FWQ Diary: Part 4 - Squaw Valley McConkey Cup 3*

Japanese seasons are always short, but this year Spring comes earlier than usual, with some huge rain events that wipe out a lot of touring possibilities. When you're not slaying deep pow or taking advantage of Hakuba's easy access backcountry, you can either work on your mogul game, or you can do like we did and go somewhere else to squeeze the last drops out of winter.

We fly to Vancouver and reunite with Sweet Georgia Van who's been hibernating at a friend's house for the last two months. She starts right up and we cruise down the West coast to California, stopping for the night in the Redwoods National Park.

Our destination is the legendary Squaw Valley, proving grounds of many a great skier - most famous of them being the late great Shane McConkey. And this year is the first ever McConkey Cup, a new freeride competition in his honour. And I'm going to be taking part in it.

When I mentioned to a fellow competitor at Arai a few weeks back that I would be competing in California this spring, his (totally unironic) response was - 'Oh, so you're going to come last then?' I don't think he meant to be mean, but rather he was just being brutally honest about the fact that the standard of skiing here is off the chain.

I begin to suspect he might have been right as we take the first tram of the day up Squaw Valley on a bluebird powder day. My jaw literally drops as we watch the first skiers coming down, hitting the Fingers and skiing away without a second thought, probably before they've even had breakfast. These are by far the biggest gnarliest lines I've ever seen with my own eyes outside of a ski movie.

The Fingers, Squaw Valley, CA. I eventually hit that tiny one on lookers left. After standing on top of it for about 10 minutes Photo: snowbrains

I'm beginning to wonder if I can hang here. Maybe I was deluded to think I can compete with Tahoe locals. We manage to catch some of the Junior competition which is being held on the same face that we'll be competing on - Keyhole at Alpine Meadows. The kids are insanely good, hitting huge airs I would never dream of attempting. I'm terrified.

In the same day we watch local freeride teams zipping around the mountain after their coaches, all hitting cliffs without a second thought that I stood on top of deliberating for 10 minutes. I'm beginning to feel kind of despondent. I'm imagining an alternate future where I grew up in Tahoe and trained for this my whole life, instead of in a flat country where it never snows and the nearest ski hill is made out of toothbrush bristles. Maybe if I had grown up here my life could have been totally different; I would have been standing on FWT podiums and starring in Warren Millers long ago.

Somehow watching all the local kids has made me revert to childhood again. I spend the evening before the comp in a mental state of a 10 year old - life isn't fair and everything sucks. Maybe that guy at Arai was right - it was pointless to come here, I'm going to end up last. Again.

The next day, the weather is terrible - winds are howling and all the lifts at Alpine are shut. The comp gets put on hold until the next day, and the organisers make the call to change the competition face from Keyhole to Scott Chute. I take a short hike to go look at the face - it's a shralped icy mogul field right under Scott Chair. Nothing about competing in Japan, where the competitions are mostly out of bounds in untracked snow, has prepared me for this. I should have stayed in Hakuba to work on my mogul game.

The next day the weather hasn't improved, but it's the last chance to hold the competition. It turns out I'm not the only one who's feeling lackluster about the conditions. Tom Burt of Tahoe Freeride, snowboarding legend and FWT judge, describes the conditions on the face to us - 'You can just about get an edge in'. The lifts are still closed so we have to hike to the start, and they decide to run the skiers first to give the face a chance to soften up for the snowboarders.

He gives the athletes the chance to say go/no-go on the comp. About half the athletes are up for it, and the other half would rather not try to send it today. I figure we might as well go for it - we're here anyway, and at least if I'm bad, maybe everyone else will be bad too?

The comp goes ahead, but not everyone is super stoked about it. Some athletes decide to drop out rather than ride the icy dragon. I'm first on the start list out of everyone competing today - normally in these conditions that would put me at a huge disadvantage, but today I'm secretly happy about it - at least none of the other athletes will be able to watch my run, so they won't see how bad I really am.

My strategy is just to get down in one piece - hit one tiny air and that's a bonus. As soon as I've hiked to the start gate they're ready for me to get going. I just want it to be over with, so I hustle to the start gate. The stoke is as high as ever though as I drop in and start my scrapey descent. I survival ski the mogul field and find my tiny cliff, my skis barely leaving the ground as I hop over - but at least I manage to ski out and hold on to the finish line.

I'm still on my feet in the finish corral. Maybe it's ok? Maybe everyone will suck? I turn and watch the next girl drop in. Holy crap. She's amazing. You wouldn't even know the conditions are bad to watch her send a massive spreadeagle into the moguls and find a bunch of other features on the way down that I would never have considered on a day like this. Oh no. What was I thinking. Is everyone here this good?

Luckily it turns out that not everyone is quite as amazing as her (that was Molly Armanino - watch out for her!!), and while most people still rip, they're not all that far out of my league. I'm super surprised when I finish in 7th place, somehow landing my highest score of the season.

This retro jacket made an appearance in homage to Shane

OK - I'm a bit sad I didn't grow up skiing Tahoe. But I was super privileged to get the chance to ski at all when I was a kid. And the fact that I get to spend so much of my life skiing makes me even luckier. Even if I'm a bit late to the party, I can still hang with the athletes here, and competing against athletes who are so much better than me inspires me to keep pushing myself.

We stick around for a few days after the comp, and get some amazing pow days - now that the stress of the competition is over, I can really appreciate the magic of Olympic Valley. I love the Game of G.N.A.R. movie as much as any skier, but still thought I might be intimidated by the amount of ego at Squallywood. My impression couldn't have been more wrong.

Instead of 'I can't believe you're pro, I'm so much better than you' the atmosphere of shared stoke is palpable - although I'm only hitting baby cliffs, the hoots and hollers I get from the lift line make me feel like a hero. I have been known to take my time psyching myself up, but that's not an option here. As I scope my landing nervously, a group of skier bros below shout up at me. 'Give the people what they want!'

I don't have any choice but to send it.

Giving the people what they want - Silverado, Squaw Valley