Sarah and I recently attended The Big LePowSki, a 1-day skills clinic at Brighton sponsored by Black Diamond, Backcountry.com, Brighton, Winter Wildlands Alliance, The North Face, Discrete Headwear, and Smith Optics. Proceeds from the event went toward the Billy Poole Memorial Foundation, which carries on Billy's generous spirit by introducing kids to skiing and outdoor programs. As someone who didn't grow up skiing, I care very deeply that Billy's legacy will resonate with a new generation of skiers. I won't pretend that I knew Billy well, but I had limited email contact with him. My immediate perception of Billy's character was one of sincerity and genuine appreciation for the world around him. These seem to be qualities that first come to mind for all his friends.
Our good friend Mike Spalluto was recently asked if he'd be willing to attend a conference in Salt Lake City...during ski season. After wiping the drool from his mouth he enthusiastically agreed and booked a few extra days to ski with us. He also brought Dave Walsh, a family friend who helped teach Mike to ski. They arrived late last Thursday with huge smiles on their faces and ski boots in their carry-ons. Unfortunately, they happened upon Utah during one of the longest winter high-pressure systems in recent memory. But they were up for warm bluebird skiing too.
Day 1: We hit The Canyons. Having performed some design work for lift tickets, their warm-up day was free. In awe of the shear magnitude before them, they let me take the reigns and I guided them straight to the high traverse on 9990. They looked out over the spine with wonder and anticipation, before dropping into the pines. We trekked all the way out to Dreamcatcher and back to Super Condor before ending the day at Silverado Bowl. We knew we were done when Mike literally wrapped himself around a tree and had to be manually ejected from his ski binding.
Mike eventually went to his conference and will be leaving SLC on the redeye tonight. Hopefully this will become and annual tradition and hopefully next year they'll be able to plan their trip around fresh snow. But for now, they at least have a taste.
You can view more pictures here:
http://flickr.com/photos/7527772@N05/sets/72157613221714765/
Max and I scoped out a long, steep, straight shot of fresh pow between pine trees. We were below it at that point but we made a plan to come back to it. Sure enough on the next run I found myself staring down the chute. Without hesitation I charged down the middle. Turn after turn, I was rewarded by the splash of light Utah powder in my face. As I split through the pines, my vision obscured by snow and flat light I suddenly realized the ground beneath me had given way and I was in a brief, but un-planned free-fall. I had skied off a 10-12 foot ledge, landing square and abrubtly on a flat cat-track. For the un-initiated, that’s kinda like being hit by a truck. My body compressed into the ground, my face smacked against my knees and I heard a series of cracks. As it turns out, most of those were benign helmet clicks but I’m sure at least some of them were from my spine.
I stood up, unsure what had just happened. I turned around to check out my track and piece together the sequence of events. I then stuck my fingers in my mouth to make sure all my teeth were in tact. My head felt dizzy, but not nauseous as I ran through a check list before deciding I did not have a concussion. I knew I had at least torn some muscles in the back of my neck. My back, still sore from a miniature version of a similar event last week is surely due for a follow-up visit to Healing Hands Chiropractic in Park City. But overall, I got pretty lucky.
The bottom line is that a few inches of powder will make people do stupid things. This is certainly not the first time I’ve gotten caught up in the moment and allowed feet to do the thinking. But it’s a healthy reminder not to get too carried away. Good luck folks. Stay safe out there.
Despite a lack of natural snow and fickle temperatures making it hard to make snow, The Canyons and Deer Valley Resort were both able to open this weekend. On Friday, I took a few hours off from work to enjoy some early runs at The Canyons. I rode up the gondola, over the brown landscape and exited at Red Pine Lodge into a wonderland of man-made snow. I have to admit that I was surprised. I was impressed at the coverage, but also the quality of snow The Canyons was able to produce despite the less than ideal conditions.
