The first time I heard about the O’Neill Extreme, I was in Verbier, Switzerland competing on the IFSA Freeride World Tour. It was my first time to Europe and I found myself standing on top of what I thought at the time was a massive peak. The name of peak was Mount Gele. It was the first run of the competition and my stomach was so wound up. There were three starts for competitors to choose from. There was a half hour to the start and I looked around to see where the other girls were starting. To my surprise, there were no other girls around. I looked over at start 3 and saw all of the other girls gathered there. This made me nervous. What made me really nervous was that the only other competitors at my start were the Frenchies. The “frenchies” are the French men who dominate the tour. Alarm bells went off in my head. My heart was racing and I needed a way to calm my nerves before I had to compete. I decided to ask one of the frenchies what he thought about line, hoping a little local knowledge would calm my nerves. I walked up to Gurlain and asked if he would give me some advice about my line. He said, “If you ski that you will die.” Awesome! 
I collected myself, telling myself that I could ski the line I had chosen. My inner pep talks usually include, “You got it. You live in Jackson and ski some of the most challenging terrain in the lower 48. You can do it.” I skied the line. It was the most difficult line I had skied at the time. The line included an over hanging snow field above heavy exposure and funneled down into mandatory 25 foot air. The air happened to drop into a much smaller chute/straight line than I had expected, but I stuck it and proved to myself that I could ski in the Alps with Europeans.
The competition ended and my line skied into second place, but it also developed a love for competing in the Alps. After the competition, all the talk was about the Verbier O’Neill Extreme. The O’Neill Extreme is an invite only competition that includes some of the biggest names in the ski industry. Jeremy Jones, Schroeder Baker, and Jen Ashton to name a few of the competitors that have had the honor to compete in this competition. The O’Neill not only features the best riders,
the competition takes place on one of the most challenging faces I have ever seen, the Bec de Rosses. Since learning about the O’Neill extreme, it has been one of my goals to compete on the Bec de Rosses.
Two years passed before I finally received my invitation. In September of 2007, I received an email while I was in Argentina. The email stated that because of my results last season, IFSA World Tour Champion and US Freeskiing National Champion, I was invited to compete on the Freeride World Tour. The FWT included four stops; Mammoth, Russia, France, and the finals would be at the O’Neill Extreme. I couldn’t believe it, not only was I invited to compete in the O’Neill Extreme, but I was also going to Russia.
Krasnaya Poliana, Russia
Krasnaya Poliana is the most developed ski resort in Russia. It is located one hour from Sochi, Russia and borders the Black Sea. Sochi, Russia has been proposed for the 2014 Olympics. The resort has been called the “Courchevel” of Russia. The most illustrious of Russian’s travel to Sochi for ski vacations, including President Putin. I couldn’t wait to check it out.
On January 31st my husband, Eric Seymour, and I landed in Sochi, Russia. After the usual travel mishaps, we walked off the plane and were so happy to see a small man holding a sign that read FWT. We climbed into his van and we were on our way. After one of the most terrifying rides of my life, Russian’s drive faster than Mexicans with less regard for oncoming traffic, we arrived at our Hotel Vertykal.
All of the competitors were at the hotel and had amazing stories about how cool the resort was. The next morning we were up at and ready to check out the resort. This was the first time we learned that not everything in Russia is as it seems. We were told that there would be a shuttle ready to take us to the resort at 8:30. All of us were ready and waiting for the driver at 8:15. The shuttled pulled in at about 9:45 and we were off to the resort.
We piled out of the bus and Eric went directly to the ticket window. Doing his best to buy a ticket from a woman who spoke zero English, Eric finally figured out that the resort does not accept credit cards or US cash. So we set off to find an ATM machine. We were able to find three ATM machines, none of which worked. At this point, we were to say the least frustrated. Being in a foreign country with no money is a bit of a vulnerable feeling.
This is an interesting side note about the Sochi area. No one accepts credit cards, not the resort, not the restaurants, not even hotels. There is only one working cash machine in the greater Sochi area. This cash machine works well, but only allows you to withdraw $300 US dollars a day. So before you head to Sochi, get cash, Rubles, in Moscow.
With Rubles in our pockets, we finally loaded the lift at 12:00. To reach the top of Krasnaya Poliana, you must take a series of slow two man lifts. This takes about forty-five minutes. There was plenty of time to check out the breath taking scenery. The mountain range comes up directly from the sea, which you can see on a clear day. The range towers up to 3000 meters and almost everything looks skiable.
