Tales From a Female Ski Bum

A Trip to Tuckerman Ravine: One Ski Dog's Story

2013-05-06T18:22:00.000-04:00

Humans are sooooo slow.
I have already taken my after breakfast nap,
and they are still getting their boots on,
and organzing all the extra stuff they have to bring.
Humans always need so much stuff.

Wait, there's my leash...
it's time to go puppy skiing!!

Oh right, I remember this place.
We won't be skiing for a while.
But it's okay, there are so many different sniffs on this trail.
I can't decide what's more interesting,
all the different people or...

oh great,
a golden retiever puppy is coming up behind us.
please don't jump on me.
please....

We don't have to hike with them,
right, mom?
Cause you love me more, right?
right?
pet ME!!

Another pit stop while they change from skins into crampons,
I will have to remember to keep my paws away from them.
As I sniff around, I remember...
this is the mountaineering trail to the top,
where the super sweet sniffies are.
I remember last time we were here there was a sweet spot to howl from,
I hope that is where we are going this time!!

Whoah, i had forgotten how steep this trail is.
Could someone just give me a little push on this section?
Yeah, this one with the rope and no snow?
Phew, I almost went over backwards there.
Good thing my mom was right behind me to help.
Maybe I should thank her by licking some of the sweat of her nose.
Maybe I should just...lay down on the side of the trail to take a quick break.

Bouldering?
You guys didn't tell me there was gonna be bouldering!!
It is always filled up with snow here!
I love bouldering!
I can go over here, or over here
wait, I'm stuck over here
gotta go back there

Mom is still behind us, right da?
should i check on her?
I should check right?
okay. phew. I see her.
she's taking pictures.
of course

Come on, Mom!
We're almost to the howling spot!
Maybe there will be snow soon...
but the howling spot, the howling spot
maybe you will yodel with me?
like last time?
Or give me a top out treat?
i like those.
they would go well with all the yummy snow I am eating.

So we keep going, right?
No, taking a break?
the packs are off, we must be taking a break.
phew.
some puppy food?
ahhh, I am just gonna lay down for bit in this shady spot.

How was I supposed to know those were fragile alpine plants?!
Nobody tells me anything!
You don't have to snap your fingers at me.
I didn't touch them, I swear...
I just sniffed them.
I got it. I got it.

The packs are back on again,
and we have met up with another human.
And he doesn't have a dog.
He sniffies pretty good though, like canoes or something.
approved for pack membership today,
okay, mom.

I'm gonna go roll in the snow over here.
Wait!!
I see a path through the snow over there.
Over there, up that upper snow field...
Can I be the leader this time??

It's getting steeper.
I can see my mom using her hands just like me.
Four Paw Drive really does work best on these big mountains.
I keep trying to see around my mom, but she won't let me pass.
she is always looking out for me.
Hopefully she knows I could pick a better route than this silly post holey section.
Look, come over here...
this snow is waaaay better!!

Come on, you guys,
the top is just ahead!!
Then we can go Puppy Skiing, right?
Like really fast?
I can catch you,
I promise.
But only if you wait for me sometimes.

Oh, we are gonna hang out here for awhile, aren't we?
Is it okay if I just lay down here and...

Did I miss anything?
Did you guys eat anything without me?
Everybody still here?
Good,
Cause I could use a scratch, right there, below my right ear.
Yeah....oh that's the spot.
Can you just smell all the wonderfulness from up here?
It is...so peaceful.

Wait -
Are we going Skiing now?
Really? Now?
Can we go? Can we Go?
Can we go??

DROPPING IN!!!

Woof! Woof! Woof!
This is freaking awesome!!
Yahoo!!

May You Find the Spirit of the Mountains Within You

The Rut Days of April: The Fear of the End Begins

2013-04-07T09:53:00.001-04:00

The snow is solid and hard
The grooming is flat and fast.
The ungroomed is immovable.

The bumps are soft and sunny.
The snow is fresh and sticky.
The corn is stale and slushy.

