“You know,” he said conversationally as we resumed our trek, “snowshoeing really is like a relationship in one way.”
“How’s that?” I asked, hyperaware of every step, determined not to fall again.
“It’s all about finding the right balance between looking ahead to where you’re going and paying attention to what’s right in front of you.” He demonstrated, lifting his snowshoes with deliberate care over a small drift. “Too much focus on the big picture, and you miss the obstacles at your feet. Too much focus on the immediate steps, and you lose sight of your destination.”
I glanced at him, surprised by the insight. “When did you get so wise about relationships?”
He shrugged, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “I’ve had a good teacher these last few weeks.”
I adjusted my steps, and sure enough, the effort lessened. The slope forced us into a zigzagging descent, each turn kicking up a spray of powder. Even with the snowshoes, my thighs burned by the time we reached the far side of the slope. Behind us, we saw Desiree and Cherisse had realized their mistake and gone back for snowshoes.
The trail leveled out, merging with a groomed cross-country ski track. Ray looked around. “They must have some skis around here.” There was a small hut at the edge of the trail, and he moved smoothly over there in his snowshoes.
“Yup, cross-country skis here,” he said, already beginning to take off his snowshoes.
“How can you tell the difference?” I asked, as I joined him.
“Cross-country skis are long, narrow, and designed for gliding across varied terrain, while downhill skis are shorter, wider, and built for stability and speed,” he said.
Ray was already taking off his snowshoes. “Fortunately, we did some of this in North Carolina too,” he said. “This would be a good time to add a layer. While it’s still not too cold, let’s add our long-sleeved thermals.”
When I took off my parka I realized how frigid it was up there, and I hurried to put on my thermal shirt. Only when the parka was back on did I start to warm up again.
“Use your legs more than your arms,” he instructed. “Keep a steady glide, and don’t fight for speed. Efficiency is everything.”
I pushed off, trying to mimic his smooth stride. For a few minutes, I kept pace, but as the trail curved into rolling hills, my form faltered. My breath grew heavier, my coordination slipping. Ray noticed and slowed, matching my rhythm. “Just relax into it,” he said. “Find your tempo.”
Bit by bit, I did. The landscape transformed as we entered denser forest, the evergreens towering around us, their boughs heavy with fresh snow. The trail climbed, the incline growing steeper, and soon we reached the final challenge: a sharp ascent winding between thick pines.
“This is where it gets tough,” Ray said, unclipping his skis. He leaned them against the rack and opened his pack again. “We’re above two thousand feet now. The air’s getting thinner. Take slow, deep breaths and don’t rush. And let’s layer up again.”
I followed his lead, pulling on an extra fleece as the wind sharpened. Each step became a deliberate effort, the altitude pressing down on my chest. Ray moved with instinctive efficiency, pausing at intervals to check on me. “Keep your pace steady,” he advised. “If you push too hard now, you’ll burn out fast.”
I wanted to argue, to prove I could handle it, but he was right. I fell into his rhythm, mirroring his breathing, his careful pacing. As we climbed higher, the trees thinned, revealing sweeping views of the valley below. The sight was breathtaking—or maybe that was just the altitude.
When we reached a small plateau, Ray motioned for a break. We sipped water as we adjusted to the thinner air. “You’re doing great,” he said.
I glanced at him, recognizing how much I’d relied on his experience to get this far. “I get why you love this,” I admitted. “There’s something... different about moving through this kind of landscape. It demands patience.”
Ray smiled. “And trust.”
We continued the climb, side by side, step by step, until around the curve we saw the ski lift. In front of it was another clue box.
“It’s a driver switch,” I said, reading the clue. Up ahead, the lift carried skiers up from the base of the mountain then returned, usually empty. “The teammate who did not do the parasailing must now ski down the slalom course.”
Ray looked as happy as I’d ever seen him. He hurried off to get his skis and boots, and get fitted for his headset camera. Cody and I walked over to the ski lift to ride down to the finish line.
As I waited for the chair lift, with Cody in the background, Zara joined me. Her cameraman moved up next to Cody. The two of them appeared to be comparing notes while we all waited.
I was surprised that Zara and Maddox had caught up to us. “How did you guys get here so fast?” I asked. “Weren't you on the Madrid flight?”
“Lucky break,” Zara said, settling beside me as we waited. I studied her for a moment - she had that carefully curated influencer look with platinum blonde hair in beachy waves,oversized sunglasses pushed up on her head, and somehow managed to look put-together even after running through airports.
“Our flight landed thirty minutes early—tailwinds or something—and we managed to get the first taxi to the beach. I’ve done parasailing before so we zoomed through that challenge, and Maddox is a demon driver. He took those hills like they were nothing.”
“Very good.”
“And I went to boarding school in Switzerland, so I know all about mountains. I wish I’d been able to do the slalom. Maddox is more of a warm-weather guy.”
