Saints more then 100 years ago in the Utah’s bid to gain statehood, a number of Mormon fundamentalists still practice it. In my opinion all of the abuses with teenage girls forced into “plural marriages” are results of the ban. I am going to argue that polygamy should be made legal. If a grown, educated woman, belives that it’s her duty to share a husband with other wives in order to reach Heaven, why should the government stop her? Or as the belivers say: “I’d rather have 10% of the 100% man, then have 100% of the 10% man”.

Jerusalem, Mecca and Palmyra.

As promised, my thoughts on Mormonism:


We all know the significance of Jerusalem, Bethlehem, Mecca and Medina to the world religions, however very few realize that a small town of Palmyra, just 24 miles east of Rochester, New York, is the birth place of the religion that currently has 13 million followers, which approximately is the same as the number of Jews. A fellow, named Joseph Smith was born a son of poor farmers in 1805 in the near by state of Vermont. Shortly after his birth, the family moved to Palmyra, New York, where his folks continued farming with little success. Not inspired by daddy’s sham of a career in agriculture, young Joey choose an exotic and glamorous profession of a “seer”: an ancient art of “seer” involves using a “magic seer stone” to locate lost items and buried treasures. As described by his contemporiaries, Joe would place the “magic stone” in a hat, put his face over the hat to block the light and then "see" the information in the reflection of the stone. Even in the age of simple-minded and uneducated farmers of the 19th century rural New York, Joey’s magic enterprise had not been able to net much income. In theory, the odds of finding the treasure were 50/50: he would either find it or not. However, since not very many ancient kings, tribal chieftans, Spanish conqistadors, Caribbean buccaneers, hedge fund managers or any other men of means barried their treasures in Palmyra, NY, Joseph’s success rates in locating the riches were not very good. In fact business was going so bad that young Joey was charged in the Court of Law with being a “scam artist”, “disorderly person and imposter” and had to flee from Palmyra to Harmony, Pennsylvania. By then Mr. Joseph Smith was married to a Palmyra girl named Emma Hale. Since supporting his young family on the “stone sourcerer’s” income didn’t work out, Joey was in a desperate need of a new gig. The 19th century Harmony was neither a financial hub nor a technological or pharmaceutical Mecca. Joseph’s career choices were limited. But being an enterprising fellow with an ambition and a vivid imagination, Joe didn’t become a shopkeeper, stone mason or dairy farmer. No, sir! His plans were much more grandiose. Joseph Smith decided that he is going to be Prophet. And why the hell not? After all Moses was a mere sheep-shepherd, Jesus claimed to be a carpenter (anyone ever saw a stool or a bookshelf with “made by Jesus” on it?) and Muhammad earned a living as a small merchant. It was obvious that their resume was no match to Joseph’s experience with “magic” and “super natural”. Therefore one day, in 1827, twenty two years old Joseph Smith announced to his wife and a few other family members that he received a “theophany” or an appearance of God to man. The story went as follows: while living in Palmyra, 14 years old Joey went to the near by woods to pray, because he wasn’t sure what religios denomination he wanted to join. Aperrranlty the young fellow was torn apart between Methodist and Presbytarian faith. There he had a vision of God the Father, Jesus Christ and “two separate, glorious, beings of flesh and bone”. They told him that no contemporary church was correct in its teachings, and that he shouldn't join any of them. Instead he will be given a new and correct teaching and will become a Prophet of a new religion - the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, or as some call it, the Mormon church. If you don’t think this is genious I don’t know what is. I clearly remember that when I was 14, I also went to the near by woods. And I can assure you that I did’t pray there. Although I too experienced visions of a “glorious being of flesh and blood” (mine normaly resembed either a girl from my school or a neighbour’s daughter). However it was only one “being”, because at 14 I had no idea that I could have the same fantasies with two “glorious beings” in the same time! Clearly Joey’s sophisticaton with such things at the very young age was an indication that he was destined to accomplish great things. It should be noted that shanannigan in the Palmyra woods is now known to history as Prophet Joseph Smiths’s “First Vision in the Sacred Grove” and is as significant for the Mormons as Mount Sinai for the Jews. (To be continued).