It rains.
It snows.
It's summer.
It's midwinter.

It is April.

And there are only two months left.

I want the sun to come out.
I want the snow to soften up
so we can hammer out some soft spring bumps.

I want to ski
all day
every day.

But I don't want the sun to come out.
I want it to be winter forever.
so we can ski knee deep powder in the trees.

I want to ski,
all day
every day.

But I am exhausted.

Exhausted from trying to make ski days out of fourteen hour work days.
Exhasuted from wanting to ski and not being able to.
Exhausted from skiing and needing to sleep.
Exhausted from the fear that the ski season will soon be over.

And the tears start to fall.

Soon we will be trading
Hot Chocolate for Margaritas
Dark Colored Puffies for Day Glo Windstopper
Knee High Snow Boots for Cute little Flip Flops.
Warm Wooly Hats for Baseball Caps
Ski Poles for Paddles,
Ski Boots for...

I can't say it.
I am not ready for it to go.
Skiing is my Drug,
I need it.
It calls me.

Sometimes with the beautiful voice of a siren,
others with the evil cackle of a demon.

But I will always answer.

Please, please,
let the snow hold up as long as possible.
I need to get in like sixty more days or so.

I've got some nice, cold margaritas waiting for me in the parking lot.

May You Find the Spirit of the Mountains Within You.

#OmniTen Weekend: The Video

2013-03-14T18:25:00.001-04:00

Way Back in December, Columbia Sportswear sent me and nine other ski bums to the Canyons Resort in Park City, Utah for a RealWorld style weekend of product testing, a little bobsledding...and of course, powder skiing!!

A Tale of Two Killingtons or A Powder Day in March

2013-03-10T10:08:00.000-04:00

Most everyone knows One Killington.
We experience it every day,
the rush for first cabin in the morning,
the dodge ball scene in the afternoon,
and the infamous tailgate parties that fill bay after bay.

As the sun comes,
so does the red bull type behavior,
from seeing how few turns it takes to fly down Superstar
to throwing random 7's off the Bittersweet headwall
From top to bottom runs down Low Rider through the bumped up woods,
to fist pumping at the Pickle until someone gets fist pumped in the face
everyone has a One Killington.
and it is awesome.
:)

But there is another Killington.
One where you can hear a ski drop and lose it softly in the snow.
One where there is no race for the powder,
but a peaceful enjoyment of the fluff underneath your feet.
It is the quiet Killington.
The one that barely anybody knows.
No one except the groomers,
the snowmakers...
and the skinners.

Our alarms go off around 5:45 to 6:15 in the morning
depending on how far from the mountain we live.
Slowly but surely, the cars pull into the parking lot.
Some mornings there might be one or two,
while on full moons there can be a whole full row.
The scene might look similar to most,
just skiers unloading gear from their cars,
the sound of boot buckles clicking.
But then there are backpacks,
and headlamps...
and skis that are put on at the rear of the car.

It is pitch black as the skiers make their way up the hill,
single file,
we stick to the side of the trail,
just along the edge close to the treeline.
Headlamps rock back and forth.
it looks like a line of zombies coming out of the darkness.
There is some small chatter as we begin our journey,
but it quickly recedes as the pace settles in
Shoooooo, Shoooooo
Shooooo, Shooooo
the skis slide across the freshly falling snow with each stride,
and a single track is left,
with pole marks on either side.
This is the Skin Track.

Slowly,
like ants on a hill,
the group meanders up the mountain
somehow
without talking
everyone seems to know
where we are going.
An understanding about where the good snow will be this morning
And the fact that there will be enough for all of us.
There is no race,
but instead a mutual journey,
an experience shared among friend
the exact opposite of no friends of a powder day.
Here, we need friends.
To share the joy
to share the adventure
but also to help share the rescue
because we are alone.

Out here in the darkness of the morning,
there is no patrol to rescue us at a moment's notice.
Out here there is only miles and miles of untouched powder,
quietly awaiting those brave
- and perhaps slightly insane -
enough to make the uphill trek to earn it.

