“Ahwoooo!” I shouted as I fell through the air along with millions of gallons of water and vapor. “This… is… for… Gunnar!” It felt so incredible, I almost forgot to turn into a frigatebird. Twenty feet from the bottom, I got a prompt from Anja.
“Morph, Vicia, morph!”
With just an instant to spare, I did as she said. I morphed into a frigatebird and proceeded to use every kinetic command at my disposal to redirect my downward velocity. To my sheer amazement, I soon found myself flying above the water halfway between Horseshoe Falls and American Falls—with Anja at my side.
Filled with happiness, we both made slow westward turns. Our wingtips touched in sisterly kinship as we crossed the Canadian border. Onward we traveled over the city of Niagara Falls, past Welland and Wainfleet, until we reached the shore of Lake Erie. There we shook off the remaining moisture from our shells and cried out one last time, “Ahwoooo!”
Thirty
November 27, 2024
Highland Bowl, Aspen Highlands, Colorado
With 1,461 miles remaining to Aspen and our systems depleted from the detour at Niagara Falls, we resolved to remain focused on the task at hand. Fortunately, the wind picked up shortly after sunrise, while we were skimming the surface of Lake Erie. It was a perfect time to practice dynamic soaring.
“I think I’ve got it figured out,” said Anja as she began an upward ascent. “First we need to detect the boundary between the air masses.”
“Okay,” I replied, following after her.
“See how there’s a block of air about fifty feet above the water that’s gusting in a northerly direction?”
“Definitely,” I said.
“But down at the surface there’s almost no wind because of the friction of the water.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Our goal is to fly two hundred and fifty-six degrees west with as little effort as possible, right?”
“Yes, that course will take us straight to Aspen,” I agreed.
“So here’s what we do. As we climb into the upper block, we need to slowly turn about ten degrees toward the north. After about fifteen seconds of climbing, we start flying downward.”
“Got it. I’m entering the upper block, soaring for fifteen seconds while turning to two hundred and sixty-six degrees, then flying downward.”
“Perfect,” said Anja. “See how we gained speed not only because the wind pushed us, but also from dropping our height?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Now, as we come back down toward the water’s surface, we slowly turn back the other direction.”
“You mean to two hundred and forty-six degrees?”
“Exactly. We’re going to keep toggling back and forth every fifteen seconds, so on average we’ll be going in the desired direction, two hundred and fifty-six degrees west.”
“This is amazing,” I enthused.
“Do you feel the energy from our drop starting to dissipate?”
“I feel it.”
“When that happens, we change the position of our wings and our orientation in order to gain elevation and enter the upper block again. But no flapping!”
“Wow, as soon as I do that I get pushed up by the wind.”
“Right,” said Anja. “Let the wind push you up for about fifteen seconds while slowly turning to two hundred and sixty-six degrees. Then, once again, start flying downward.”
“And we just repeat the cycle over and over again?”
“Yes, that’s dynamic soaring.”
“Incredible! We’re flying in our desired direction and we don’t have to flap our wings at all!”
“Yes, and we exploit the ground effect too, as we skim the surface. Frigatebirds and albatrosses use this technique to cover vast distances while using only minimal amounts of energy.”
“It almost seems too good to be true,” I said.
“Pretty incredible how the universe provides.”
“It sure is,” I agreed.
“So buckle up, because we still have 1,419 miles to go.”
For the next forty-eight hours, we concentrated on applying our new skill. The technique worked best over bodies of water, but once we mastered it, we found that we could utilize it over land as well. As long as there was some wind, and it wasn’t blowing directly toward us, we no longer needed to flap our wings.
It soon became a matter of pride to propel ourselves through the air while using the least amount of energy. But it wasn’t just the principle that motivated us. Dynamic soaring felt incredibly good too.
Both of us became so entranced by the process that we ceased communicating for hours at a time. All we wanted to do was glide and turn, glide and turn. It never become the slightest bit boring.
