I’m underwater. Water floods my lungs. I’m choking….and laughing. I’m an idiot. I’ve always considered snorkeling to be a low-class version of SCUBA diving but now my dive instructor, Kevin, tells me to alternate between breathing through my regulator and taking puffs through the snorkel. You may have to wait on the surface, he says, without air left in your tank. The waves may hit you so you should be able to breathe through and clear your snorkel. I can walk and chew gum; I should be able to do this; as I swim from one side of the pool to the other. No, it does not go well.

Suddenly, I’m a tiny bit afraid. I’ve always been a huge SCUBA fan after getting certified in 1990 in Club Med Turquoise in the Turks and Caicos Islands. Tonight I’m swimming in a pool and worried! I’ve never felt like I was drowning; and this one was from the inside. Now I’m filled with what ifs. But Dive Utah still signs off on my Underwater Refresher. Snorkeling is important but not part of PADI’s SCUBA testing criteria. Kevin validates my prowess. He says he’d be my ‘buddy’ anytime. And I’d be his. He made the work fun and painless (except for the drowning). Dive Utah in Holladay sees a surprising number of customers in the fall and winter- perhaps looking to escape from our long cold seasons- but tonight I’m the only one in their indoor lap pool. Like most dive instruction in Utah, the final ‘deep dive’ for normal Open Water Certification is held in the Homestead Crater in Midway but I’m “advanced”. I get to do mine in the open waters of New Providence.

There’s this amazing cache to quoting- “I’m off to the Bahamas for the weekend.” We are flying in the morning. Actually 1 am. That’s still night for me. 1 a.m. to noon; landing in Nassau, Bahamas, for four days. Scratch another one off the bucket list.

PADI- the world’s largest dive training organization is flying a group of women down to the Islands to get intimate with our gear underwater. They want us to write about what I already know. SCUBA diving is not a male, macho, extreme sport. Anyone, even 10-year-olds- can do it. Women especially should be– if they’re not already- gravitating toward this sport. Think about it- you get to wear cute bathing suits and sundresses, shop tropically, spend afternoons on the beach after you’ve just spent a morning swimming with the fishes and burning 300-500 calories. Plus, you’re surrounded by men. The only requirements so to speak are a tolerance for seasickness, neoprene and saltwater. My sister got PADI certified last summer for her 50^th birthday and her most ‘extreme’ experience before then had been tubing on the Weber River. Again, anyone can SCUBA.

My trip is in conjunction with Jacque Cousteau’s former company – Aqua Lung. Aqua Lung has just rolled out a sweet line of women’s specific dive gear “made by women for women”. I get to test the product while getting certified as an Advanced Open Water Diver. Can you say dream assignment? But what if something goes wrong and I can’t breathe down there?

The water in my lungs has dissipated in time for my flight. With knees stuffed into my chest, my ass screams from the uncomfortable seating arrangement on Delta. There’s got to be some law that prohibits public transportation from treating us like livestock. It’s those damn “premium seats”. By creating seats they can sell for extra money, they’ve eliminated what little space there was for regular coach setting.

Three hours to Atlanta; two hours to Nassau. Our Dan Knowles Shuttle driver gleefully plays tour guide; pointing out Bob Marley’s house, the church that gave Anna Nicole Smith her funeral. We get stats- New Providence is the fifth largest island out of the Bahamian collective of3000-plus islands. Nassau, its capital is a mere 27 miles long and seven miles wide. The roads are well-maintained with a straight shot from the airport to the hotel. The anticipation grows.

Finally we pull into the Sheraton Nassau. It’s nice but not opulent. We have little interaction with the staff other than to check in and grab a beach towel from the shack by the pool. But when you plan to dive every day, you don’t need much. Working A/C, clean shower, soft bed. Bed. That’s what I need right now.

Story by Jill Adler Photos by Ryan Freitas

Two days of tearing up Jackson and I’m wasted. Today was epic. Not because there was waist-deep untracked, walk-on trams or everyone was friendly, but because it’s Jackson Hole, Wyo. The employees could be rude (they’re not of course) and the food could suck (it doesn’t except at Nick Wilson’s) and I would still love Jackson.

