Hello from Montana

For the past several days, I've been fortunate enough to be accompanying Jane during a wilderness medicine conference she's attending in Big Sky, Montana. In addition to learning about snake bites, knot tying, avalanche survival and water purification, we've both been exploring a strange creature known as a ski lodge, something she's had a few encounters with and something I have absolutely no experience with (unless a long-ago weekend on a bunny hill somewhere in northern Wisconsin counts, which it doesn't).

We enjoyed a tour of West Yellowstone our first full day out here, and I hope to post some photos of that soon, but lately I've been exploring the sprawling grounds of Big Sky and the Mountain Village, and feeling very much the odd man out. To lodge within a ski resort without any knowledge of skiing or plans to hit the slopes is to walk a lonely road indeed, even if you're the only one walking properly and not clumping along drunkenly in front-entry ski boots. I've pestered Jane with so many bone-headed questions regarding the art of down-hill skiing (Q: Do they let skiers and snowboarders share the same slopes? A: Yes. Q: Do you need to wear the special boots or can you just wear regular shoes and tie them around the skies? A: You can't do that? Q: Can you ride the lift just to enjoy the view from the top? A: Be quiet, please, you're embarrassing me) that she finally observed she wasn't particularly enjoying this new sensation - that of Jason displaying total ignorance on a topic.

I admit to total ignorance on the topic of skiing. I remain baffled by the number of turtleneck sweaters I've seen on distinguished-looking gentlemen in elevators. I'm astounded at the popularity of Pabst Blue Ribbon tall boys. I'm both flattered and horrified that Green Day and R.E.M. have taken over classic rock as the music of choice on the grounds. I prefer the views of the surrounding mountains that haven't been scarred by the hands of man. But to breathe in the crisp alpine air at 7,500 feet and to gaze at the 11,000 foot peak of Lone Mountain is a reminder of how beautiful winter can be.