At the top of the resort is a ridgeline with some of the burliest in bounds skiing I have ever scene; 55 degree spines and pillow drops. We headed straight up there. The top bowl is about 1000 feet of sick skiing and funnels down into 4000 feet of the best tree skiing I have ever done. The trees are deciduous and perfectly spaced. The snow is maritime snow, like the snow you find in Washington. We were in heaven. As the day came to end, we skied down to the base of the resort to wait for our not so timely bus driver. We waited about a half hour watching two Russian men with pet monkeys convince tourists to take photos with the monkeys. We decided it might be a while, so met up with some of the other competitors for a coffee while we waited.
The hospitality in Russia is unforgettable. We sat at an outdoor café sipping coffee and talking about how we would all like to move to Sochi. Two of the most beautiful women I have ever seen walked out wearing fur bikinis and boots. The boys’ heads turned and their jaws dropped. The two Russian women walked up to us with trays of three different types of vodka. She smiled gesturing for us to take one. We couldn’t believe it, beautiful women, dressed in fur, and serving free vodka shots. As “true” travelers, we couldn’t pass up this cultural experience. Everyone took a shot. It was the best vodka I have tasted. Russian vodka is infused with all types fruit; my personal favorite was the plum vodka. After the shot it is customary to eat a salted pickle. And it actually tastes really good. We were stoked. Russia was turning out to be a skiers dream. To our surprise the women kept returning with more vodka shots, apparently there is no limit on the amount of free shots in the base area. Needless to say we missed our shuttle.
The competition was scheduled for Monday, which was one day away. All of the competitors gathered for a meeting with the organizers. At the meeting, we learned that President Putin was in town with Olympic Committee and he had grounded all air travel in the mountain range. This was not good for a heli competition. Due to the grounding of all air travel, the competition would be held in bounds at the top of the resort. This new information did not bother the competitors because the top of the resort was sick. The next bit of information was what was alarming. Not only would there be no heli skiing for the next week, there would be no heli rescue. This means that if a competitor should be hurt in the competition, with a life threatening injury, it would take at least three hours to reach a hospital. Competitors do not plan on getting hurt, but we are all there to compete in an extreme skiing competition, shit happens.
With the new information in mind, I rode the lifts to the top of the mountain to start scouting. There were two main features at the top of the peak. I decided to ski the one on the left that looked like a melted candlestick. It looked kind of gnarly, but very doable and the risk was not very high. If for some reason I did take a tumble, I was confident I would not get hurt. I took multiple photos of my line and headed back to hotel to download them on to my computer.
Competition morning we woke up at 5:30. The organizers wanted us to load at 6:30 because there was weather coming in and they wanted finish the competition by noon. I put on my ski clothing and headed down for breakfast. Breakfast was always an adventure because it was included and you ate what you were served. This morning we sat down to a “breakfast of champions”, cold hotdogs and rice. After a delicious Russian breakfast we headed for the resort.
I rode the lifts to the very top of the resort and was so excited to ski my line. I hiked down to scope the top of my line. This would be the first time I had seen it from the top. FWT rules state that no skier shall ski the venue one month prior to the competition. Therefore, the only scouting you can do is with a camera. The snow looked great, the entrance was a bit steeper than I had expected, but nothing I couldn’t handle. I studied my entrance and memorized each turn I expected to make. Next I began to warm up and started to focus on the competition. While I was stretching and focusing, many competitors approached me and asked me what I planned on skiing. I felt like I was in Verbier all over again. The response from the other women was that I must be off my rocker to ski that line. After all that was a “guys’” line. So much for a confidence booster. Once again I had to resort to my inner pep talk, “You can do this Jess. It’s not any steeper than the top of Once is Enough. And if something goes wrong, you will be fine. You got it!”
I dropped into my line with confidence. A number of men had already skied the line, so the snow was really skied up and difficult to ski fluidly. There was a lot of slough moving and my heart was racing. I skied down to the choke and dropped a 20-foot cliff into a tight straight line. I was so stoked when I skied through the finish line. I had just skied the hardest line of my life. I knew I hadn’t skied as well as I had hoped, but I was psyched that I had skied it. It was the hardest female line skied that day. I finished third in the competition.