A snowshoe hare passes us,
for we are just animals in the woods,
no headphones blaring music,
or screaming teenage boys.

Just humans skinning silently through nature's snow covered glory.

We push still further onward,
the increase in elevation brings with it an increase in the wind
and the snow begins to drive down our throats,
making breathing increasingly difficult
as we round the final turns to the summit.

But we know it is there.
We turns our heads to the side
or pull our chins down
to try and catch some air at our own speed.

And still we push onward,
willing ourselves with the notion that
no one
no one
no one
will have skied what we will be skiing.
Open fields of snow,
our own private bowls of snow.
And we wonder:

How deep will it be this morning?

Arriving at our destination,
we are all quick to open our backpacks
pulling out the big down puffy jackets
that will secure all the well-earned warmth that we created on the way up.
before it is lost.
and our sweat freezes,
and we freeze.
and that would definitely suck.

But we are quick.
Softshells become puffies.
Hats become helmets.
thin touring gloves become mittens.
Skins are stripped off.
Alpine Touring Bindings get locked into position
Boits are clicked from tour mode into ski mode.
Goggles are pulled down...
and it is time to ski :)

And Ski...

Sometimes,
it is the glory of groomies,
where we can cut fresh gooves into perfect lines.
Other times it is binding deep blower,
with just enough fluff to make it all worth while.

But this morning,
this morning it is hitting right below the knee.
every turn.
It is gorgeous.
It is sexy.
It is...perfect.

Knee Deep Powder on the Eighth of March?
Thank You!!

Hmmm, do we have enough time...
Maybe one more skin before the lifts open?
We've got an hour.

Then the other Killington takes over.
And ours is lost to the night.

But we'll be right back after breakfast.
Cause there are chairs to be ridden,
and gondolas to pack.
Friends to laugh with and avoid in the trees,
high speed turns to make,
and way, way more powder to shred.

And I hear the sun comes out ;)

And who would want to miss that?

May You Find the Spirit of the Mountains Within You.

Fairy Tales & Powder: Childhood Ski Dreams Can Come True

2013-02-28T20:14:00.000-05:00

I came around the corner...
Wham!!
My eyes bugged out of my head.
My mouth dropped open
as I shook my helmet in disbelief.

I had dreamed of this moment,
of standing here,
at the entrance to this particular trail,
on a power day such as this.

SomeWhere
despite the absolute awesomeness of the day,
no one,
not a single person,
had been here.

I looked around,
first uphill then down,
making sure this wasn't a dream
wondering if someone was going
to pop out of the woods
and burst
the perfectness of my moment.
And then it sinks in.
I am going to ski this.
This will be all mine.

A tear forms in my eye...

oh my god,
Seriously?!
CALM DOWN.

But I cannot.
My heart is beating so wildly.
Here,
before me,
untouched and virgin,
lies a path through the snow.

And not just any snow.
Like feet and feet of wind drifted snow.
Like waist deep snow.
Like MY Snow!!!

The big selfish grin spread slowly across my face,
I Bit my lower lip in great anticipation...
I rocked back on my tails, swung those tips around,
and let my skis just fall down the hill.

For a while I ride my tails,
swinging my skis gently within the halfpipe like riverbed,
finally full of snow after this latest dumping.
slowly but surely
my speed increases
until I am bouncing from one drift to another.
Bouncing?
from drift to drift.

Wait, this is like...
rhe winddrifts are skiing like...

...PILLOWS??

A huge Whoop explodes from my throat
as I try to keep myself from laughing
at this.
So New
So unexpected
So absolutely freakin' awesome.

I drop from pillow to pillow,
the snow beneath me exploding
like feathers from a pillow during a pillow fight.
A Blazt of snow hits me in the face
with each pillow puff.

Pillows?!
Face Shots?!

What the hell is going on here?

