The Mountains That Bind

Our socks are hung above the wood-stove, knee-highs crowded among layers of shed nylon and merino. Reversing our preparations from this morning, gloves, hats, goggles join the suspended clothing where they can dry.

Today’s objective in the mountains was challenging so we take stock.

We are safe.

We are home.

Our family and friends know this too.

This home of ours is not opulent, but the lights are on. We have food. We have fuel. We have water. Our elderly dogs and cat jockey for position on a formless sofa, and the only thing dropping from the sky is sleet. A typically Spring inconvenience where we would prefer snow, tonight we’re grateful for shelter and safety. Our weekly escape to the mountain has concluded and the pelting on the roof is mere liquid, not metal.

Not ordnance.

Not explosive.

We flocked to the mountains today by choice, not necessity.

We didn’t flee.

We didn’t carry our pets, children, parents, neighbors.

We didn’t have to choose what or who to save or leave.

We didn’t leave our home behind, and in our familiar mountains here in the interior of British Columbia, we never once felt like refugees. Our trip, our flirtation with hazard and risk in avalanche terrain was temporary.

Hazard and risk, threat and fear dominate our friends’ lives right now. They are in Kyiv. They are in Mariupol. They are in the Carpathians. They are in Ukraine.

Some of the women and children have made it as far as Poland. My friend’s wife and toddler are in Romania while he and other men of fighting age remain behind.

I have always been skeptical of people who drape themselves in flags or banners, have always gravitated to activities less geared towards teams, winning, and uniformity. Cheering millionaires in arenas has always felt bizarre, my interests more in solitude, calm, peace and the sublime.

Mountains were a natural fit.

I know this to be true of my friend, too, but the Russian invasion, the informal declaration of war on Ukraine has him reeling.

We exchange short, clipped messages.

Today I have bad mood- I am sad my wife and daughter not with me- But they in safe place

Yuriy is a mountain biker, a snowboarder, and photographer. He was a semifinalist in the Redbull Illume competition this season, is proud of his work as an artist, a sportsman, a husband and father.

He is just like you or me.

And he is my friend.

I speaking English, but not good he explains.

“Your English is good, better than my Ukrainian (I have none!)”

We write about the mountains he loves.

I am not in Carpathians, but in safe place

Now safe

But I don’t know how long

My wife with little daughter today gone to Romania

“How can the mountain community in Canada and the U.S support Ukrainian people?”

I wait. I imagine Yuriy’s present surroundings.

Sorry, for this question I have not answer, maybe not support… Snowboarder, skier, mtb and other sport- Now we have not categories of people

“Just Ukrainians. I understand. What do the people need?”

Rapidly, Yuriy types his answer, No fly sky zone- Under Ukraine- It is major- we have not many air defense

“I agree, but NATO, others scared of result w Putin.”

Yes, I know

And like that I have nothing. What am I going to tell him? How the snow rode today? How Rossland keeps getting short-changed on snow but the riding is great up valley? We have everything in common but are worlds apart right now.

I offer a lame bit of insight, “Canada was first barring Russia from Canada controlled airspace,” and instantly conclude with,” But not enough.”

But what will happen next… Canada our allies- Good allies

“Many Ukrainians (are) settled in Canada,” I observe.

Again, it smacks of lame-sauce. I’m making small talk, chit-chat with a man in a war-zone.

Thankfully, he steers the conversation.

Many my friends go to territorial defense- Many sportsman

I have friends from Kyiv in Canada

All Ukrainians help our army, but Russians… bombing peaceful houses

I look around our 1930’s farmhouse, the single pane windows, the splintery fir floors, the glaring jankiness that finances and a ski bum lifestyle prevent me from tackling.

We have everything right now, our safety, security, stability. And a continent away our friends struggle to survive.

I scroll through Yuriy’s photos. A night-time shred session in Kyiv could as easily have been downtown Nelson, Crested Butte, Jackson or Tahoe. The mountain biking and climbing are as easily transposed. The photos of his daughter, and, further back, his pregnant wife jar me.

It isn’t just our activities that bond us, it’s our lives and the choices we have made, and the choices we are forced to make that define us.

What would I do in his predicament?

I believe we have a duty not just as mountain folk but as human beings to help.

Please help.