I spent the last three days in Russia with a photographer, Stas from Moscow, who works for a Russian ski magazine, “SKI PASS.” It is the equivalent to “Powder” in the US. We spent two long days working hard to get shots for the magazine. At the end of the two days he asked if we had been to a Russian spa yet. We looked at him as if he were crazy. We were here to ski, not to go to spas. He returned our look and said that if we had not yet been to a Russian spa, then we had not yet experienced Russia. Who knew that Russia was known for its spas? We decided we had to go.
Stas told us he would take us to the best spa in the area. So we invited a few friends, hopped in a van, and headed for the spa. We pulled into a dark alley located in a pretty sketchy looking area. The van stopped in front of an old brick building that had two large wooden doors with graffiti on them. The graffiti was apparently the number you call to make an appointment for the spa. So we called. We were told to come back in two hours because it would take that long to get the spa ready. Stas seemed to think all of this was normal, we decided to get some dinner and return in few hours.
As we returned the spa, the anxiety level was high. Everyone was joking about the movie, “The Hostel.” If you like to travel don’t rent this movie. If you have seen the hostel, the “spa” could have been right out of the movie. The van dropped us off in the sketchy area. We knocked on the wooden doors putting all of our faith in our new Russian friend. Five minutes later a woman cracked the door and said hello. Stas said something in Russian and the doors swung open.
Another beautiful women appeared and ushered us down an intricate path of stonework surrounded by exotic flowers. Visions of the movie circled my head as I followed the woman. She showed us to a changing room and instructed us to take off all of our clothing and put on the robes that had been laid out for us. We undressed and walked out to the waiting room. The waiting room was very comfortable. The women had set out tea and snacks. Was this our last meal?
We sat quietly wondering what we had gotten ourselves into. Two women came into the room dressed in native clothing, leather bikinis fringed with fur. They asked us if we were ready for the sweat lodge. We followed them outside to a small sweat lodge, more like a very small beaver lodge. We took our robes off and crawled into the lodge. It was very small and dark. We sat around a small fire on a bed of straw. One of the women began to play an instrument that sounded like didgeridoo. The other woman began to stoke the fire. The temperature began to rise and rise. It was so hot that it was difficult to breath. I can’t decide if the experience was religious or one of the most intense games of uncle I have ever played. Imagine seven competitive athletes in a sweat lodge; no one is going to be the first to say uncle. As the temperature rose, it was hard to breath and I had to focus to keep myself awake. Just when I thought I was going to pass out, the musician stopped playing and the door opened. We slithered out of the door into the fresh air. A large Russian man was waiting for us and escorted us to a cold pool.
We were then escorted back to the tearoom. The next spa treatment was a massage. I was the first to sign up. Two Russian giants escorted me into a very small room made of clay and straw. The room felt at least 120 degrees. I guess Russians like it hot. In the middle of the room was a wooden table. They gestured for me to take off my robe and lay on the table. I did so. The men took off their robes and were dressed in loincloths. What had I signed myself up for?
I laid face down on the wooden table, which was close to the temperature of the room, hot. The man touched my shoulder and said, “honey and beer? “ Not having any clue what he was talking about, I said sure. I like both honey and beer. The “massage” began. The two first slathered my body in honey. Then they beat me with birch branches and I really mean beat. I thought I would have war wounds if I survived my Russian massage. Next they took my leg and pulled them up behind my ears. I had no idea I was that flexible. To finish the “massage” the men dumped gallons of cold beer of my body.
I knew the massage was over when they picked me up off they table and stood me on my feet. To my surprise my legs felt like jelly. After being manhandled by two giants, I had no muscle control left. One of the Russians carried me outside to what looked like a well with a ladder on the side of it. He said jump in. I started for the ladder and then he gave me a small push and I was in the freezing cold water of the well. All my senses came back immediately and I shrieked. I scurried up the ladder and into the laughing Russians arms. He escorted me to the coolest hot tub I have ever experienced. The best way to describe the hot tub is to say that it looked like a witches cauldron, suspended above an open fire. The best way to describe how I felt in the hot tub is to say that I felt like I had returned to my mother’s womb.
Needless to say a Russian spa is nothing like an American spa, but it is a must do in Russia. Russia was an amazing experience that I would recommend to anyone. It is so different from any other place I have ever been.
The crow kept stealing my sanding sponges, so I let him play with one of the dog toys. I think he liked it.
