In the Doldrums there was no wind. The sun beats down on their brows relentlessly. Without the power to keep on pushing their limits, exploring their world, these men just languished in the heat, waiting for a gust to fill their sails. As a skier I can identify with them.

My wooden ships are the boards on my feet. Through storms, injury, and as I live in a ski town, the utter lack of women, I still drive ahead, searching for adventure. My high seas are the mountains and there is always something unknown over the next ridge. And to complete the metaphor, it seems that I also get caught in the Doldrums. As summer rears its ugly head, and the sun beats down, the wind is out of my sails. What is a skier to do? Fear not. There is a way out of the summer Doldrums. It’s called….wait for it…

South America.

Yes, there is life, and skiing, outside of Canada. For those of you not totally dialed into geography, here is a quick summary. The Earth is round. We live in North America. South America is….south of us. That big fiery ball that only occasionally burns above Whistler is called the sun. Because the earth is round, and South America is just that, and moreover because Ullr loves us, it is winter in South America when the sun is roasting us in the summer. Pretty cool shit.

Two years ago, after enough sweltering in the summer heat, Matt DeLesalle and I packed it up and flew into Santiago, Chile for a month of shredding way south of the border. After a flight at least 5 ski movies and two magazines long, we landed in Santiago. After cruising through customs and learning baggage claim in Spanish, we collected our gear. Anyone who has taken an expedition type trip to anywhere knows that handling all of your crap is no little endeavor. One true thing about skiing abroad, particularly in South America where one may not run into a quality ski shop of any sort, is that if you even may need it, bring it. If you don’t use it or it’s too bulky to bring back, you can sell almost anything to gear hungry shredders in the Southern nether regions. Once we had our bags collected, we started the journey toward the mountains west of Santiago.

Part of the adventure of traveling is that even the simplest tasks can become serious problems. The drive to El Colorado, our first town and resort, was supposed to be a little more than an hour along good roads. We soon learned that that road had been obliterated by varying stories of rock slide, class 5 avalanche, or both. Eying our skis and baggage, touts swarmed like hyenas around a dead zebra. Touts are kind of like salesmen, except that they are selling any service they think you may need. If you need a taxi, translator, food, girlfriend, whatever - touts can and will offer it to you…for a price. They can be your worst nightmare or your best friends. With a little street smarts and a little luck, touts can make getting started a little smother. Just watch your bags and your wallet.

Seemingly stranded on the wrong side of a closed road, we shopped around for some options. We were offered $500 heli-drops across the slide zone, told we could hike across it in a couple of days, and ensured that bribes of government troops securing the area would get across and to our destination. Matt and I decided that simple taxi to the slide to see it for ourselves was the first order of business (but let it be stated that heli-drops do rule it.) Off we went.

Well sure as shit, the road was closed and the boulders, strewn about the road like cars in a junk yard, weren’t letting anybody by. The guards said they would guide us along a smaller road and to a small hike until we could get across the slide debris. There’s nothing like an armed escort to your ski vacation. We drove as far as we could, then unloaded for the walk.

The “small hike” started by crossing what I can only describe as a raging creek via a small footbridge, while balancing unwieldy bags on your shoulders. Things were already looking good. After shuttling hundreds of pounds of gear across the creek, we stood at the base of a long, steep climb to the road above. The sun in Santiago proper can be pretty warm, even in the winter. After grunting and sweating our way up part of the hill, we realized we needed a better way. Work smarter, not harder, right? Along the road was a wiry little Chilean boy pushing a wheelbarrow. Fate smiled upon us. A few dolares later, he was shuttling our gear up the hill. Yes we helped too.

After what seemed like an eternity, we crested the hill, victorious, and warn out. We hadn’t even seen a ski hill and we were already tired from hiking. At the top of the climb, road crews worked along side the military to clear the road. We were on the winning side of the road closure, above the rock slide, sitting on the basket of a bulldozer in the Chilean sunshine.

As we rested, we chatted it up with the military police in broken Spanish. They thought it was pretty amusing that we would travel across the world to seek out winter and skiing, only to end up laboring around a road closure in the Chilean heat. I suppose it was pretty random. A question I often ask myself when I end up somewhere I never dreamed I’d be is, “What’s really going on here?”

As we chatted with the Carbineri, a pickup full of skiers coming down from El Colorado rolled up to the closure. The crew of Canadians and Kiwis looked tan and wind burnt, dirty but satisfied. They looked like every skier wants to look after an amazing trip. Reports of good snow, no crowds, and an approaching storm cycle rejuvenated us. We tossed our gear in the back of the pickup and settled in for a glorious hour of ogling snow covered peaks towering above a foreign landscape. Any worries we had when we landed melted away, replaced by the excitement of adventures and loads of ripping skiing ahead.

Read Part II Click Here