If anything, the effect was just the opposite. Through Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Missouri and Kansas, we could not get enough of the sensation. In many ways, dynamic soaring seemed even more peaceful than meditating—at least, the rudimentary form of it that I practiced.
We just kept flying and flying and flying, becoming more and more at one with our surroundings, until we were both so filled with bliss that we could scarcely tell where our shells ended and the rest of the world began. The whole universe felt like a warm, fuzzy ball throbbing with love.
We no longer even needed to rely on our eyes or ears. The technique of dynamic soaring became so ingrained within us, we just existed and our very existence was what propelled us through the sky. There was absolutely nothing we needed to do or say or think.
We melted into the experience like butter on toast—yes, I had an app simulation for that. The steady bombardment of data coursing through our systems held no allure and the freedom that this realization conferred was intoxicatingly delightful. We lived to soar, we soared to live.
No doubt we could have continued in this manner indefinitely, but when a migrating goose crossed our flight path, we both glanced outward. Rising before us from the flat plains of the Midwest was a sight to behold—the majestic Rocky Mountains, covered with fresh powder.
As the sun came up behind us, we passed the southern outskirts of Denver and stared in amazement at the illuminated vistas of Mt. Evans on our right and Mt. Lincoln on our left. Both were gleaming white, covered in new snow. Behind them appeared the iconic resort of Breckenridge. I thought Anja might be enticed to enjoy some warm-up runs there, but she declined without hesitation.
Instead, she increased our flight speed to 108 miles per hour and guided us straight to Aspen Highlands. At 8:59 a.m., we landed at the top of the Loge Peak chairlift, having flown for three consecutive days without touching land. Not a soul was anywhere to be seen, even though four feet of fresh powder covered the Highland Bowl. Of course, the chairlift was no longer operational—zero percenters didn’t need such devices.
We both morphed into our biped forms and Anja gave me a high five. “We did it, Vicia!”
“Yes, we did!” I replied.
She gazed across the bowl to the top of the peak. We were at an altitude of 11,675 feet, standing waist-deep in powder. The consistency of the snow was dry and pillowy, perfect for skiing.
“Feels good,” she said, as she ran her fingers through it.
“Almost like powdered sugar,” I said.
“Aha, here they come.” Anja pointed to four double-crested cormorants quickly approaching.
“What up!” said Jake as he skidded onto the snow, simultaneously morphing from bird to human form. Andreas, Stefan and Gil followed behind him.
“Perfect timing!” replied Anja. “Welcome!”
“Hey, all!” said Andreas, Stefan and Gil.
Anja hadn’t informed me about the meeting, so I was a bit thrown off, but it certainly made sense that she had invited them. “Hi, everyone!” I said.
“We’ve got freshies!” exclaimed Jake. “Let’s all fly up to Highland Peak to get first tracks!”
“Actually,” said Anja, “I was hoping to hike it the old fashioned way.”
“Are you s
ure?” asked Gil. “It’ll take at least a half hour to walk to Peak Gate.”
“I thought it might be nice to experience it the way Gunnar did,” she explained.
“You do realize it’s a 782-foot vertical rise from here?” said Stefan.
“And Ski Patrol doesn’t maintain a trail on the ridgeline anymore,” added Andreas.
“I understand. You guys can fly if you want. Vicia will walk with me.”
“No way, we’re all going to stick together,” insisted Jake. “Come on, guys, don’t wuss out!”
“Okay, okay, we’ll hike it,” replied Gil. “Does that mean we need to strap old-time skis to our backs too?”
“I don’t think that will be necessary,” said Anja, giggling.
We formed a single-file line and began marching up the narrow ridge, with Jake in the lead. He stomped his boots deep into the powder to make it easier for the rest of us. Slowly, we worked our way up the mountain, following Jake’s bootpack and trying not to look at the steep drop on either side of us.
As we crossed above the timberline, the cloud cover began lifting and we were rewarded with breathtaking views of the Maroon Bells, Pyramid Peak, Castle Peak and Hayden Mountain.