How about a waterfall drop?
Sure,
whatever.
I'll take that drop and
Pooof!
Snow surrounds me everywhere and I rock forward and into the next turn.
Miraculously smooth and skiing like a dream come true.

I can't help myself.
My mind begins to go crazy excited now
overwhelmed by the drops and snow and
the whole entire freaking experience of it all.

I honestly never thought this would happen to me.
Not here in Vermont,
in Killington,
on this trail.
and certainly not today.

But here I was,
making swooping GS turns,
dodging around trees
Just enough space to redirect my tips
and land in the next pillow of snow.

It was so smooth
so sexy
so powderlicious.

As a Child,
I had heard tales of this trail
This secret place,
hidden so blatantly
among all the trees
in Killington.
A place where only the good grownups would go.

That's where I wanted to be.
Even though I had no idea what this trail could possibly have looked like,
I imagined my future self,
ripping up the powder
In my dream,
I was, like, totally super awesome, dude.

Eventually,
I found this trail.
I still remember the first time I skied it.
It certainly wasn't pretty.
or even like anywhere close to awesome.
More like:
Ohhhhh, this is what this trail was like.

And my dream changed.
Now I knew where the turns would be,
where the waterfall would
pop up
unexpectedly
around that turn,
you know, that one.

Sometimes it would be skied out.
Others would be fresh.
I skied it alone
(yeah, yeah, lecture me about safety another day)
Othertimes in a trail of two or three skiers,
right on top of each other in glorious powder eight style.
And it had always been super fun to ski.

And then,
it snowed a whole lot.
And then,
And then,
And then...

And Then...
A Childhood Dream Came True.

Skiing This Run,
On this Mountain,
On this Day,
was,
for me,

Epic.

May You Find the Spirit of the Mountain within You.

Skiing Killington at Night: Finding My Own Private Nemo

2013-02-10T19:32:00.000-05:00

My morning started with Freshies on East Mountain Road.
The plow guys were working so hard, but had yet to get to my access route to the mountain. If I could have figured out a way to take a photo while driving safely, I would have. It was just gorgeous - an untouched ribbon of white, so inviting as the snow reached from treeline to a just not hidden the guard rail separating the road from the golf course. The lights from the condos were glowing through the darkness thst marks five in the morning and the snowflakes glistened in the light as they fell slowly to the ground. I could see only as far as my headlights allowed; I had faith that the mountain was there, buried in white and just waiting for the moments when skiers would find all her secret hidden passageways filled with soft, luscious powder...

With my skins on, I left right from the back of my car in a contrastingly immaculately plowed parking lot. I had to step up the plow berm to even gt up onto the fresh snow and huge gust of wind hit me right in the throat. Quickly, I shuffled across the open expanse that is always the base area and hugged the treeline on skinner's right. The wind literally vanished and I was left in a quiet solitude amidst the darkness.

Like a monster scouring through the depths of the ocean, a groomer was beginning to make his way down underneath the chairlift. His lights made a dance through the trees and the snow beneath my feet was littered with glittery gold stripes. So together we would be for a while, my groomer friend and I, as he went down and I went up. Each on our separate journeys in the darkness,

While the snowflakes twinkling in the light of my headlamp was stunning, it was the snow on the ground that was really the focus of my attention.
And It had to.
The wind had created such distinct waves in the snow pack, that even against the tree line there were varying depths and densities in the snow. There would be fifty strides of smooth, glistening snow where I groomer had visited just before the sixteen inches had fallen. But then I might wander too close to the treeline and end up a soft pile of theigh deep which they had moved to the side to make a perfectly flat surface for the downhill skiers and riders.
And I would smile.
Cause it was pretty damn deep in that there snow :)

As I came out of the woods in to prepare for the next trail junction, I realized that I was indeed truly alone. It looked as though no groomer or snowmobiler had come through this way in days. The wind had pushed the snow every which way and all about, pushing it up against trees and pulling it harshly from others, leaving their roots exposed to the bitter cold that was descending upon us. You could have filmed a scene from some apocolypse flim...and we were the only ones left.

