Living in a disaster zone

I live in a disaster zone. But I am not living in northern Africa, enduring a crippling drought. Nor am I living in Queensland, rebuilding a home after it was washed away by flooding. And I am not living in America's Tornado Alley, watching towns have swathes cut through them. I am living in Japan, but nowhere near Fukushima, location of last year's nuclear power plant meltdown. The disaster zone I am located in is Myoko.

The last four days have brought over three metres of snow. Check out reports and videos here. Local trains have been unable to run for several days and the Japanese government has provided aid money to the town of Myoko to assist snow clearing. It has officially been declared a disaster zone. These are most definitely difficult times for non snow riders.

Skiers and snowboarders on the other hand, have obviously had reason to rejoice.

Photo: Damien St Pierre.

Photo: Damien St Pierre.

There aren't many places, the day after Australia Day, you can get turns like this on a popular run at around 2.30pm. Thanks Damo for the sick photos. Check out more of his stuff here.

I have not intended to trivialise the other disasters I mentioned. Not much good can come from them.

In holes

"Haha, are you stuck in the powder, Tom?" asked Matt as he slid up beside me on his snowboard. A frantic look on may face urged him to take closer look. "Oh, are you stuck in a hole, Tom?" Matt corrected himself. A silent frantic nod of my head was confirmation.

The third run of the morning that delivered 70cm of fresh snow is as it should be - the kind of run that make people throw their head back and laugh, say "Whoop!" and high five their friends. (The friends sharing high fives this morning are Matt Hull, Damien St Pierre and Tim Hayes). As I pull in next to Damo, and am half way into throwing my head back to laugh, he yells "Hole!" Seeing the impending ring of doom in the snow fast approaching I spread my skis to skirt around either side of the 30cm wide hole. The added weight of my lanky frame though, crumbles the perimeter of the hole and my skis quickly slide backwards into the abyss. Sensing a slow and painful climb out of the hole if my skis slide any further, I throw my body into reverse and brace my back against one wall and my skis against the other. Solid.

Behind me I hear Damo tearing off his bindings. Being in a similar position to me last year, Damo is instantly empathetic to my situation. He grabs me under the arms as Tim dives in to get a grip on my legs and torso. As the hole steadily crumbles further, the boys use pure strength and awesomeness to drag me to safety.

Peering back into the hole I get to throw my head back and laugh, realising death was not upon me if I had ended up arse-end-first in the mud at the bottom. High fives are shared and maybe a "whoop!" or two and we keep skiing. Crisis averted. Now for some more pow.

Nearby a faded and torn handkerchief hangs limply from an overhanging branch. It seems that the hole is marked after all.

Thanks to Damo, Tim and Matt for saving me the hard slog of climbing out of the hole. Legends.