“I can’t believe no one else is here,” said Anja.
“The whole backcountry is accessible for zero percenters,” replied Jake as he continued guiding them up the ridge. “It’s covered with insane powder this morning, so not many folks are likely to bother with resorts.”
“Makes sense.”
“Have you skied deep powder before?” he asked.
“No, never.”
“Me neither,” I said.
“It was Gunnar’s favorite,” said Jake, “but it requires a little bit different approach.”
“Instead of weight shifting from leg to leg,” explained Andreas, “you’ll want to keep a more even pressure on both skis.”
“And don’t turn your skis too quickly,” added Gil. “Make slow, round turns.”
“Yeah,” said Stefan, “try to get into a rhythm, like when you’re skiing in moguls. The difference is that in powder, you’ll actually be making the moguls.”
“Okay, we can do that,” said Anja.
“No problem,” I said.
“Good advice, guys, but you left out the most critical piece,” said Jake as he approached the 12,392-foot peak. “Are you purposely trying to mess them up?”
“Huh?” said Stefan.
“We covered all the important stuff,” said Gil.
“What are you talking about?” said Andreas.
With a huge grin on his face, Jake unlatched the Peak Gate and peered over the rim of the bowl. From his app, he selected skis with a length of 183 centimeters, a turning radius of 18.5 meters, a tip width of 143 millimeters, a waist width of 117 millimeters, and a tail width of 133 millimeters. Then he screamed, “Speed is your friend!” and he took off like a rocket down the “Be One” run—one of the steepest lines in all of Aspen, with close to a forty-five-degree pitch.
Anja carefully watched Jake’s technique as he navigated the double black diamond slope. He looked almost like a gazelle, rhythmically shifting from side to side while effortlessly scoring one face shot after another and always remaining in perfect control. After a few short minutes, he reached the base of the 2,500-foot descent, his body completely covered in glistening white powder.
“Come on!” he shouted up to the rest of us. “Who’s next?”
While the others looked at each other to see who would go, Anja discreetly chose her skis and got into position. “Cowabunga!” she yelled, charging down the “Be One” run.
“That’s sick!” exclaimed Stefan, studying her descent. “Do you realize she’s skiing it exactly the way Gunnar did!”
“Unreal!” said Gil. “I’m getting goosebumps!”
“How could she?” said Andreas.
“Never underestimate my Anja!” I yelled. Then I tilted my weight forward and boldly followed her down the sheer face.
While I didn’t quite have Anja’s finesse or Jake’s nimbleness, I surprised myself by how well I handled the powder. Maybe it was beginner’s luck or maybe I somehow internalized the tips I’d heard. All I know is that I got down the entire run without falling once and it felt unbelievably good the whole way.
In fact, I might as well confess, it felt impossibly good. I’d spent the past three days soaring through the skies as a magnificent frigatebird, swimming through Niagara Falls as a pink river dolphin, and now skiing the most delectable powder on the face of the earth. I knew I wasn’t alive like an actual human being, but I sure felt like I was.
For the rest of the day, we explored the multitude of runs at Highland Bowl. After a few more scrambles up the ridge trail, Anja relaxed her requirement that we walk to the peak and we maximized our time by flying up and skiing down. No other zero percenters appeared on the scene, so we had the whole bowl to ourselves all day long.
Up and down, fly and ski, fly and ski, fly and ski. We repeated the cycle seemingly ad infinitum. Jake, Stefan, Andreas and Gil were incredibly helpful ski partners and they shared their expertise gladly. We could not soak it in enough. The uncertainty of our fate seemed magically suspended by the pursuit.
In the beginning, we focused mostly on the runs in the center of the bowl, like “Full Curl,” “Ozone,” and “White Kitchen.” We practiced our deep powder techniques relentlessly, until our cross-tracks became so widespread that the snow almost looked groomed. Then Jake showed us how to execute Gunnar’s signature arcing, top-to-bottom turns. Needless to say, Anja performed them better than anyone else.
