The night of the pink moon

Some years ago I was skiing the Superior loop at Blueberry with my good chum Ann Wilson. It was March and we were lured by that butterscotch sun that at 5:30 makes the woods so much more luring after work than heading home to cook dinner.
We got started late and the sun set while we were still out on the backside, but it didn't matter. Our eyes and balance adjusted to the fading light and we continued to soak the silence and spring smells of the forest.
We were as giddy as otters, our skis in the tracks roller coastering over the ribbon of trail. We didn't have to talk; we knew what we were sharing.
Skiing ahead of me, Ann stopped at a break in the trees to catch her breath. The spot overlooks the deep bowl glaciers have carved from this unusual section on the Sand Plains. Breathing heavy I stopped too, but rather than looking out, I was looking down.
Her skis were pink. And so was the snow.
Of all the times I've skied, and all the colors of snow I've witnessed, pink is not one I can remember.
"Ann, look at that." She saw it too. And that's when we searched the source and found the moon was pink too. It's a ski night we still remember, and now it has happened again.
Last night I met Mindy Nannestad on Wolverine. She was skiing with her brother Josh and his girlfriend Alicia. When we reached the Superior loop, they broke off to head back to the parking lot. Mindy had more time to fill and since as a new cross-country skier she'd never ventured to Superior we decided to give it a go.
Anyone who has skied this trail knows soon after you gulp your nervousness and head out on the more difficult loop your decision is questioned by two steep hills. I've nicknamed them the "Twisted Twins" in reverence to the "Twisted Sisters" we bike up on County Road 480.
When Mindy saw the sign for the alternate route she asked, "Should we do the cut-across?" But watching her ski I knew she was ready--even if she didn't.
Skiing at every level is a test of your skill AND will. The best way to progress is to ski with someone who has a wee bit more confidence and can help nudge you out of your comfort zone. Mindy is strong, very well balanced, and eager to improve. This was going to be a break through night.
Trusting me she climbed to the peak of the first slope. I know she was seriously second guessing when she saw the roll over because her deep brown eyes went wide. She didn't have to speak, I knew the words behind that expression. I gave her a few tips but didn't stall too long before I pointed them down and went for it. . .all the while hoping I wouldn't take a digger and spoil the confidence building.
In seconds she followed, pressuring a snowplow for the start and then letting the skis ride the gully and back up like a pro. "That wasn't bad at all," she smiled climbing to the next peak.
I didn't want to tell her the next one was worse. She'd find out soon enough.
The best way to set a new standard for accomplishment is to immediately build on success.
Last October I watched my son Ian at San Francisco's Icer Air. After testing the sketchy catapult run-in and the cratered landing with a number of other maneuvers, his gumption was up to try a new trick, a double back flip. It was nearing the end of the competition and he knew it was time. In the air, his flipping seemed flawless. He landed and the crowd went bizerk. The announcer was raving. Ian was the hero. But for him, that wasn't enough. He knew he could do better. So rather than stop for the applause he ran from the landing back to the start to try again, this time spinning and landing perfectly.
When Mindy saw the second set of hills I know the gnaw of doubt was back, but she also had success fueling her adrenalin and I wasn't going to turn off that tap.
The rollover on this hill is serious, one of the steepest I've ever schussed on skinny skis. I stopped to caution her that she may feel that tummy tickle in the belly of the hill but her speed--now the fastest she had probably ever gone--would run itself out because the climb on the other side is just as angled as the drop.
I went first and when I got to the climb I yelled back, "I believe in you, I believe in you," hoping she would believe in herself too.
She held on to the snowplow a little longer to check her speed, but then squeezed the momentum to ride up the climb, smiling like a Chessie Cat.
From that hill, Mindy's skiing is forever changed.
Around the bend at the crest of another hill, a puppy in comparison, we toasted water bottles, but we couldn't linger too long because darkness was falling fast.
Fueled by Mindy's accomplishments we flew around the curls and swoops knowing nothing would be as daunting as the "Twisted Twins." I was skating and she was striding.
And then we hit that same spot I remembered from years back with Ann, and again, the snow was pink, my bright yellow Fischers looked pink and when we turned to check out the moon now high overhead. . .it looked pink too.
I shared the story with Mindy.
I ski for so many reasons, but aside from the physical rush, I get out on the trail for the moments when nature reveals secrets.
We took another water break, a deep breath and then were back moving.
Mindy had kids to pick up by 8 and I still needed to get home to cook dinner for Ron.
We hit the rest of the trail hard, horses to the barn, but then at that point we didn't have to talk much, we had already shared more meaning than words.