When I arrived for my Steeps Camp you could feel the buzz in the air. The groomed runs were wicked hard (translation- you could ice skate on them) and there were moguls on all of the off-piste sweet spots (i.e. Expert Chutes, Alta 3, Toilet Bowl) yet still we couldn’t wait to get out there.

I need to ski Jackson. It’s like an annual itch that needs scratching. I’ve skied every resort in the west and despite having an abundance of world-class resorts right in my Utah backyard, it’s worth the five-hour drive north for the rodeo. Jackson Hole has some of the steepest, most consistent vertical in North America; in fact, the JH Tram presents more skiable vert than any other single lift in the entire Western Hemisphere- 4,139 feet.

In 2003, Snowbird challenged Jackson to a “tram off” for bragging rights. A four-woman team skied and snowboarded a record 30 Snowbird Trams, 348,000 vertical feet, in a single day; beating Jackson by a mere 324 vertical feet. But those ladies lapped GS turns on the groomed Chip’s Run. Jackson’s bad-ass team ran a course that included (off-piste) Rendezvous Bowl, Corbet’s Couloir and Downhill Chute to Amphitheater then Gros Ventre. Plus, they rode the old tram.

Jackson retired ‘Big Red’ and installed a state-of-the-art, $31 million tram that now carries twice as many riders to the top of Rendezvous Bowl in 9 minutes and can withstand winds up to 60 mph. I wonder what would happen in a 2013 Tram Off. Just sayin’…

I don’t want to scare you. Jackson may have aggressive lines but just as resorts like the Four Seasons Hotel have opened on the mountain to cater to families so has the mountain itself. The entire Bridger Gondola area and the new high-speed Casper lift have addressed the need for intermediate and beginner skiing.

The mountain, however, is a whopping 2,500 acres of in-bound terrain and cliffs so, when you’re an expert skier, taking a class like this steeps camp electroshocks the experience. A guide helps you to ski Jackson “right”. A backcountry guide, a ski instructor, a local buddy; they live and breathe this mountain from November to early April. They know where the skiing’s good – even when you feel like packing it in.

Our first run on Sundance at 9:30 a.m. tore up the corduroy for all that followed. Our eyes teared from wind and twin-tip back spray as a gang of about 40 warmed up with deep arcs before dividing into smaller groups.

I shook my head to fend off brain freeze, got to the front and prayed that whoever was my leader better know where to go because my Dynastars haven’t been sharpened since last season. And he did. Brian – our PSIA clinic leader- may hail from Deer Valley but he’s no Deer Valley skier. Like a deer (hehe) prancing through a thick forest, though, Brian sure-footedly navigated us to the same places a regular Jackson Hole instructor might. I know because I’ve been attending this camp for six years and he’s the first ‘foreigner’ I’ve cared to follow. (Not to mention, we had three Jackson Hole instructors taking the camp so they could confer.) Ten-Sleep, Expert Chutes, Paintbrush, Riverton, Rendezvous, Bivouac Trees, Alta Chutes and more. Everything north facing offered chalky, packed powder bumps. We skied until 4:15 p.m. with only a 45-minute lunch break. Oooch.

Having a soft place to land at the end of a day like this doesn’t hurt. The White Buffalo Club in downtown Jackson and only a few blocks away from everything, opened its doors to Ryan, Sage and me. From the moment we stepped into the palatial suite decked with four flatscreen TVs, a horseshoe-shaped granite bar/kitchen, slate-tiled bathrooms, washer/dryer and soft, king sheets we could care less that it had snowed a foot back home and only an inch in Wyoming. Give it time, we thought, and, in the meantime, we got cozy.

The White Buffalo has an intimate front desk with a single attendant who greets, stores skis, calls for the free morning shuttle to the resort or issues free resort bus vouchers, and books reservations. Downstairs there’s a gym and yoga studio so sweet locals purchase memberships and use it year round. Although there’s no pool or hottub the 17-room Buffalo has a reciprocal agreement with the Homewood Suites across the street to share the gym and pool. Personally, I’d rather grab a mocha from the downstairs free cappuccino machine and soak in my room’s jetted tub.

