Sugar Mountains

I get off the lift but am too busy to notice my surroundings just yet. I rode to the top of Mt. Kagura alone, and have been following on the footsteps of a group of Japanese riders that obviously know the mountain well.

We all congregate around the lift area and sit on our asses while fixing our loose boot to the snowboard. We exchange a few looks and smiles, and I can tell that I am welcome to follow them. My bright orange helmet is a source of amusement and soon enough we are all strapped in and start riding away, except that we head in the opposite direction of the marked runs.

It snowed all of yesterday and overnight, and I woke up to a bright sunny day with no wind and more than half a meter of fresh snow on the ground. I’ve been eyeing the top of the mountain all day long, and finally after lunch I rode several lifts for half an hour to get here.

There is a flimsy rope that separates the marked runs from the wilderness, but it’s no serious obstacle. We simply duck and ride past it. We keep going a little bit longer until we reach the edge of the mountain and I finally pause to take in the scenery. I’m in the middle of the Japanese alps, and there are snowed mountains as far as my eyes can see. Before me there is a steep bowl full of fresh powder snow, with a few trees dotting the landscape. We exchange nods, and drop in one after the other.

My legs are on fire, keeping the snowboard stable while I ride the mountain far faster than I should. I take a right to avoid a tree, and soon enough I separate from the group. They are taking a small run to go back to the same lift and repeat the exercise, but I want to ride the mountain to the bottom on these unexplored runs. I ride the top of a ridge until it’s over and drop into a second steep bowl, but with more trees this time. The snow is light and feathery. I spot rabbit trails and a couple of skiers who are trying their best to keep from sinking in the meters of snow below them.

After five minutes of serious riding, I reach the cafeteria below and find my travel mates waking up from a well-deserved nap. I insert 150 yen into a vending machine and collect a warm can of cafe au lait. From my pocket I produce a frozen granola bar and nibble at it here and there. The grin on my face is obvious.

“How was the run?” — they ask.

I am reminded of my favorite cookie recipe –  brown butter meltaways by Sherry Yard. The last step is to dust the cookies with icing sugar, and Yard’s suggestion is to think of the mountains of Austria to know how much sugar to add.

“It was like a big bowl of icing sugar, and I was floating on it.”