Saturday and Sunday we were treated to VIP passes at Deer Valley's Annual Celebrity Skifest to benefit the US Ski Team and Bobby Kennedy's Water Keeper Alliance. We had a nice dinner friday night at the Silver Lake Lodge and tent access throughout the weekend at the finish line of the Celebrity race course. The food was excellent and yes, there was free beer thanks to the primary sponsors, CBS. The race will air on CBS, Sunday 12.21.08 at 5pm eastern before the Rose Bowl. If you watch closely you'll see us in the background of the finish-line interviews. I have a beard and red goggles. Sarah's in black sunglasses.
Celebrity sightings from the weekend include: Gwen Stefani, Gavin Rossdale, Picaboo Street, Joe Pantaliono, Larry David, Julia Louis Dreyfus, Matthew Modine, Tommy Moe, The Maher Brothers, and a bunch more. We opted not to take very many pictures of them because we didn't want to lose our free beer priveledges. But a good time was had by all.
The morning temperatures are in the teens now and we're ready to start getting our schralp on. The golf and mountain-biking seasons are dwindling, the sun sets early, and we've had a few dustings on top of the hills. So dear Winter, bring it on. Let's do this!
This Winter, FetchDog investors David Shaw and Glenn Close came to Utah for the Sundance Film Festival. Sarah and I were fortunate enough to meet them at the Egyptian Theatre and then to ski with them at Sundance Resort for Sarah's birthday. While riding the lift with Glenn, Sarah and I suggested that she should feature Sundance Ski Patroller Tracy Christensen on her Lively Licks Blog. Tracy is a great patroller but he's also the handler of Mick, one of Sundance's Avalanche Rescue Dogs. We explained the important role that Avy dogs play at Utah's ski resorts and how sophisticated their training is. We also encouraged her to participate in Mick's training by allowing herself to be buried in a fake avalanche to let Mick show off his talents. She was of course completely game, and went along with the idea.
Upon meeting Tracy and Mick, Glenn was immediately impressed and couldn't wait to feature them on FetchDog. She also had her step-son Ben shoot some video for the blog post which is now live at FetchDog. The video shows Glenn and David being buried into the snow at Sundance and waiting for Mick to rescue them in a very realistic simulation.
You'll also be able to make a donation to Sundance Avalanche Rescue Dogs in Tracy's Charitable Shop. Just start your shopping with Tracy's recommendations and a percentage of sales (of those items or not) go to benefit Sundance's Avalanche Rescue Dogs and their vital training.
Saturday was one of those perfect spring days. As the afternoon festivities approached at the Canyons, the place just got sunnier and warmer. When Sarah and I showed up at the contestant area, we bumped into our buddy, Chris Petty who hooked us up with VIP passes for the winners circle. We hung out for a bit and caught up with Canyons locals, but once the event kicked off we were totally focussed on mayhem and nonsense. The crowd was thick and costumes were intense. Have a look.
We were also psyched to hook up with our friends, Chris, Richie, Max, Liz, Regina, Ahdena, Eddie, Brian, and Katie. But what really sucked is that after the "festivities" I was left with the most ridiculous sunburn. My forehead immediately blistered up and started weeping by Sunday night. But I deserve it for not remembering my sunblock! D'OH!
This weekend was a blast from the past as a bunch of my old high school buddies converged on Salt Lake from across the country. The occasion was Chad Knowles' Bachelor Party. Two ski condos in Sandy played host to several Berwickians (Chad, Peter Clarke, Tom Beattie, Brett Richer, Chris Knowles and Pat Knowles) and various other really cool guys from Middlebury and Vail — about 14 guys in all, armed with alcohol, testosterone, and a raging passion for powder. They were here to ski hard and party harder. One theme of the weekend was their creative facial hair competition, the winner of which is anybody's guess. They also spent some quality time in a dirty hot tub which I dubbed "New England Man Chowder".
