Author: Ruby Rodríguez

Perhaps one of the most valuable and debilitating traits I inherited was a healthy of fear of everything. Literally everything. Mis padres siempra han sido miedosos despite the many bold decisions they’ve made (including their willingness to trade in the familiar calles of Ciudad Neza for the concrete grids of Southeast LA). Us Piñons are full of contradictions. In my case, I’d rather scale a granite mountain than deal with my irrational fear of El Cucuy. In fact, my paralyzing terror once compelled me to quit a job because I was /am convinced that there were/are ghosts in the basement of my would-be office.

My family claims we’re not religious. However, at any given time, there are a minimum of five veladoras at my house. Just in case.

Needless to say, this semi-paralyzing fear of any unexplained noise and all unlit corners followed me outside.  I titled this blog after the many nights I’ve spent wide awake rattled by every little rustle outside my tent. My thoughts devolve quickly in this frazzled state. Just to give you a sampling of my constant terror, here’s how my thoughts tend to unfold….

“I’m so tired. Bedtime….and what was that?”

“Oh right…water because we’re next to a creek. All good”

“Shit – what if it’s a cougar? That’s a terrible way to go.”

“There aren’t any cougars in North Cascades, right? But they are reintroducing grizzlies…so maybe….or ghosts!”

“I need to pee.”

“If I go pee, I’ll get eaten. Best to hold it. ”

“But if don’t go, I’ll wet the sleeping bag. That would be the worst. Plus my camping mate is super cute…that’s like half as bad as getting eaten.”

“I’m going outside.”

“This is how I die.”

I always pause when people ask if I believe in ghosts. Because no, of course not. But also, I shouldn’t say that because that would make the ghosts mad. So .. yes? But mostly no.

As you can imagine, I don’t often sleep well outside. Fear, compounded by that musk you get after 48 hours without deodorant, usually keeps me wide awake. I end up groggy, sleep-deprived and frustrated by the end of the night. So, as you might rightfully wonder, why subject myself to this? Why bother camping?

Well, it’s the mornings. It’s the first whiff of crisp mountain air that comes rushing in as you unzip your tent. It’s the excitement you feel when you discover that a glacial mountain was hidden behind yesterday’s clouds. It’s that first sip of pippin’ hot coffee from a campfire stove. If I don’t get through the night, I don’t get the mornings.

That’s the thing about our fears, anxieties, and irrational worries – they seem utterly useless yet they often lead us to moments of clarity. Fear is irrational and unwarranted but still deeply rooted in who we are as individuals. My miedo is part of who I am – my overactive, often imaginative mind, has led me to both moments of intense terror and unexpected courage. Morning coffees are made all the sweeter by knowing that 101 things outside my tent have not yet killed me. I worked through my fears and earned my alpine sunrise.

Aspiring REI model. Contact agent for bookings 😉

Even as I’ve logged in more hours outside, I’ve never stopped being terrified. And that’s okay. I’ve come to start appreciating fear as a necessary part of the human experience. Es parte de mi vida. Besides there isn’t anything really worth fearing in the woods – except running out of trails snacks.

My goggles were so fogged I could faintly see other people around me or formations on the ground. The wind was strong and blowing me off my tracks while snow pellets were striking the exposed skin on my face. I could not stand up long enough to advance forward without sinking a foot down, and several muscles in my 5’2” frame I didn’t previously know existed, were fatigued from getting up after countless falls.

But I’m a martyr, y de esa manera seguí todo el dia. This is the memory I carry of my first experience snowboarding.

It was not good.

As I awoke the second day, I felt defeated and fearful of the idea that the challenging conditions on the first day, were setting me back from a personal goal I had carried for years — to learn a snow sport. I acknowledged the intention I set years back had manifested in front of me, even if it came with the uneasiness of rolling solo. So I gathered myself, and headed toward the mountain.

At the rental counter I looked at the skiers near me and felt envy. It seemed they had it easier because they are not constrained to one board. I will admit that part of my hang-up with skiing was that I perceived it as less of a “cool” sport. But considering I wasn’t yet fully invested in snowboarding, and given my less than joyful first day experience, I put my judgments aside and booked a ski lesson in the spirit of honoring my curiosity.