We ran the dog at Sophie’s Park before dinner. Jackson as a whole is extremely dog friendly but the WB is not. So it was a good thing Takoda digs his crate and the hotel garage is heated.

We opted to dine in the less-expensive, more kid friendly Brew Pub rather than the onsite Cellars restaurant but later wondered if it was worth saving $50 to have a mediocre meal in an obnoxiously loud room, served by a waitress who rolled her eyes constantly and couldn’t wait to leave our table. We had a much better experience at the Mangy Moose the following night. I think the waitress was flattered when my daughter loudly commented on how pretty she was.

We crashed hard before the clock struck 11. I woke up in the morning, sprawled across the bed, wondering where I was. Oh, yeah, Jackson! The shuttle rushed me to Teton Village with plenty of time to meet the group. It was more of the same today but different. A surprise squall dropped five inches of new snow overnight but it felt like a foot in some mid-mountain places. The groomers were still a bit scary but we were in the steeps camp. We don’t ‘do’ groomers (except to get back to a lift). Run after run in the soft, cold smoke (it had finally warmed from -7 to 30 degrees) left us jolly and satisfied.

The snow continued to fly as I popped into the Four Seasons for après. Three-dollar beers and $5 apps in the brand new Handle Bar and live acoustic tunes in the lobby. Anyone can attend.

Day three was for Sage; my little rock star. I had two days of aggressive turns therefore easy paced pies on blue groomers had its appeal. Who knew that after two days with Ryan, Sage would be challenging bumps as tall as her above Casper, paralleling Sundance and lapping the Burton Stash Park? (She caught about 6″ of air on the jumps, smiling all the way.)

There’s no question that skiing Jackson Hole makes you a better skier. The mountain shakes you to attention whether you are 6 or 60 or beginner or expert. Some folks would rather cruise a couple of groomers, go in to eat, take another run and call it good. That’s not Jackson and that’s why I love it.

The newly built, boutiquey White Buffalo Club has everything from generously sized single hotel rooms to three-bedroom suites with prices starting at $129/nt depending on the season; a steal if you’ve got two couples or a family. (307) 734-4900.

Takoda was cooped up. Literally. We took him on our roadtrip to Jackson Hole this week thinking we could keep him in his crate in the car in the parking garage while we skied. It was no different than at home when we go out and his Petmate crate is ginormous.

The garage is heated and we regularly checked on him. I would have brought him into the hotel if The White Buffalo Club allowed dogs. Not even close. I had to initial a statement that if evidence of a dog were found, I’d be charged $1000! That bit of info wasn’t on their website before we planned the trip so good thing we had free garage parking to shelter him from the sub-zero cold outside.

They really don’t like dogs here. As gorgeous as the rooms are, the front desk dude gives me this weird look every time I pass to go out to the dog. What? I want to snip.

The gals in my ski school clinic told me about a nearby dog park when I asked and I beelined for it as soon as I returned to town. Sophie’s Place off Scott Lane is one of the nicest dog parks I’ve ever been to.  The lot is huge and live trees dot the center. I bet the benches underneath them are shaded in the summer when those trees have leaves.

There are rock features, a mini stage and a touching memorial tree where owners can hang tiny lanterns or their dogs’ tags to honor their beloved pets that’ve passed. Tears welled up in my eyes as I gently tickled the tags with my fingers. Channeling the pain of loss they must have felt as they hung these.

Takoda was in doggy heaven; bounding with the other dogs who came for their daily workout. There are even two smaller attached pens where shy or passive dogs can play without being molested by bigger pooches.

Sophie’s isn’t lit so, as dusk set, we left the park. That’s when I noticed the bad news. Sophie’s is being displaced for a community housing project. They will supposedly be in a new location by 2014 but I can’t imagine any place being as nice as this one. The Pet Advocacy and Wellness Support group of Jackson (PAWS) created the park and they are asking for donations to help build the new one. If you have a dog and visit this Jackson park I hope you’ll consider offering your support!