As we rounded the final bend, I pulled in behind a nook of evergreen trees to quickly change from my softshell into my ever so cozy Biwak Puffy. Yeah, it's a bright glowy pink, but it is so lusciously warm and like wrapping myself in a sleeping bag. It only takes a few moments for the heat from body to fill in the air space between my merino baselayer. I am all snuggled up and finally ready for the change. I swing my arms fore and aft, willing the blood back into my fingertips so that ai ahve enough dexterity to grap the tip loop. And then I remember - I hadn't finished my tea from yesterday and the water was still warm!!! What a wonderful treat on on a blustery summit.

But I knew which way I wanted to go.
And so I went rolling in the deep.
Literally.
My tip got caught in a chunk of windblown snuck into my perfect powder run and I suddenly went log rolling down the hill until I was sitting on my right pole looking up at the tree tops on the summit. I chuckled to myself, thankful for a pile of light and fluffyness to land in. Packing down the snow around me, I cautiously stood up and shook the wicked cold snow out of my back. Super glad no one was here to see that, I thought to myself.

And then the rest of the float was all mine.
It was heavenly.
Literally, like it felt like floating on clouds.
Poof
Poof
Poof
Each turn was it's own wonderful world.
Poof
Poof
Poof
My breathing intertwined with the sound of fresh powder puffing up as I moved my skis through the snow.

It was Perfect.
:)

I hope that everyone had an absolutely wonderful day in Nemo's Powder this weekend, no matter how much snow fell around you.
It could have been an inch, sixteen or thirty-four...but it's all the same to me.
Fresh, Light & Lovely.
The way life should be.

May You Find the Spirit of the Mountains Within You

To Be Fourteen...and have your First Backcountry Ski Tour

2013-02-01T11:54:00.001-05:00

When I was fourteen,
I didn't even think about skiing in the trees because I would mess up my race tune.

When I was fourteen,
I thought hiking for slalom laps, decked out in all our protctive equipment, down lower Highline was the most badass thing that a skier could do in the public eye.

When I was fourteen,
Earlier lift for super G down Bunny Buster was like a dream come true - especially when we got to launch over the Lip at the top of Mouse Trap and the work road at the bottom of the Bowling Alley.

When I was fourteen,
I wore a full Descente outfit with my pants rolled at the cuffs, we hung our helmets at the of the giant slalom course in protest of wearing them...and I had a major crush on my bright yellow Rossignol 9S slalom race skis.

My beautiful young cousin Megan is now Fourteen.

She wears Icebreaker, Arc'Teryx & Mammut
and would never dream of skiing without a helmet.
She now has hand-me-down three buckle ski mountaineering boots,
adjustable poles and Fischer Koa 84s
and Skins.

And she went on
her first backcountry tour
in the half foot of fresh snow
that we got last week.

It snowed pretty much the whole duration of our skin up through the mountains.
Stride after stride,
I kept checking behind me to make sure
that the young teenager was enjoying herself
and not just suffering along behind Vespi.

Everytime I looked,
I could see her eyes meandring about,
checking out everything that the Killington woods had to show
someone willing to explore them.

And there was amazement in them.
And a curiosity.
Where the hell was my cousin taking me?

And she kept moving.

Sliding her skis along the snow,
no frankenskinning happening here.

Just nice long strides
moving her further and further into the backcountry
as Vespi kept right in line with the humans.
Puppy Coopie, of course, ran every which way in search of greatness.
Actually, I think Coop has figured out that he can get more skiing in if he hikes far ahead and then sprints back down the trail repeatedly in the pow.

Gotta love a dog who loves powder!!

As we switchbacked further and further up the mountain,
the fresh snow got lighter and lighter
and deeper and deeper.
Megan was willing to lead for a while
...at least until the snow got to be knee deep.
There is nothing an east coast powder skier celebrates more
than light windblown snow :)
It can take six inches and turn it into two feet
- if you know which side of the mountain to ski on!!

