After a 9-hour drive and a 4-hour hike, the BSF Pro team and Sun Valley Gold Team arrived at the Haig Glacier, or as I like to call it, Planet Haig. Astronauts might scoff, but this camp was the closest to an intergalactic experience that I could imagine. For six days, we saw no signs of civilization, were surrounded on all sides by towering mountains, and lost all cell service and wifi.
In the absence of normal life’s constant hum of technology, car horns, and construction, Planet Haig held peace.
Walking into the Haig “Base Camp”, the scene included athletes reading, knitting, playing cards, journaling, drinking tea, painting (nails and numbers), chatting, laughing, hanging out, and just being.
Don’t get me wrong — we also spent 4 hours per day training, 2 hours eating, and 9 hours sleeping (check out Emma’s “day in the life” post!). But aside from that time, Planet Haig made room for mindfulness, an appreciation of our surroundings, and human connection.
What was missing from these scenes? All those small electronic machines which have become extensions of our bodies.
My mind, which is often busy, felt quieter both on and off the snow. Sleep came easier. I became more in tune with my surroundings and appreciative of the intrinsic joys of life. I noticed more about my teammates and the sounds of the nearby river. Without phones, mirrors, or civilization, the cyclically judgmental and performative aspects of ski training and our tech-centered lives disappeared.
People moved from their individual internet bubbles to a collective. There were no discussions of hilarious reels (although one athlete did reveal that he “downloaded” 450 tik toks to watch during the trip), the most recently engaged celebrity, or the latest catastrophic news event. People surrendered to slowing down.
First takeaway: Planet Haig was utopic!
And yet.
We woke up on Day 2 and learned that nearby wildfires had driven the Air Quality Index (AQI) up to 180. As AQI increases, training outside becomes increasingly dangerous. Athletes must weigh the health costs and against training benefits, and adjust training accordingly. Typically, an AQI above 150 would call for indoor training. In early August, the raging Montana wildfires prompted the team to attempt a 20+ hour week indoors. But living fewer than two miles from a glacier in the summer, we chose the mental, technical, and aerobic benefits of skiing on snow.
So yes, Planet Haig was proving to offer an unbelievably peaceful magic of being. But, as it turned out, our physical and psychological disconnect from civilization could not shelter us from the realities of our world. Our backyards would continue to burn, whether we could read the morning headlines about it or not.
On the evening of Day 3, I discussed these complexities with my teammate, Kate, in our bunkroom. We determined that in order to do — whether your “do” is coaching, teaching, or fighting wildfires — you had to remember your “why”. And to remember your “why”, you had to learn to “be.”
Skiing with BSF has offered me once-in-a-lifetime opportunities like the Haig. Many might find a 9-hour drive and a 4-hour hike to a remote glacier with no flushing toilet or laundry is neither feasible nor appealing, but I think that aspects of this camp could be universally meaningful, regardless of one’s preferred outdoor experience or daily routine. Finding ways to disconnect and strengthen our capacity for mindfulness and human connection might be possible wherever you are.
On the last day of Haig Camp, I listened to some of my teammates express a hesitation, or even dread, to return to service and lose Haig's magic. Coming back to Bozeman, I’m hoping to replicate aspects of Planet Haig to strengthen my mindfulness while training, racing, and in my day to day life. Maybe I don’t need to mindlessly scroll Facebook Marketplace before bed. Maybe I can move my phone to a different room when I’m hanging out with my friends and spend more solo training sessions without my airpods. Surrendering to wherever I am and whatever I’m doing might help me embrace being, and ultimately “do”, whether in skiing or otherwise, better.
