Love walks with people into the mountains

I once had a guy tell me he didn’t want to date because I didn’t know how to ski. He told me he wanted a mountain woman.

I remember thinking that was so unfair. I grew up in Australia, hours away from the snow and had zero opportunities to develop my backcountry skiing skills. Even if I was interested in learning, which I was, he wasn’t interested in waiting.

When I was 22, I started rock climbing. I had no idea how much I would love it until a friend invited me to climb, which at the time was a terrifying experience. Our local sandstone crag was guarded by rednecks who were exhaustive in their rage, they did not want climbers hanging around. The drive in and out of the crag was almost always code brown material. Because our home crag was so desolate, it was almost a year into climbing that we realised there was a whole climbing community out there.

At 23, I started slacklining. Whenever the chance rose, friends and I would obsessively strap our beginner line around park trees, getting our balance, trying tricks and progressing onto long lines and once a waterline. One Christmas, they rigged a line over New Zealand's deepest vertical shaft, Harwood's hole. I remember sliding out onto the line pinned over deep nothingness and taking in the view. Although I never stood, I experienced an indescribable peace, like dangling there was the most natural thing in the world.

I moved countries and began working as a horse trekking guide at 24. It took me weeks to learn the confusing trails, but a kind colleague showed me how to fake it till I make it. Soon, I was leading horse crazy tourists in the mountains, trotting, taking people for their first canter with fingers crossed, hoping we wouldn’t have to call a helicopter in for a broken leg.

At 25, I went on my first multiday hike after whinging to my dad about how I’d much rather carry a day pack and sleep in my own bed at night than romp around with a heavy backpack. The hikes I experienced in New Zealand are ingrained in my memory as the closest places I’ll find to actual heaven. Being there completely erased my opposition to the weight.

At 26 I was surrounded by people who were infected with a paragliding disease, and I caught the itch. I spent all of my savings chipping away at the high flights needed to get my license. Flying is normally only something you get to taste in dreams, being up there in the wind felt like the dreamworld and reality impossibly aligning. I’d never felt more like myself.

When I was 27, inspired by people I’d met, I felt drawn to the one thing I said I would never do - travel solo. My parents generously supported me with a new home on wheels and I travelled for 8 months in Australia, hiking, driving, sleeping and experiencing incredible places by myself or with quick met strangers. Flat tires, beach views, bugs, run away brakes, dodgy men run-ins, city sleeping, bush isolation, the whole shebang.

It wasn’t until I was 28, years after the dating letdown, that I finally started skiing. Coming from a family of waterskiers, I had some coordination, paired with the 2 weeks of resort skiing as a wee 13-year-old. Now dating my extreme adventure boyfriend who had the patience to teach me, I quickly progressed (mainly through tears) from resort skiing to backcountry skiing, to steeper, to faster, to bumpier, to multiday trips, to late-night snowy creek bed navigating in the dark. Also, throw in there hiking in bear country and ice climbing delicate frozen waterfalls.

When I look back on my life and this bucket list of beautiful experiences I never imagined for myself, the credit goes entirely to the relationships with the people around me. Encouraging, believing in me, wiping up the tears, carrying my skis as I slip down icy slopes, resetting my paraglider as I fail the take off again and again, patiently belaying as I scream through the crux of a climb they could easily overcome, gifting me gear, and lastly but most importantly, having the generosity to invite. I am immeasurably grateful.

The point of sharing is not to say “Look at me now” to that short-sighted boy or prove my status of value. But as a testament that you and I are ever evolving and worth giving the time, belief and patience to grow. We have no idea how the time taken to pass on a skill to another will impact the beauty of their whole life. I think of the people who walked beside me and shared their love for the outdoors tangibly, planting and watering seeds of adventure. I aspire to be like them, passing on the generosity to the curious around me, even if it means a slower day.

I can’t say that I’m a professional, I still look like Bambi sometimes when I ski. I’m definitely still not as talented as that guy whom I once wanted to date, or even the inspiring adventure people around me. But the man who didn’t want to walk with me on the progression journey surely missed out on one soon-to-be mountain woman, and the joy of sharing in the gift of helping me get there.

Love is patient, love is kind. Love walks with people into the mountains.