We skinned deep and deeper into the woods.
The man made noises which had been heard faintly as we had begun
had now completely disappeared.

We were alone.
Except for the dogs.
and the beautiful field of powder that was
gradually exposed to us as we rounded the final corner.

As we reached our destination
I could see the smile growin on Megan's face
as the reality of the whole situation began to sink in.

We were gonna ski this?!?!

Our first task was to exchange her hard shell and spring gloves for her puffy Mammut Pilgrim Jacket and toasty warm mittens in order to trap all that well-earned warmth.

I have never seen a teenager move so fast.

Those skins were ripped off and folded faster than some of my friends who skin with me all the time. And despite never having skinned before, she had those Alpine Touring bindings figured out in a jiffy and was ready before I was.

She wanted that Powder.
And she wanted it first.

And So,
In this case,
Honors went to the Rookie :)

When Megan was Fourteen,
she learned how to keep dogs at a ski poles length away while skiing to preserve the integrity of their shins and the purity of her powder.

When Megan was Fourteen,
she learned that there is no reason to freak out about scratches on her edges and core shots in her bases. Skiing where no one has skied before is well worth time spent at the tuning bench.

When Megan was Fourteen,
she learned that the woods are still and quiet while the winds of a violent snowstorm rage around us. The snow within the woods can be enough to bury a dog and certainly enough to find fresh powder for everyone in the group.

When Megan was Fourteen,
she learned that a three hour backcountry ski tour in the woods
can make even your deepest worries go away.

When Megan was Fourteen,
she learned the beauty of earning your turns.
she learned to find the spirit of the mountains within her.

It makes me wonder what she'll be skiing when she reaches her thirties.

As so many kindred spirits have before,
May You Find the Spirit of the Mountains Within You!!

BackYard Backcountry: A Much Needed Escape into the Killington Woods

2013-01-21T12:53:00.000-05:00

The town has been crawling with people.
Skiers & Snowboarders have been flocking to Killington,
eager to enjoy the amazingly favorable weather we've been having.

Don't get me wrong.
We've been enjoying it, too.
And the business that comes with.
But sometimes, you need a break.

To pull back from the craziness of life on the Access Road.
A Return to the Simpler things in Life.
A Return to Nature.
A Rejuvination.

So one night after work at the shop,
we packed up the sled,
Strapped on our snowshoes...
and headed out the back door.

And found ourselves deep in the
Calvin Coolidge State Forest

As the suns set,
we flicked on our headlamps
and enjoyed what has horrified so many off the backside lately:
the Vermont woods at night

The air is so still,
the forest so silent.
We saw footprints, but would hear and see no animals.
All we could hear was the light floof of our snowshoes in the fresh snow.

The ridgeline,
normally so visible in the daylight hours
quickly vanished.
We were forced to rely
on our map skills and memories
to find our way to our destination.

But it was wonderful.
Except for the sled dragging behind me.
Especially maneuvering around tight trees
over few brooks and streams
and then pulling the damn thing uphill.

But one day I will learn patience.
I hope.

Just as Vespi's tummy startd grumbling we arrived at our destination.
The summit of some random mountain in the middle of the forest.
Just a slight upslope, quite unremarkable save for the increased density of pine trees.
There were no blazes, no markers -
Just an old ragu jar, hanging from a tree.

So we signed in our names in the little spiral notebook that had been stuffed in the jar,
noticing that no one had been here since July.

And that it was a lot warmer then.

The next hour is spent focusing on the necessities of life.
Shelter.
Warmth.
Food.
And fast.
before our internal body temperatures begin to match that of the outside.

But soon we are nestled in our down jackets and sleeping bags,
snuggling close so that i can return
some dexterity to my fingers
before lighting the stove.

I rub them,
i blow on them,
and stick them under my long johns to absorb some of the heat from my core.
And soon I am ready to touch the metal
and try not to set fire to the tent
while I prime the stove.

