Lost in Tokyo

If you had told me I’d one day be lost in the chaos of Tokyo, Japan with a 60-pound pack on my back and skis in hand, on my way to chase backcountry lines in the mountains of Hokkaido, I would’ve laughed. But there I was, fumbling my way through the most intricate train system in the world, deep beneath the surface of the largest city on the planet. I was getting looks left and right from locals like “What is this idiot doing here” as I jam my oversized ski case in a packed subway car with adrenaline in my veins. I stuck out like, “A turd in a fruit bowl,” as I like to say. 

Japan is unlike anywhere I’ve ever been. It’s hard to describe, maybe “cinematic” comes close. Every detail feels curated, like some unseen director is orchestrating the smell of Japanese cuisine from street stalls, the chime of train announcements, the quiet respect of locals, or the snow capped peaks outside of the city. It truly feels like a different planet. 

I’ve dreamt of skiing the Daisetsuzan Range for years. After months of obsessing, planning and constantly studying snow reports, I was able to make it happen. I tried convincing any skiers I knew to come along on this epic trip with me but there were no takers. "You can ski in Japan?” was the usual response, followed by some version of “You’re insane for going alone.” But I wasn’t about to wait for someone else to cross this off my bucket list. I had a plane ticket, an avalanche beacon, and a desire for adventure. 

There’s something euphoric about traveling across the world alone. I think everyone should experience it at least once in their life. Just you and your thoughts. It's not like you can turn to your neighbor on the subway and have a casual conversation if you’re feeling lonely. You can’t ask for direction or order food without looking dumb. There’s a barrier you need to work through at every turn. It forces you to grow a pair. The only person you have to rely on is yourself. 

After making it to my final destination of Furano, Hokkaido I heard good news. The weather projected 30 centimeters of fresh powder, or “Japow” as the locals would say. It was music to my ears. I traveled across the world for this and it paid off. I’ve had good days in the mountains but nothing compares to this. I’ve never experienced fresh powder like that and I may never again. I dropped into untouched backcountry lines with bottomless snow that swallowed me past the waist and felt like I was skiing through clouds. Every turn sent white clouds exploding into the air, blinding me in the best possible way.

I think there’s two types of people in this world. Those who live for money and those who live for experiences. I tell myself “What’s the point of having money if you're not going to “do cool shit” with it?” Life is short. And when it’s over, no one’s going to care how many zeros were in your bank account. But they might remember the stories you told, the places you went, and the cool shit you did.