Many of us set difficult goals. It’s a necessary life skill. You save for a new car, complete a college degree, work toward a promotion, or go on that dream vacation.
For the last five years, I’ve been working on a much different goal. I’ve been dreaming of guiding skiers into the wild mountains of Japan.
It all started when I was hired to make a documentary film following the exploits of Clayton Kernaghan. The polarizing, Canadian expat was arguably famous for building a ski and snowboarding empire in northern Japan.
He was controversial, constantly lost his wallet, and had confrontations with the Japanese police. But, he was also a genuinely charismatic guy, and one of the best snowboarders I’d ever met. Road trips with Clayton always meant incredible skiing because he knew every inch of southern Hokkaido.
Clayton’s goal was to start Japan’s first modern helicopter and snowcat experience, the Hokkaido Backcountry Club. His plan was to hire professional mountain guides from Canada to run the show. My place in the company was to film the adventures, but after I watched the guides in action, I was convinced their jobs were much more interesting.
The realization hit me during the winter of 2015-2016. I was on a guided backcountry ski trip to the Shiribetsu volcano working as a photographer. My guide, Garret Boyd, led our group into waist-deep powder snow and some of the most effortless turns of my life. This was a much different experience than flying in a helicopter or riding in a stuffy snowcat with sweaty tourists who paid big bucks to be catered to by fawning staff members.
We had to physically put in the effort to climb this volcano, and that action was meaningful. It meant physical fitness, the application of snow science, and the fact that most people just don’t want to hike up a mountain to ski down it. The snow quality was indescribable.
I was hooked on the idea of giving that experience to others, so I joined the American Mountain Guide’s Association (AMGA). My training would consist of professional avalanche safety courses, wilderness medicine, and an alpine skills course. That was just to achieve the basic, apprentice guide level.
Fast forward a few years, and I managed to apprentice with Sam Hansen at Hellroaring Powder Guides in Montana’s Centennial Valley. My job would be to lead clients on snowmobiles into a 28,000 acre mountain range known as one of the wildest places in southwest Montana. That’s where they’d overnight in the Hellroaring Hut, situated on the flanks of 9,337′ Mt. Nemesis.
The terrain here was incredible, with excellent skiing in the high alpine bowls on Mt. Nemesis, along with descents of nearby 10,216′ Mt. Jefferson. The highlight for me, was snow camping on St. Patrick’s Day 2019, and leading clients to a series of steep couloirs we nicknamed – what else – “The Shamrock.”
However, my life changed dramatically last November when I got a call from the owner of a small guide service in Niseko who needed extra help. Could I make it by Christmas?
I had booked tickets by the end of the week.
My destination (again) would be the island of Hokkaido, known for its tremendous quantity and quality of powder snow. Life for the next 45 days would be nothing but eating, sleeping, and skiing a variety of snow conditions dictated by the wild weather that flowed from Siberia over the Sea of Japan.
Unfortunately, the storms here are unpredictable, and we suffered through one of the lowest snow years on record. The bamboo was still sticking high above the ski runs when I arrived. That meant there would be lots of improvised terrain, and a few disappointed skiers. However, the vast majority of my clients were more than happy to experience Japan’s low snow totals – which roughly equated to a regular snow year for most other places.
Although, I wasn’t totally expecting it, many of my clients were casual skiers or snowboarders who had never experienced skiing without riding chairlifts. Giving them the opportunity to make tracks in deep powder was a tremendous satisfaction that made my job fun.
Ski guiding isn’t just about getting folks out and teaching them the gear and safety protocols. I soon learned that assessing my client’s stamina, skill level, and expectations were just as important. I discovered that many folks were simply excited to just get outside and away from the crowds.
My “ski brain” is hardwired for searching out the steep and deep. Yet, for the average client, a successful ski touring experience doesn’t always mean getting rad. Sometimes, a great day in the mountains is simply about learning new skills in a beautiful landscape away from work or school. No mega cliff drops needed.
And while I did lead challenging ski tours on Mt. Yotei and other steeper zones, most of my experiences involved mellow powder skiing behind the Niseko resort. Maintaining the energy to hike and ski these mountains for days on end was a big challenge, but I loved it.
However, ski guiding in Japan isn’t for everyone. Eating, sleeping, and simple domestic routines become challenging as a guide, sometimes more so than actual skiing.
For example, I rented a small room in a beautiful little cabin with two hardworking, female roommates from Europe. However, the concept of communal living in Japan is always an adventure, and I soon found my cabin had no furniture, just a rug and a small futon mat for me to sleep on. The walls were paper thin, and the bathroom was as cold as a refrigerator! While my roommates worked in the service industry, and came home late at night, I was up at dawn and politely trying not to wake them.
Then there was the food.
I love the quality and availability of food in Japan. Seemingly, every place from convenience stores to small restaurants serves delicious food here. There’s just one catch: when you’re skiing every day, and burning thousands of calories in the mountains, you have to eat like a sumo wrestler to keep up energy! Making food at home is time consuming, and eating at a restaurant every day is expensive. That’s why a large part of my diet included rice triangles and fried chicken from the nearby 7 Eleven. Not exactly gourmet fare.
When I did venture out to the funky restaurants in the Niseko area, I felt a bit awkward compared to the super-rich hordes of Chinese and Singaporean tourists dressed in gaudy, European ski clothing. Food prices here are similar to major resort towns in the USA, and I just couldn’t afford to drop huge amounts of cash at crowded, upscale restaurants full of nouveau riche. The local conveyor-belt sushi joint with its paper hat wearing fish slingers was a better fit for me.
Want to have the best powder skiing in your life? Become a guide. You’ll go out in every condition, from rock hard snow to waist-deep fluff. You’ll recognize the best places for skin tracks, learn where the dangerous cornices are, memorize brushy forest roads, and be able to predict how the wind will affect the snow quality.
With little else to do, I’d go skiing on my off days in Japan too. Some of my best powder days were times spent with a fellow guide, or alone in the mountains with my thoughts. These were important times to check the snowpack, dig avalanche pits, and figure out where I’d be taking my clients in the upcoming days and weeks.
Interestingly, my moment of zen for the season came on a day like this. We’d just had a major storm and no clients on the books. I’d traveled alone to Shiribetsu-dake and climbed to the top. The cornices had been whipped into huge overhanging masses on the ridgeline that separated the north and south summits.
That’s when the helicopter appeared. It was my old friends from the Hokkaido Backcountry Club, shuttling their heli ski guests to the top of this beautiful volcano. I watched as they exited, and prepared for a day of powder skiing which probably rivaled anywhere in the world.
However, I’d made the same climb under my own foot power (and with considerable less cost), and it was my knowledge of snow safety and weather that kept me alive up here. That’s when I realized I had come full circle. This was fully my experience now, and I had the ability to show it to others. I felt grateful toward Clayton and his guides for showing me the ropes, even though I wasn’t in his helicopter filming guests.
I waved to the HBC guides and clients, and began my own path down the mountain, slashing powder turns in the fresh snow.