Eventually, the water boils
and our dinner of rice pasta, pesto & sausage
disintigrates into a gooey mess.
Definintely not how i had imagined it
while I was packing
but cheesey and warm just the same.

it goes Perfect with the hot toddy
that I carried in my thermos
And I sink further and further
down into my sleeping bag

We can hear the wind rustling through the tree tops
as we read our books to the light of headlamps
And nothing in the world matters
...except staying warm

We rise with the light of the sun
shining mellowly through the tent walls
42.0
Degrees in the tent.
Not too bad, considering :)

I shudder about sliding
into my snowboots probably frozen
waiting for me in the vestibule.

The thought of hot banana waffles
when we arrive home
eventually pulls me from my bag
as does the call of nature

We wandeer through the woods
for a few more hours
Back to the real world,
to the Access Road
and the roar of snowguns
Back to heated homes
and wonderfully warm showers.

Then we grab our skis
and head out to the mountain.

The Struggle for Seventy: Pushing through the Holiday Season at Killington

2013-01-14T09:36:00.001-05:00

I will be the first to admit it.
I am exhausted.

On January 2nd, I hit 60 days for the season.
It is now January 13th and i am still struggling to hit seventy days.
The alarm clock beeps at 5:45am and I groan.

Taking a deep breathe in, i let the memories of the previous day overtake me.
Eight hours of work in the shop.
followed immediately by 6 hours behind the bar.

Do I really want to go skiing today?

Another Deep Breathe...
Because I cannot believe that thought has even crossed my mind.

But the thought has.
and I can't shake it.

I begin to wonder if I
even have the energy
to stand up for yet another
14 hour work day.

After spending 90 minutes
skinning up the mountain.

I take another deep breathe,
a tear rolls down my face.

And I succomb to my exhaustion.

And so I work.
All Day.
and then
All Night.

I smile as I talk about how awesome the skiing,
because I know it must have been.
I can look outside my window and imagine
how glorious the snow must be as it bakes in the sunshine.
I scroll through and see
the smiling faces of my friends
as they celebrate the January Thaw
with run after run of bumps made from soft, corn snow.

I take a deep breathe.

And I hear my boss calling my name.
"Merisa?"

I turn around,
thinking that I must have
faded away
into a
daydream.

Feeling the snow,
gliding under my skis.
I am floating,
Gliding,
Skiing.

"Oh, wait,
Sorry, D.
What did you want?"

"It is gorgeous outside.
Why don't you grab Vespi and go out for a skate ski?"

I jump up from behind the counter,
breaking away from the computer screen.

I am out of the shop in less than five minutes.

And so I get in my seventieth day on skis for this winter.

Phew.

May You Find the Spirit of the Mountains Within You.

(and thanks so much, Diane, Mike and the staff at Base Camp Outfitters for letting me get in a few very much needed laps on Orange!!

The Internal Powday Clock: A Ski Bum Connection with the Snow

2013-01-05T09:58:00.000-05:00

It's 9:30 at night.
I have no trouble passing out.
Thanks to my bedtime glass of Whistlepig and the constant pre-dawn wake-up calls, my eyes close pretty much as soon as my head hits the pillow.
I move my legs so that they curl around the eleven-year old golden retreiver snuggled on top of the comforter at the bottom of the bed.
I begin to dream the skier's dream.

What feels like a full night later, I roll over and my eyes are as wide as little buttons.
I check the time on my phone.
It's bright techno blueish light blinds me like Spock checking his machines.
I blink as I make out the time.
23:00
Seriously?

My curtains are closed and the room is pitch black
except for the trippy little night light
that we put on so that I don't trip over my pile of long johns
scattered halfhazardly all over the floor on my side of the bed.

I can still hear
the classical music
playing lightly in the background
that we set to a 120 minute timer.

I sigh in frustration and make sure that I'm not smushing anybody's arm or tail.
Closing my eyes, I hope that this time I will sleep until the buzzer.