Fat is good

I never thought I will say it, but here it is: I love fat. Yes, sure, those skinnies look slick and graceful, but if you ever try to ride a fatty, you would know that it’s the way to go! You’ll try fat, you’ll never regret! That’s right, I traded my skinny Rossi Hellgate for the pair of fat Atomic RT 86 and ripped the powder to shreds. Riding the fat ski turned out to be a lot more forgiving then curving on skinnies. The delicate balancing act of the East cost ice-scraper is no match for the Western fat powder machine. The Atomic is so forgiving, it almost felt like cheating. I was able to recover from a few blunders that most certainly would end up in a crash on my old Rossi. I must admit that at first I was very reluctant to change. Riding the skinny ski is the “old school” and I like to think of myself as such. However now I feel like a druid who dragged the 200 tones slab of rock from Salisbury Planes to the Stonehenge to build a temple, then Christians came, slapped the cross on the dirt hut and there you have it, church. Speaking of the churches, I have been education myself on Mormon religion. I will reflect on it in my next post. Stay cool San Diego or where ever you are. And if you are wondering about the picture… Well, I just like it… ;-)

Getting a fix

It has been 4 days since I arrived to Salt Lake City and I must report that I have been a good boy: I ate vegetables every day, didn’t watch television, went to bed no later then 10 and visited dirty web sites only twice (sorry mom). Apparently the Gods of Powder have noticed my utter righteousness and today I have been rewarded with a foot of fresh powder (Machiek, if you are reading it, do envy me). Skiing in the waste deep, fresh, fluffy snow is the ultimate skier’s high. It feels like an orgasm, snorting coke, winning the lottery and learning that your mother-in-law has moved to New Zealand, all in the same time. And the feeling gets extended with each and every turn.

I and the Knights of the Round Table

I can only guess what went through the mind of sir Lancelot when he’s got his teeth on Queen Guinevere’s panties. But I know exactly what sir Percival felt when he achieved the Grail. Here, Ladies and Gentlemen is THE HOLY GRAIL OF SKI BUMMING: Alta Season Path!

Land of the Free

I don’t know what is your idea of America’s heartland, but here is mine.

Day 4: Fort Collins to Salt Lake City

The “Breakfast Burrito” at the “Farmers Table” diner in Fort Collins resembled a bathroom towel rolled into the cylinder. It was floating in the brown sweet goo, the nature of which I wasn’t able to determine. Fast stop at Starbucks for skinny latte, a drive around Colorado State University campus, quick walk through the historic old part of town and I was back on the road. First I drove 50 miles north from Fort Collins back to Cheyenne, then west on I80. Crossing Rocky Mountains was a surreal experience. It felt like I was driving on the post card. In fact looking into the rear view mirror was exactly that – gazing at the post card. However 60MPH wind forced me to keep my eyes on the road. The small towns in the south central Wyoming were clustered around oil refineries or chemical plants. Most houses are old trailers set on foundation of bricks or tires laid down flat. Clerks at gas stations were greeting me with unfriendly tired looks and bathrooms were filthy, smelly and half of them had no running water. The western part of Wyoming is a desert with tumble-weeds and Union Pacific Freight Trains covered in graffiti and stretching out from one end of the horizon to the other. The reddish hill tops in the distance were armed with spikes of wind turbines. After about 6 hours of driving I crossed Wyoming-Utah border and began climbing up into the mountains again until the road sign said: “Elevation 6800 feet”. A dozen snaking descends took me down past Park City and then lower into the Salt Lake City.

On the Road

Day 1: Rochester to Chicago

My car, heavy with luggage felt like a truck. A few miles west of Rochester I drove into the snow storm and didn’t get out of it until almost 5 hours later in Cleveland, Ohio. I passed through downtown near the Cleveland Indians stadium, then back into the rural Ohio. The scenery stayed pretty much the same from the outskirts of Rochester, all of Ohio, all of Indiana and eastern portion of Illinois. The 3 Christian radio stations reminded me that I was far from New York. Most cars on the road had Indiana plates. “In God we trust” next to the numbers on each plate. Indeed. Factories with blinking red lights on the forest of smoke towers in Gary, Illinois broke the rural landscape. A magnificent scene and a great opening act for the Chicago skyline. After some moderate traffic on expressway near Sears Tower I got to my friend’s apartment building, swapped sweat pants on jeans and off we went to get sushi. Bitterly cold Chicago streets were full of Friday crowds. The two hours that we had to wait for the table were spent shopping for Sake and a short stop in the wine bar with Jesus like barman. After 12 hours of none-stop driving one glass of Vino made me feel very unsure of my actions. The imported from Japan Wasabi, which the place is famous for, brought me back for a short breath of reality, but the 2nd shot of Sake put me back under. I got to my friend’s apartment in the semi comatose state of drunken exhaustion and fell a sleep as soon as I laid down.