My boyfriend at the time was part of the weekend ski-patrol team, which meant I was on my own during these two days and only planned to see him for lunch. The night before we had driven up to Lake Tahoe from Sacramento. I was excited but the weather conditions were putting a damper on our moods. His response to the news alerts to stay off the roads because a record-breaking snow storm was hitting the Sierra Nevada region was, “don’t believe the hype!”

I kept hearing this in my head as we drove that night through a storm and fog so thick we couldn’t see more than 30 feet ahead of us. To our disappointment, the window defroster was also faulty and we were forced to drive with the window open. To make matters more interesting we hadn’t engaged the four-wheel drive and were sliding all over the road, but it was unsafe to stop due to the poor visibility and the risk of getting rear ended and pushed off a cliff. No big deal (Insert winky emoji here).

“Was this ‘hype’ or poor planning?”, I wondered as I sat calmly in the passenger seat. In true Catholic guilt form, I of course, thought of my mother who would probably be furiously asking, “¿Pero porque se fueron en esas condiciones?”, should anything really tragic happen to us.

I still vividly remember the stressed out look on his face while he was driving, and me not being able to contain my nervous laughter as much as I wanted to. Hilarity is usually the coping response my body resorts to in times of stress. I found comfort in texting my sister humorous goodbye love notes to keep my mind off the reality of the situation, and to avoid going into complete panic mode.

The road conditions I faced the first morning.

But on that second day, from the minute I stepped on the mountain I felt the slopes welcome me with open arms. Lake Tahoe sat gleaming before me with its glass-like surface, and dazzling backdrops. The sun’s rays provided both warmth and exposed the vivid blue sky for miles. The mountain had also been groomed allowing me to stand without sinking immediately. Within the first hour of the lesson I had learned to make turns while gliding down the mountain (that’s code for I was feeling like a rockstar newbie), and had a basic understanding of the power, but most important SALVATION, of my ski edges. At that moment, everything that had led me to that point over the weekend had been worth it. The feeling was pure ecstasy.

First Day on Skis Engaging My “Pizza” Pose.

From that day forward, skiing became my gateway drug to recreation in the outdoors. Being on the mountain felt blissful. I had grown up in a beach town and the beauty of snow covered wilderness for miles was something I had never really bonded with. On rare occasions it would snow in the local mountains and my dad would come home to ask “¿Quieren ir a la nieve?” This meant he was prepared to drive us in his truck, 45 minutes up to the local mountains to play in a thin layer of snow. Those experiences were valuable in their own right, but for the first time that weekend, I had just experienced this mystical thing I knew only from the cover of magazines: POWDER.

Digging myself out of the powder.

I would stop all the time to stare at the scenery in disbelief.

I continued going often for several seasons. It was an experience where the physical learning led me to a place of spiritual and personal growth as well. Oftentimes the wind or snow falling from the sky would turn up in a matter of minutes. The mountain would clear of people, and the fear, or miedo, of being alone on top of a mountain, in the cold, with only the sound of the wind hissing through the trees would paralyze me. Again, I would hear my mothers voice in my head, “¡Graciela! ¿Porqué tienes que hacer esas cosas?” In other words, she wondered why I insisted on putting myself, in what she considered, dangerous situations.

One of the many times I found myself alone on a ski run during a snowstorm.

After sitting on the snow for a few minutes, I would assure myself I could get down the mountain safely without injury or getting lost. It was during those moments I most intimately connected with the mountain. I was left with no choice but to trust the space I was in as well as my own abilities. Most importantly, I learned to restrain my fear to a place I could use it only to keep me humble, but not to prevent me from growing. Adios Miedo. I no longer feared solitude in the wilderness for I realized I too was born wild. The snow under my feet was the same water I was made from, the sky above me was the same one that had shielded me as a child, and the advantage to playing in the mountains over my backyard, was the mountain had no boundaries. This was the beginning of my journey to becoming a steward of the outdoors.

Graciela Cabello is the National Director of Latino Outdoors. When she’s not dreaming of powder days, she’s enjoying numerous other outdoor spaces and activities that skiing opened the doors to.
Instagram: @Vida_Prana
Twitter: @TweetGraciela

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