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Show Page A12 Thursday Mar. h l. The Ncwowpi-r By Bpllina Moeiu h il rom out of the snowy tornado tor-nado created by its whirling rotors, the helicopter lifted off the ridge as nimbly as a dragonfly and roared away. A thundering wop-wop-wop then silence. Alone now on top of the ridge, we stood with eyes opened Christmas-morning wide, trying to take in the scenery around us: close by. giant evergreens angling down massive slopes, fading to flatlands and rolling hills dotted with pygmy trees, then miles of mountains pushing their convuluted heads into the sky. But the snow is what we came for, and seemingly straight down, the sparkling bowl gaped open, waiting for us to jump in. So this is helicopter skiing. f i the uninitiated, the idea ot helicopter skiing conjures up strange images: death-defying death-defying leaps from 30-foot cornices into neck-deep snow; squeezing through narrow chutes just ahead of crushing avalanches; or, as one non-skier imagined, sliding down precipices aboard a chopper outfitted with a giant pair of Rossignols. But when you get an offer from Bob Bailey of the Utah Powderbird Guides to trade a night at the typewriter and Mil mm)" !- I'-SwM. - ' V f ; fir ' column inches lor u day in the sun and vertical feet, you cast your fears aside. When Bob said to be at the log cabin on the highway in front of the Farkwest Resort -by"arm.7he needn't have worried about latecomers. Nerves and excitement drove all the skiers there early. But you could tell the veterans they moseyed about making small talk. Those of us who were less seasoned checked and rechecked equipment, asked how steep and deep it really was going to be, practiced pole plants on the wooden floor, and wondered aloud for the zillionth time where a bathroom was. To take minds off flagging confidence, Bailey's ski guides focus on the deadly serious business of safely. There are inherent risks in helicopter skiing, we're told, but they can be minimized by careful attention to detail. Everyone leans forward and listens harder. "Approach the helicopter from the front only," the guide says, pointing to the dormant bird. "Carry your skis flat to the ship to keep them clear of the rotor blades. A ski pushed up into the blades can literally end the day for everyone." Oops is suddenly a word you'd like to strike from your vocabulary. Keep low when you ap rr-- s .... v"N- - - ... - ''''': . - : ' " . .-. - . - ' . sy. , i proach the ship, he says. Buckle your seat belts and don't remove them until the pilot says so; the clicking distracts him. After we land, take two steps out of the chopper, crouch down, and don't move until he flies away. Watch the pilot at all times so he knows you're paying attention, and so you can move last in case a gust blows the chopper toward you. Alter the helicopter procedures, the talk turns to other equally serious instructions. in-structions. "11 you are caught in an avalanche, get free of your equipment and swim to the surface. As the slide stops, put a hand over your fact to create an air space. II you know which way is up, stick one hand in that direction. Stay cool, you will be rescued within minutes." Images of breaststroking down a wall of snow are interrupted in-terrupted by the cool voice explaining how to rescue a buried skier. Everyone on the trip wears a transistor-sized transistor-sized emergency locator around his neck. While skiing, the Pieps is turned to "send." If someone is buried, all Pieps are turned to "receive," and a methodical walk along an imaginary grid begins. With earphones, searchers listen for the beep of the locator to . . r grow louder, until they home in one the victim. A Pieps has been buried nearby for a practice rescue. Here we are on safe ground with a few inches of snow covering the locator 15 feet away, and it takes me five minutes to find it. I feel sick. I thought this was supposed to be fun. Bailey explains that we 12 skiers will be broken into four groups, with a guide to accompany each one. Bailey will be with my trio. While he and two other guides fly a reconnaisance of the bowl we're going to ski first, we're to take the chairlifts to the top of Parkwest to the helicopter pick-up point. Once on top, the group looks more like it's waiting for Jack LaLanne than the helicopter: bodies are twisting and flexing into deep knee bends and toe-touches. toe-touches. Me, I'd be happy to have a tank of oxygen and a tranquilizer. Like out of a MASH episode, someone yells "Chopper!" and the black dot grows huge and lights on the snow. We're the third group out, and by the time it's our turn to go, I'm nearing cardiac arrest. Pre-trip Pre-trip instructions etched in my mind, I practically crawl on all fours toward the helicopter, dragging my skis, level, to be loaded on the outboard racks. Bailey grins at my exaggerated movements. Seat belts buckled (don't touch them again, please), the rotors begin whipping faster until, in a burst of vibration, we're off. If you've never flown in, a helicopter, you soon learn its at least as thrilling as the skiing . . . especially with John Freehof at the controls. He was a copter pilot in 'Nam, someone says, as if that explains why we're skimming just over the Litre is 'bowl treetops. Through the windshield, wind-shield, Dutch Draw looms, and in a flash, John lands us on a ridge that seems maybe a foot wider than the helicopter. helicop-ter. Two, count, them, two steps out of the helicopter, we drop to one knee and look intently at John. The blast of snow from the rotors threatens to whisk away hats and goggles, not to mention breath. As fast as rubber limbs can move, we put on our skis and move off the landing area before the next group arrives. Like ducks waddling after their mother, we traverse along the ribbon of ridge behind Bob to the top of the bowl. It's awesome. It looks like the inside of a porcelain teacup smooth, shiny snow clinging to the steep, long, open bowl. Now this is being high on life. "Just to be on the safe side, we'll ski down one at a time," Bob says, ever-conscious