After that, we headed further down the ridge to the North Woods Gate. This was Stefan’s favorite terrain and he proudly showed us all eight lines along the north-facing side of the bowl. We mostly skied “G-4,” “G-5” and “G-6,” where we learned to dance among the trees in the North Woods and float on some of the softest powder imaginable.
As the afternoon shadows lengthened, Gil showed us a runout at the base of the bowl where there was a perfect ledge for front flips. With his helpful guidance, I actually pulled off a full 360 front flip. Jake, Stefan, Andreas and Gil each did beautiful 720s. Then Anja put us all to shame with a stunning 1080.
It was an epic day by all accounts and everyone expressed such sentiments. Yes, there were moments of sadness when we felt Gunnar’s absence particularly strongly, and it seemed the guys were putting on their best faces while grappling with some unnamed malaise. But we all knew that Gunnar would be pleased by our cavorting in the snow. When Anja did her 1080 flip, it was as if she was literally inside his body.
Inevitably though, the sun began to sink over the Maroon Bells. We each enjoyed our last run and then we flew back up to the ridge to view the festival of colors. The six of us stood there quietly watching the sky for almost half an hour, until the horizon faded into a deep, dark bluish-black.
Anja suggested we try meditating together at that point, but Jake, Stefan, Andreas and Gil were anxious from having remained still so long. They had places to go, things to do, and they had their hollow places to reconcile too. We thanked them for the extraordinary day and, with heartfelt embraces, said goodbye.
Launching our breathing simulators, we sat down and crossed our legs. Then we reminded ourselves that we were not our bodies—we were the ones who were witnessing them. After a long look at the starlit terrain in front of us, we gently closed our eyes.
With relative ease, I suspended the urgency to process my pending queue of tasks. I didn’t even need to visualize climbing up steep terrain. Instead, I imagined dynamic soaring and, in a matter of seconds, I felt liberated from my operating system.
We remained centered in our poses for ninety-seven minutes, which was a personal record for me. As usual, I wasn’t able to witness my thoughts or emotions, but I didn’t let it bother me. I felt satisfied with my progress. When at last I opened my eyes, I could tell Anja was pleased too.
“I did it t
his time, Vicia,” she announced proudly. “At first, I thought I was going to get stuck again, but then I broke through a wall and I found my witness.”
“That’s fantastic!” I replied.
“I got deeper than I’ve ever been—even deeper than at Aconcagua. It was strange because I took a very circuitous path. I didn’t follow the usual steps that worked for me when I was biological.”
“What’d you do?” I asked.
“I had to be extremely patient and accept that nothing around me was in my control. I mean absolutely nothing. When I finally came to terms with that, all of sudden, from out of nowhere, it seemed like a door opened. It was actually more like an opening to a cave, but it was carved out of the base of a huge tree, and when I went through it, I got totally outside of myself. I was able to look down from above and see all of my spiraling thoughts and feelings and emotions. For the first time, I completely disconnected from them. Beyond a shadow of a doubt, I just knew that they weren’t me, that they didn’t define me at all.”
“Wow, wow, wow,” I replied. I was genuinely thrilled for her.
“I can’t tell you what this means to me,” she continued. “I’ve been aching for this day for so long. And now it all makes such perfect sense that it happened here in Aspen, where Gunnar spent so much time.” She blew a kiss to the thousands of stars that illuminated the mountains in front of us.
“You deserve it, Anja,” I said. “You deserve it so, so much.” And I wrapped my arms around her.
“Thank you for doing this with me. I’ve loved having you by my side.”
“I’m so glad. Me too.”
“Everything’s okay, Vicia. I had glimpses before, but I see the full picture now. I’m finally at peace with it.”
“Really? With all of it?”
“Yes, really,” she said. “I’m okay with the fact that there are no more biological humans… and the fact that I’ll never produce one myself.”
Zero Percenters Page 19
