Alta Gala 2009

Some photos from a gorgeous night at La Caille, in celebration of Alta's 70th anniversary. A tapas dinner, silent auction, and funk dancing into the night to the sounds of Lake Effect, 3/5 of whom are Alta season pass holders.

Out of normal ski garb, goggle-tans glowing, we were all pleasantly suprised to become acquainted under the greenhouse canopy, a drastic change from our usual elements.

The sensation of feeling as if one is in the right place at the right time is so elusive, and relentlessly pursued. In some cases, ignored for years until it rears as an instinctual longing. The confining ideal of fate dictating the course of one's life is popular, like all things that are easy tend to be. Life is way more complex than that, and because of the one-dimensional limitations of fate and destiny, I am quick to dismiss them. Skew it a little differently, like a scavenger hunt where you make all the calls but may or may not come upon the right opportunities, and I feel more inclined to embrace.


I feel that in coming to Alta for the past four years, I've landed myself in the right place for me - met the people who would teach me the applicable lessons of this chapter of my life, experienced the natural beauty of the Wasatch in a way that will forever change my energy and zest for life.


Love these folks. So very much.

Image TAG-arooski

I got tagged. Supposedly, you're supposed to go into My Pictures, pick the sixth photo in the sixth file and blog about it. Participate at will and do it as you please... here is my attempt.

Sometimes I wish I had stats on things, such as the total number of days I've skied, rides I've hitched, hitchers I've picked up, how many times I've traveled some favorite stretches of highway. Etc.

This image is a snapshot of the mouth of Spanish Fork canyon at sunset last December, as I returned from my beloved Moab.

Over the past three years, I've traveled that road dozens of times. I've laughed, conversed, and even seen death over its painted lines. The surrounding vistas have stolen the breath from me, inspired thought, been grounding in their constancy, and given confidence during change.

I look back on some of the most whole, raw moments of my life, and recall the beauty of the west - the Tetons, the red desert, Montana forests, all viewed through a dusty, bug-encrusted windshield. Windows down, with no regard for the presence of rain, snow, gale force highway wind shrieking in and through the vehicle. The kind of heat that could melt cosmetic presence from my face in salty droplets and rise in blurry currents from the dashboard and hood for months, with no relief from a failing AC unit.

Unconcerned for the conditions, I'd sing loudly, sometimes savagely, lyrics of liberation. The acoustic accompaniment to some sunsets, sunrises kneading peace and contentment into wearied, taut musculature.

Dirtbag vagabonding has been a significant part of life as I've known it the past few years.
JH