I met up with the crew Friday night as they were already well on their way to long night. I decided it might be best to crash on a spare futon downstairs, much to Tom Beattie's dismay as I snored him out of the room. The next day, we hit Snowbird for some great turns despite less than ideal snow conditions following 5 straight sunny days (yuck). The group of guys turned out to be pretty hard core and the pace was intense. That night, it was straight back to partying. I'll leave it at that. But I managed to sneak back to Patty and Gary's house for a much needed night of sleep.
Sunday morning — POW! The forecast was conservative, calling for perhaps up to 8 inches. Instead, we woke up to about 16 inches of fresh Utah powder. The group was ready by 6:30 am. From the first chair it was an epic day. There was hooting and hollering all over the mountain, and the large group quickly dispersed, invoking the "No friends on a powder day" rule. But Pete Clarke, one of my oldest friends in the world stuck with Sarah and me. I didn't grow up skiing, so it's a relatively new form of bonding for these two boys from Epping, NH. It was great catching up with Pete and charging fresh lines with him. We even egged each other on to huck a cliff or two.
Overall it was a fantastic weekend and I'm just glad no one was seriously hurt. Good times.
My brother Jay came out for a couple days this week. He flew to Phoenix from New Hampshire on Saturday night with his wife Jeannine, and daughter, Nichole to visit Jeannine's parents. He then took an early flight to SLC, arriving at 8:30. We were on the hill in about an hour. He brought his ski boots and used a pair of Volant Chubbs from Sarah's parents' collection. That morning we hit Deer Valley for a nice warm up. The weather got pretty dicey as the wind picked up and the hail started. But the snow conditions made it well worth it. We met up with my friends, Chris and Jody and then went out for an early dinner at Red Rock Brewery in Park City.
Day Two, we spent at Park City Mountain Resort, where my friend Bryan played tour guide for the morning, since he works there and I have not had the chance to learn my way around their 33,000 Skiable acres. Park City, had received about a foot overnight (at least) and there were fresh turns to be had in all directions. McConkey's bowl provided an epic first couple runs. And a late opening at Jupiter and Scott's bowls made the powder-day, and the resort tour complete.
That night we also made a trip to the Homestead in Midway (5 minutes from the house) to swim/dive at the famous "Crater". The Crater is an underground thermal pool inside a volcano-style cave with a hole at the top. You can swim or scuba dive in water that's 90° or more all year round. The water is about 55' deep and about 50' wide. Since Jay was already certified to dive he was allowed to rent scuba gear and explore the depths while Sarah and I watched with masks and snorkels from above.
Day 3, we hit Alta. Another 6 inches or so fell overnight while the wind swept the hill smooth. The sun came out early to a bluebird sky as we ate french toast and chicken fried steak at a trucker's diner in Heber. After a 45 minute drive into the valley and up Little Cottonwood Canyon, we made first chair on the popular Collins Quad. Our first run at Sunspot, off the Rustler traverse set the tone for another sweet day. We made an effort ride each of the four major chairs. We capped it off with a scenic overlook from the top of Supreme where we pointed out our house in Heber City over the Wasatch back. After a Mexican dinner at Cafe Rio, I dropped Jay back off at the airport to rejoin his family in Phoenix, exhausted and and satisfied.
On Saturday, February 2, Joe and I braved 14 degree weather to go to the annual world cup dual mogul competition at Deer Valley Resort. You can see the course in the background.
For anyone who has not watch this event, 32 of the world's best mogul skiers compete side by side on the course which is made up of 3 mogul sections (all different lengths) and two jumps. It is amazing to watch these athletes negotiate the entire run. This is the last event in the overall world cup event so you get to see the top three men and women skiers for the event as well as the overall man and women event winners, Shelly Robertson and Vincent Marquis.
And the best was yet to come, De La Soul performed after the competition. It is by far the coldest I have been all winter but it was so worth it.
Wow. This week was crazy. we got 60+ inches since Monday (today is Friday, BTW) and finally I couldn't take it any more. I had to get some runs in this morning at The Canyons and it was the most amazing day you can imagine. Tough to say if it was the best ever, especially since Sarah wasn't there and I had to cut it short for work. But Damn. I'm just speechless. Face-shots all day long...almost every turn in fact. Max snapped a nice action shot of me in Silverado Bowl under the Golden Eagle Lift, a slow double on the front side running parallel to the Gondola. I may have had more runs if i skied a different lift but it's ok. That spot is empty and I can't imagine a better place to ski, in-bounds. Wow. Again.
