Skiing blind, but with a vision
SANDPOINT – On fog-shrouded days at Schweitzer Mountain, Britt Raubenheimer and her husband, Steve Elgar, often overhear skiers in the lift line bemoaning the poor visibility. Then they notice Britt. And her hunter-orange vest emblazoned with the words “blind skier.”
“They see Britt, and they get real quiet,” Steve said. “Britt calls fog ‘the great equalizer.’ “
Since losing her vision four years ago, Britt, 42, hasn’t given up her lifelong passion: swooping down snow-covered slopes. Her husband serves as her guide, calling out directions to her as they cruise down nearly every run at Schweitzer – except those with too many trees.
She’s one of a few blind skiers on the mountain, and likely the only one who skis regularly, Schweitzer ski instructors said.
This season alone, Britt has skied 30 days, a slow year in her estimation.
“I never really thought about quitting,” said Britt, who has lived for the last eight years in a condominium at Schweitzer. “I love that feeling of moving and completely trusting.”
On a clear, bluebird day earlier this week, Britt and Steve walked arm-in-arm to Schweitzer’s quad-chair lift, a set of skis perched on her shoulder.
“It’s a great day,” Britt enthused, knocking her pole against the bottom of her boot before snapping into her ski bindings. She wore a helmet, goggles and a dark teal coat.
Over her jacket, she tied on the orange vest. Steve, 56, wore a matching vest with “guide” printed on the front and back.
At the top of the mountain, the pair held hands as Steve, who snowboards, guided Britt off the lift. As she pushed off for the first run of the day – a black diamond, the most difficult type – Steve trailed behind, calling out directions.
“Turn left. … Right. … Left. … Right,” Steve bellowed. His calls drifted up the mountainside, masked by the scratching skid of skis.
A young man stopped near the pair and confessed he’d been observing them from the chairlift.
“It’s really an inspiration,” he said before continuing down the slope. “That’s so awesome.”
On powder days, Steve goes a short distance down, stops and then directs Britt toward him. On groomed runs, where the snow is more consistent, he shouts directions from behind to steer Britt.
She’s even learned to go through moguls with Steve’s guidance.
“He’s had to jump out of the way a couple of times,” Britt said.
“I tell people he’s the bravest person on the mountain. Go down the mountain and tell the blind person to aim for you.”
Losing sight ‘terrifying’
On Jan. 29, 2003, Britt awoke without sight in her right eye. She describes it as “terrifying.”
She first was misdiagnosed with multiple sclerosis, an autoimmune disease that affects the central nervous system.
Her left eye then rapidly lost peripheral vision. In nine months, she was declared legally blind.
Doctors say her optic nerves have deteriorated, though they don’t know what triggered it. She still has 2 to 3 degrees of central vision – similar to seeing through a paper Dixie cup with a tiny hole poked in the bottom.
She continues to read on a computer screen by making out super-sized characters one at a time.
Up close, she can find a part of a person’s mouth or identify the color of a shirt.
“But as soon as I’m moving … whether it’s walking or skiing, I liken it to looking though binoculars and bouncing, and everything is a blur,” Britt said.
So she usually closes her eyes, shutting out the fuzzy shapes while she skis.
She’s able to continue her work as an oceanographer, working out of her home with Steve, who shares the same profession. They telecommute for their job and spend part of the year traveling, the pair said.
They met in the early 1990s, when both were working in San Diego, Calif. They’ve been together ever since.
The couple married in 2003, after she lost her sight. Steve, who once ran for the Idaho Legislature, has four children.
Britt struggled to regain independence after going blind. She uses a seeing-eye dog, Whit, who’s constantly by her side. The only time Whit stays home is when the couple skis.
“The hardest thing since then, once I got help, was just getting the confidence to try stuff, to do things I used to do,” Britt said.
“I usually find once I try it, it wasn’t that scary, it wasn’t that hard.”
A new experience
Britt, who grew up in the Northeast, started skiing before she reached her third birthday. So when she tried skiing without sight, it wasn’t a matter of learning the skills, but of following Steve’s directions.
The pair hasn’t gone through any formal training for guiding skiers with disabilities, though there are classes for it, Steve said.
“It’s hard for both of us to do this,” he said. “It’s exhausting because you’re always thinking about the other person.”
Steve’s guidance has led her into a tree a time or two – but only when traversing a hill, they said.
“Sometimes he teases me, ‘Oh, be careful of the cliff,’ ” Britt said. “I do get thrown around a lot. I do fall down a lot more than I used to. You don’t see the lump that comes up.”
Schweitzer ski instructor Terry McLeod said he sometimes practices taking turns with his eyes closed, helping him tune into the way his body moves.
“It’s definitely a different experience when all you have is the sensations within your body to see and predict and to have an expectation of what’s going to hit your feet,” McLeod said.
McLeod calls Britt “a great role model,” proving that people facing life-changing challenges “don’t have to stop” their favorite activities.
Britt and Steve sometimes venture into the terrain park at Schweitzer, where Britt is partial to the half-pipe feature. She can better sense the pitch of the terrain in the half-pipe, where snow is built up to form steep walls, freeing her to ski without direction.
“It’s fun. My heart rate skyrockets,” Britt said. “I don’t have to listen to Steve. But I scare myself.”
On Thursday, the pair ducked the off-limits rope for a half-pipe run. Britt skied up the wall, pivoted mid-air and sped down for another turn.
Steve wasn’t concerned about getting caught.
He joked to Britt: “You can say, ‘Signs? What signs? I didn’t see a sign.’ “