Day 2: Chicago to Omaha, Nebraska.

I left Chicago at 1PM EST, full with Starbucks coffee, lox and cream cheese. Passing the down town was the highlight of the day. The drive through western Illinois and the whole of Iowa was very dull. One seeing blended into the other. Flat, snow covered corn fields. Farms on the distance with upstanding grey cigars of silos. Black dots of cattle outside the feedlots. Grey hangar like evangelical churches. “Jesus lives” written on the side of the white barn next to the Marine Corps emblem. Countless billboards. One says: “I work here – Billboard”. Small yellowish structure in the middle of the snow field with a gigantic, at least 40 feet high, sign: “Adult Superstore”. Local towns: Albany, Erie and my personal favorite – Brooklyn, Illinois – 3 hills with a farm house on each and cattle on the hill sides. By the time I reached Omaha, I was driving for almost 10 hours. Bright colorful Casino sign next to the “Welcome to Omaha” broke my lethargic concentration. I got off I80 somewhere in the western suburbs and checked into the “Motel 8”. The place was a dump. Run down with filthy shower curtain and bed sheets smelling of chlorine. If “Motel 8” is a scaled up version of “Motel 6”, I wonder if room in “Motel 6” has bed sheets and shower curtain. Regardless, I was so tired, I fell a sleep with a bottle of water in my hand.


Day 3: Omaha, Nebraska to Fort Collins, Colorado.

The day began with potato pancakes at the Perkins across the street from my Motel. The mid-western latkes came with apple souse, 3 strips of bacon and a frozen ball of butter, as big as an egg. The butter had to be scooped up and removed before it began to melt. Next stop was a car wash, to get the salt off my car, which by then was not black but a zebra color. At 9AM EST I was back on I80, driving torch Lincoln, Nebraska state capital and home of the University of Nebraska. The NPR was broadcasting a show about an architect who built the state capital. Apparently the same guy did Rockefeller center. About 10 miles West of Lincoln I started seeking music, but it was either Country or Christian radio. More over, one very ingenious station was Christian Country! I was flipping through station after station on both FM and AM, my hand was getting numb, but I couldn’t shake off the Dixie Chicks. Finally I decided not to fight the Country, but peacefully co-exist. It seemed to work. After about 2 hours of John Denver nirvana, I came up with my own country song. It went like this:

I was born in the medium size town.
Where the air is pure smog and the grass is brown.
Mama taught at the local school,
But her only son grew up a fool.

My old man was an engineer,
He took me fishing and gave me beer.
But I was drunk after only a few
‘Cause I am no Irish, I am a Jew

Hey, y’all, the sun is shinning
Say “Oy Vey” and quit your whining.
Cowboy up and start to roll,
Like a Granny’s Matzah ball.
Eeeeee-haaaaaaaaaaa!

Then it occurred to me that I could start the first Jewish Country band. I even had an image of myself accepting a Grammy in the white tuxedo and yamaka under my swanky white Stetson. After passing Pioneer’s Village, Buffalo Bill’s ranch and Mormon’s trail I left Nebraska’s planes behind and entered the rolling hills of Wyoming. My first stop was Cheyenne. It turned out to be a very small village with a state capital dome in the center, saloons on almost every block and oil refinery at the East end of town. I walked into the local establishment, called the “Village Inn” to get a cheeseburger and beer. However I was greeted with such a hostile looks by the handful of aboriginals at the bar, that I left after one beer and didn’t order food. Cheyenne, Wyoming was not ready for a Jewish cowboy in the white Stetson. Instead, I got the cheeseburger at Denny’s in Fort Collins, Colorado, the home of the Budweiser brewery and a very cheap Travel Lodge which was home for the night. Ok, I am off on the scouting mission into the town to search for a freshly brewed Budd.