Billy Poole: 1979 - 2008
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I've been hearing various murmurs about a potentially huge storm system moving in this weekend. They say it should start tonight and last into Monday with totals anywhere from 1-5 feet. That's exciting and I'm starting to believe it. So far: nothing. But I'm being patient. People tell me there is such a thing as TOO much snow. I'd like to see for myself. We're planning on taking tomorrow off to take the dogs out for a long hike and pick up our Sundance Locals tickets. But Sunday should be awesome. We'll keep ya posted.
It's been over a month since we've had any significant snowfall in the Wasatch Range. But we did get a "dusting" last night. As you probably know by now, when there's a dusting in Heber, we expect to see up to a foot or more in various parts of the adjacent mountains. Early reports from The Canyons this morning show up to 8 inches. Alta has yet to check in, but our friend Tracy said it was "dumping" in the Salt Lake valley last night. On their respective commutes, she and Sarah both witnessed the vehicular mayhem typical of an early season storm, as people remind themselves how to drive in the snow...or into a ditch as it may be. Anyway, here's hoping this storm builds some momentum and sets us up nicely to receive another blast on Friday. The resorts have sheepishly started opening, offering mostly man-made snow, but so far this Fall has been stingy. The natives are restless at best. So if you experience any discourteous behavior from your Utah-based compatriots, please don't take it personally. Just pray for snow.
It started snowing around dinner time last night. It wasn't very cold out so it was a nice surprise. I was surprised to see it accumulate. When we woke up this morning there were actually a couple inches outside. The thing about Heber is that our elevation (about 6,000 feet) puts us below the snow-line for most storms. So when we get any kind of accumulation here, you know it's probably pounding at 9-11,000 feet in the mountains a few miles away. Needless to say, we're excited about ski season.
For a map of the Heber Valley, click here.
After scraping the windshield my drive in to work this morning was a little brighter with some snow on the tops of the resort peaks ahead. We've had a few dustings so far, but it's nice to have a reminder like this in front of you. This photo, taken from westbound route 248 into park city shows some of the frontside peaks of Park City Mountain Resort.
Well, ski season is here again. Of course, we've been anxiously awaiting the snowfall while trying not to take for granted the charm of autumn. Early snowfalls have draped a decorative blanket on Park City's ridgeline that pacifies us each morning through our commute. Annual rituals mark the locals' shared sense of anticipation: the Warren Miller film, Off The Grid, played to a sold out crowd at Park City High School's Eccles Center; The Park City Ski Swap took over the High School as well drawing huge numbers in support of their ski team; friends have been buying gear, collecting ski passes, and comparing notes on which area might have the most rewarding hike-to terrain until the resorts open fully.
Last weekend I was baptized into the world of backcountry touring. Sarah's father, Gary had been making an almost daily trek up Alta's in-bound territory to get in shape for the upcoming season. Last Sunday looked to be an epic affair as the base was just starting to build up enough to ski comfortably and the forecast called for a few fresh inches on top. Gary invited me to join him and I couldn't refuse. Gary let me borrow a set of skins and a pair of Alpine Trekkers to create a makeshift randonee setup. Skins are directional felt straps that fasten to the base of the skis with a layer of adhesive allowing the skier enough friction to walk uphill. Alpine Trekkers are a binding insert that temporarily frees the skier's heel to walk uphill at a more natural angle, effectively converting an alpine binding to a telemark binding.
