Okay, today I'm cutting to the chase. I'm Fitzgahawl, this is the Derback Darius. We've got

a lot of ground to cover, three decades worth. From a Tahoe sledding hill, seen through

the imagination of an eight-year-old, all the way to the avalanche prone slopes of British

Columbia's Selkirk Mountains. I'm very proud to present a new voice.

Becca Cahawl, my wife and editor here at the Derback Darius, emerges from the stage wings

and steps up to the mic to give us all these things. A story about getting older and skiing

faster. As always, today's show was made possible by Patagonia.

Oh, did I forget to mention that there was a helicopter? Stories are always better with

the helicopter. Come on, get in. There's three feet of fresh snow, and this bird, this bird

is ready to fly.

I heard the bright yellow helicopter long before it appeared from the horizon. As the helicopter

landed, the churning blade sent snow flying from the frozen landing pad. I shielded my eyes

with a jacket sleeve, but stole the quickest glance, like a child unable to resist ruining

a surprise.

A week earlier, I wouldn't have guessed I'd be here, at a landing strip on the edge of Canada's

Rugged Ball Hollow Range. The people surrounding me weren't my regular backcountry ski partners.

In fact, I hardly knew anything about them, other than they are all incredible skiers.

My husband was a thousand miles away stuck at work. The avalanche danger was borderline

terrible. Yet these thoughts, the ifs, the butts, and the why-nots, the looping doubt

that can consume them mind, and nowhere to be found.

I grew up skiing with my dad and sister in Tahoe. A lot of those early memories blur

together. I remember the warmth of fires in the tiny cabin. I remember staring down an

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