ever-conscious of avalanche hazard. "Always be aware of where you're going to go if a slide comes down." He motions to a wooded area to the right. "I'll ski down first then why don't you (Oh, no, not me, I'm not ready yet) follow," he says, thankfully pointing elsewhere. He makes beautiful, sweeping turns, sending up glistening rooster-tails of snow. He stops at the bottom of the bowl, out of the potential path of an avalanche, and waves Mary Frank Verrone to follow. Nervously, she jumps in, and minutes later a clean set of tracks crease the snow next to Bob's. Me, Bob? Now? Please, oh please, don't fall. Don't let me be the one to put a big divot in this divotless field of snow. People pay good money to gaze up from the bottom at their uninjured tracks. I push off and sink to my knees in snow that feels like a tub of margarine soft, smooth and whipped to perfection. per-fection. Maybe they were tracks only a mother could love, but they were made standing up. That's it, I'm ready to take on the world. First-run jitters over, everyone breaks into smiles and back-slapping.From the bottom, the bowl looks even steeper, and each person pauses to savor his tiny victory. vic-tory. Bailey's smiling, too, offering praise and style tips for a better second run. You can tell he's having fun, but his good time seems to come from the knowledge that w . ; jist a of oowder Jl 4' everything is under control: skiers are clear of the . helicopter, equipment is ready for loading, and all the groups; are accounted for. He's in constant radio contact con-tact with group leaders and the pilot. Efficiency is the name of the game: it cuts down on hazards, and gives skiers the most for their money.' While we wait for the last of our group to arrive, Bob points up at the bowl to potential slide paths and shows us where we should have gone if a slab had come thundering down. His matter-of-fact approach is calming. So is the fact that in the Utah Powderbird's six-year-history, 3,000 skiers have been taken into the back bowls by helicopter, and there's been only three incidents: a broken leg, and two skiers caught, but uninjured, unin-jured, in small slides. "That's not to say they couldn't have been killed in those slides," Bob says. "But they weren't. I think that can be attributed to the orientation we give, a certain cer-tain amount of luck, and the fact that we know our jobs." Back in the helicopter heading up to the top of the bowl again, it's reassuring to know that Bob has 13 years of ski-teaching behind him, and certificates of - aiiMfcMit,ii . rr . . Jrrl' 4 - graduation from two national schools that teach avalanche forecasting and rescue procedures. His six guides also boast long-time experience and training. This is a class act. As the morning progresses, we make tracks in Dutch Draw and West Monitor and each of the runs offers different snow depths and conditions, new terrain and scenery, and constant thrills: wide-open, rolling runs, quick bursts through the trees, and demanding drops down steeper gullies. The ear-piercing wolf howls signal the level of ecstacy. For energy, we gulp down gorp and juice carried as part of the essential equipment equip-ment in the 40-pound packs worn by the guides. Inside is emergency medical equipment, equip-ment, binding repair kits, flares, collapsible shovels, blankets "all the basic survival sur-vival gear," Bailey says. Out there with the sun beating down on our faces while we rest in the empty, quiet bowi, it's hard to think of this as surviving. This is living. I try to think how I'll ever explain ex-plain all this to the folks back home in Philadelphia, After six runs that couldn't be beat, we get ready to board the copter for the last run of the day appropriately Homelight. Bob lets out -VI V if: " Photos one of his tickled-pink giggles, winks at John Freehof, and tells us we're going for a little ride before we set down again. We lift off tail first and rocket up to just above the tree tops and follow the forest until a bald ridge appears. ap-pears. Like a magnet, John jugs the curve of the mountain, moun-tain, then pulls the helicopter helicop-ter straight up into a stall. The copper dives headlong down past the ridge, following the curve of the bowl. We are weightless, with stomachs squeezing for space in our throats, shrieks of laughter Our and terror only egg John on, and he pulls up and makes another pass. It occurs to me that 99.9 percent of the population of the world will never feel this sensation, and it really is too bad. Once we're on the ridgetop, John does another spectacular stall, then disappears into the bowl. Just as Bob says "Watch out" with a laugh, the chopper chop-per appears out of nowhere and roars by so close to our heads, we all duck. The last think I see before I hit the deck is John's wide-mouthed grin through the windshield. The last run is as spectacular spec-tacular as the first, but it's hard to ski onto the packed snow of Thaynes Canyon v 4 $ K II -1 11 f.! 0- by Nick Nass and Kim Krazicr t ;v A back in the civilized world of the Resort. At the end of the canyon, a van waits to pick us up for the trip back to Parkwest. Ah, it's Miller time. elicopter skiing is not for everyone. But if you can handle Jupiter Bowl at the Resort in everything from fresh, light powder to heavy crud, then Bob says you're a candidate. For $175, the Utah Powderbird Guides guarantee seven untracked runs averaging 2,000 vertical feet each in either the Park-west Park-west area, the Uintas, Sessions Mountains, Mill Creek Canyon or north of Parley's Canyon. Reservations Reser-vations are required, and can be made by calling 649-9739. 649-9739. Weather, of course, determines whether your trip can go on its scheduled date, but should it be cancelled, can-celled, you will be rescheduled as soon as possible. For those who have trouble remembering their good time, a photographer generally accompanies groups. On our trip, Butch "Wasatch" "Wa-satch" Warren managed to miss the many wild-eyed, wild-eyed, out-otaontrol moments, mo-ments, and caught most of us m lairly respectable form. |