I hopped in the car at 5am to make it to Gary's house in Sandy. Despite some remaining weather and wind-blown snow on the roads, plus a stop at McDonalds for breakfast, I arrived by 6:30 or so. By 7, we hit the Alta parking lot. There were as many as 6 other cars already there. We hopped out next to Gary's new friend, Dan, a younger hippie kid with dreadlocks and a cheerful disposition, apparently unaffected by the still-rising sun. We fiddled with equipment for a while and headed up from Alta's Goldminer's Daughter Lodge, under the Collins Lift and up the main thoroughfare. Under the hissing snow-guns ice built up a crust on our outer layers, justifying any price paid for waterproof gear. About halfway up, the remaining cast of heavy cloud cover dispersed and the overwhelming but familiar sheen of the surrounding bowl was illuminated under a rich, atmospheric blue. The terrain I knew so well last year was different because I was looking uphill without definition of groomed trails. As far as we could see in all directions was untracked powder, aching to be churned by the most willing participants.
At the top, we encountered a handful of giddy co-conspirators, each praising himself for not sleeping in. This group included Dan, who we hadn't seen since the parking lot, but who was now on his second run. We exchanged friendly banter while adjusting gear and clothing to prepare for the descent. Gary and I munched on celebratory cookies Sarah had baked and packed for us and drank the last of our water. We had taken a less worn route to the top, through a grouping of trees between the top of Collins Lift and the powder field, Ballroom. There we saw such deep socked-in snow and fresh lines that we decided to keep it quiet.
We bid adieu to the other skiers and snuck back into those trees. I let Gary take the first turns and watched him float effortlessly down between the trees and stumps. With deep breath and an even deeper "WHOOHOO", I dropped in, hoping I still remembered how to turn. The plunge could not have been more worth it as I made a few quick moves and gained enough speed in the fall line to start splashing that light, Utah snow all about. We made our way down alongside of some new buddies we met at the top from one favorite stash to the next, each pitch as satisfying as the last.
At the bottom, it became apparent that we had definitely made the right decision to come up early, as there was a swarm of would be adventurers climbing up from the now full parking lot. Gary and I exchanged a high-five and headed down-canyon, still aglow from our victory. Now the resorts are opening and it's time to actually participate in a normal ski day, with lifts and multiple runs, hot chocolate and chili; all in search of that weightless euphoria. But, as with any drug addiction, the first and ultimately best highs are free.
Sorry it's been so long since our last entry. These winter months have been busy. But as the sun starts setting later, we find ourselves getting motivated again. We're training for some triathlons this spring...Well Sarah's training. I'm starting to think about training. And we're still skiing our butts off. Which brings me to my story.
This weekend was one of the only weekends since November with no fresh snow in the forecast. So we decided we'd take advantage of Sarah's free passes to Deer Valley in Park City. Deer Valley is among the swankiest ski resorts in the country. We half expected to feel out of place, but we were able to adjust our mindset from fresh tracks and big drops to corduroy and sweeping GS turns.
For my first run I used my Salomon X-scream 9's, the very skis I had learned to ski upon in the seemingly distant past (through last year) at Sunday River in Maine. I figured they would handle the groomed conditions with ease. However, I have evidently become so accustomed to my newer, wider Salomon Pocket Rockets, that I immediately switched back. With 30 millimeters more girth underfoot, I strutted back into the lift line with Sarah and some friends from Park City.
A few runs into the morning, I was looking for a diversion from the groomed superhighways we had been skiing. I hopped in and out of the trees, scoped our rocks to huck and even happened into a few mogul fields. Most people who ski with me know that I'm not a traditional skier. I learned late in life and skiing for me is more about adrenaline than peaceful bliss. What's more is that without any formal ski training, I also don't possess some basic ski disciplines, such as skiing moguls. You might call them my "nemesis". Fundamentally, I understand some basics of skiing moguls, but have never been fond of the idea. Today, though, I lost sight of that...momentarily.
I stood on the edge of the groomed run, staring down a line between ice-filled snow goblins. A voice inside said, "Forget it. Take the Groomer. You have nothing to prove. This will end horribly." It's that same voice that tells you not to put your coffee on the edge of the table. You ignore the voice, thinking "Well it's not like I'd be stupid enough to knock it over!" Then in the same instant, as if predestined, you're swatting the hot coffee to the carpet and kicking yourself.
That said I decided to give it a go. As instructed (directly or by eavesdropping atop other mogul runs) I pictured myself as a stream of water, falling down the path of least resistance. It seemed simple enough. I made about 20 turns fairly convincingly (to myself at least). Then the pitch lessened and gave way to a point of rest before the next section of lumps. Feeling confident from the first pitch, I entered the next section without so much as slowing down. As I came over the lip of a cat-track I saw my line for the first time. I was no longer a babbling brook happily trickling down a serpentine path. Instead I was a bucket of murky rainwater tossed from a rooftop on an unsuspecting patsy; neither necessary, nor funny.
I absorbed the first few blows like a series of sucker-punches in a bar-fight I had not only initiated, but deserved to lose. With a feeble sense of self-preservation, I pointed my heels and leaned back trying to slow down, or at the very least, hoping to live. My evasive maneuvers proved too little too late, as one large disapproving ice-lump kicked me skyward. My internal soundtrack went from pounding speed-metal to a serene adagio movement. Then my calm was interrupted by the crunching noise of torso meeting mogul. I had landed on my lower spine at the crest of an unrelenting bump. Maybe I bounced a few times, but my immediate thought was that I might have broken my back. I struggled to breathe as well-meaning passersby rushed to my assistance and proceeded to ask me essay type questions. With the wind-knocked from my chest cavity, I simply gave a weak thumbs up and weezed "How did it look?"
I laid motionless for a minute or so, going through a checklist of self-diagnosis. First, I wiggled my toes to eliminate paralysis. I started to rock back and forth looking for the sharp pain of broken bones. Then I laid back to open my lungs and overcome the tendency to hyperventilate. Sarah and her friends caught up. I decided I didn't need Ski Patrol's assistance, especially considering that a ride in their sled, although it looks like fun, is not covered by insurance. (Thanks Patty Caret for finding that out for us.) I made my way up and clicked into the one ski that had released in the process. As I met up with the groomer and headed for the lift line, still weezing and suffering mostly from blow to my pride, i noticed a lack of edge response from my left ski (the one that stayed on). When I met up with the rest of our party waiting in line, they noticed the tail of my ski was sticking up in the air. So to literally add insult to injury, I had snapped my ski in half.
We decided to call it a day and headed right for the emergency clinic in Park City. (Readers may remember this clinic from the previous story "Utah Rocks...") X-rays on my spine came back negative for compression fracture. However the doctor was amazed at the almost perfect alignment of my discs. So thanks Dad for the lifetime of free chiropractic care. He wrote several pain prescriptions, which I was uncharacteristically quick to accept since my muscles had at this point seized up completely.
So as I sit here, on a bright Sunday morning, medicated through the roof while my wife enjoys a safe bluebird day with friends, I suppose I caution you readers to listen to that inner voice. Don't spill your coffee. Don't leave your plate on a chair. Don't pee into the wind. And don't ski stiff moguls, under the chairlift, with a bunch of friends if you SUCK at skiing moguls.
Just about 6 months in Utah now. And finally, the snow is falling. We were starting to think we were snow repellants. We left New England just in time for record snowfall, and it seemed every other resort in the country was getting hit. This time last year, Utah had a 5-foot storm. Regardless, Alta opened on Friday with mostly manmade snow. We diligently attended the first day, making our turns on groomed runs, to get ready for an inevitable pounding of snow. The reports were scattered. We were to receive anywhere from 1-30 inches in the next few days. But we were optimistic.
I awoke at 3 o'clock Saturday morning to the sound of raindrops. Raindrops in the Salt Lake Valley very often mean snow in the canyons. I laid awake until 5:30 when my curiosity brought me to my feet. I checked the snow report online. Only 4 inches. But that was enough to peak my excitement. They warned that "the lake effect" might kick in. The Great Salt Lake has a way of sucking the moisture out of the weather front, creating dryer, lighter, fluffier snow than anywhere on earth. Hence Utah's trademarked slogan, "The Greatest Snow on Earth". By 8am, Alta's site was updated with a magic number: 12 inches! I got dressed. Sarah was not feeling well and opted to sit this one out. Sympathetic and conflicted as I was, she encouraged me to head up the canyon alone.
As I drove up the East Bench of the valley, the rain turned to snow and I watched as each driveway had more snow than the one before. The drive up the canyon got progressively worse, but I arrived at Alta unscathed. There was a small crowd of Pagan snow worshipers. Each car in the Goldminer's Daughter parking lot slept under a white blanket with its windshield wipers extended to welcome the accumulation. People ran or skiied from their cars to the Wildcat Lift, a rickety two-seater with no restraining bar. I threw my skis down by the empty lift line and clicked in. A group of locals collected after a run. These kids live in Little Cottonwood Canyon and ski with baggy, technical gear, HUGE powder skis and full facemasks. One of them told another about an encounter he had just had with another skier, somewhere in his vapor trail halfway up the hill: "He was like, 'HEY! Are you the kid that almost hit me?' I said, 'No. I'm the kid that just ripped a BADASS TURN around you!!'" Overhearing this, I laughed out loud, and they looked at me with smiles.
I rode the lift alone and watched the skiers below, putting on a powder skiing clinic. When my feet finally hit the ground I scooted right, remembering the steep glades on the western side of the resort. I traversed hard across the open snowfields and stared down the steep pitch. I arrived at a chute between clumps of trees and figured "what the hell?" I dropped in aggressively and struggled through the first few turns. It probably resembled Batman's futile struggles when caught in a fishing net. But it felt amazing. I was floating. After a few runs, I relaxed a bit and found myself making turn after turn with snow pouring into my chest. Occasionally, I'd plow through a fresh pillow-top and take in a breath of snow. Choking on snow is better than death by chocolate. It's a sense of guiltless gluttony, unrivaled in the human experience. At times you find yourself buried in impossible places, with a mentally ill grin on your face. At one point, my ski came off under the snow. It took me about 25 minutes to find it. On another occasion, I was seduced into a hole 12 feet deep. Climbing out was tough, but I was so hysterical, I didn't mind. Then I watched another skier follow my track right into it, despite my two-handed Carlton Fisk Impression. We shared a laugh.
Alone, on the chair, I wondered when this had happened to me. I learned to ski as part of a compromise with my girlfriend. I learned to ski to BE WITH her. I used to go skiing because it was what SHE did, not what I did. I used to stick it out and pretend to like it. When did I BECOME a skier??? When did I start losing sleep over it? When did ski films become my pornography? When did ski gear become my fashion statement? When did I start leaving my wife at home to go skiing?? Was it when I traded in my Audi for a Subaru? Was it that weekend at Jay Peak? Or the years of smiling through frigid Maine weather like a badge of honor? Was it when I started growing a beard in the winter and peeing my name in the snow? Was it when I moved to Utah? Or was it long ago, when I made my first snowman? When I prayed for a white Christmas? When we spent hours perfecting a groove on the sledding hill? I guess I always was this person. I just never knew it, and I'm just now getting familiar with myself. I guess I'm learning to walk again.
Sunday was even more spectacular. The snow had carried through the night and was still going strong. Sarah and our friend Tracy joined me. We had a blast in the powder playground. We stayed around the Wildcat lift, knowing that the other side of the mountain had not enjoyed the same coverage. All told, we received over 2 feet of snow as light as Splenda sugar substitute. Whoever came up with the slogan, "The Greatest Snow on Earth", was NOT a skier. They may have been a world traveller, versed in all kinds of precipitation. Or perhaps they were simply arrogant enough to assume the Earth would be compelled to agree. But while I'm not disputing the claim, If that person WERE a skier, the slogan would be "The BITCHIN'IST Snow on Earth!" For once, we were in the right place at the right time. And that was just the opening weekend.