It's around 2 o'clock the next time I roll over.
I can feel the tears start to well up in my eyes.
How am I gonna have any energy to skin up in the morning
if I cannot manage to get beyond a single REM cycle?
I look down at my feet
to see Vespi sleeping peacefully with her head between her paws.
I can feel the boyfriend breathing rhythmically beside me.
Why can't I sleep?
The frustration begins to eat at me from the inside,
I roll over and somehow I pass out once again.

While most people believe that being a ski bum involves hours on snow alternated with time spent washing dishes at the local pub, there is so much more than that.

There is something in the blood,
something as intrinsic as life itself,
where the spirit of winter meshes with my internal being.

A Ski Bum doesn't need
to look out the window
to know
that it is snowing on the other side.

We can feel the stillness,
that wintery calm,
that overtakes the world as the flakes fall silently to the ground.

Or the snowflakes that blast against the side of the window.
We feel those, too

For some reason I cannot explain,
My body knows when it is snowing.

My internal powday clock wakes me up,
And I go skiing.

It is as simple as that.

May You Find the Spirit of the Mountains Within You,
FemaleSkiBum

One Month of Skiing at Killington...And I am Completely Obsessed

2012-12-04T23:49:00.001-05:00

I have been a very bad girl.
I have fallen into the abyss.
I have gone skiing.
Everyday.

And I have forgotten about the rest of the world.

It happens.
Every winter.
Where I forget about absolutely everything except where and when I am going to make that next turn. I fall asleep debating whether or not to skin for Dawn Patrol or stand in line waiting desperately for first cabin. Dinner is eaten early so I can be in bed by at least 10pm - if not wicked earlier - so I get enough sleep to ski. Nights at home consist of making dinner and then trying not to fall asleep on the couch before bedtime.

I eat. I ski. I work. I eat one more time. And then I sleep.

All the mundane things of life slip away, consciously at first and then i just plain forget. Only a timer on my phone reminds me that the mortgage is due or that I have to pay the electric bill. The grocery store seems so far away, and Neil Diamonds at the Phat Italian are just soooo much closer. We eat spaghetti, mac & cheese, whatever I can make work in the fridge. I don't really care, my mind is already wondering which section of the mountain is going to have the sexiest snow in the morning,

I mean, I knew this would happen.
It always does.
But I never imagined that it would happen this early in the season.
It is kind of frightening, really.
For a girl who likes to be in control of all things,
the thing I have the least control over is my life once skiing begins.

The mountain rules my life.
And I am not really sure if I want it back.

Let's Look at the facts.
1. My Dad is skiing through his bi-weekly chemo treatments. We meet for first cabin in the mornings and ski until he is ready for a nap (which can be one run or two hours). This is freaking the awesomest ever.

2. My boyfriend is skiing 5 days a week after two years practically off snow from a traumatic brain injury. After almost eleven year together, I am falling in love with him (and his unbelieveably gorgeous turns) all over again.

3. I have a pretty swet job in which I get to talk about skiing all day long. And working at Base Camp has come with some pretty sweet perks, like skis, boots, some unbelieveably sick ski gear from Mammut and owners who llve waking up at 5:30 in the morning to earn their turns. It is like working in a ski bum toy store.

4. It is December Fourth and My 35th Day of Skiing. Holy Shit!!

4. My sister actually got up for first gondola to ski with me and dad.
Hell just might have frozen over.

5. If the world has indeed frozen over, shouldn't we ski it?

And it has snowed (a little)
And been cold (just enough)
And there is no Dew Tour (so Killington can actually make snow!!)
And I have gotten fresh tracks pretty much every day for the past 25.

Sounds like the season is shaping up to be epic

May You Find the Spirit of the Mountains Within You
And let it take control of your life - at least just a little!!
--Merisa

A Marker of Thanksgiving: Let the Counting Begin!!

2012-11-22T10:30:00.001-05:00

Sure, you've heard plenty of guys in the liftline ask the liftie the question.
Perhaps you've seen the parantheses surrounding the number at the end of a facebook status. You must have heard it late night in the bar, surrounded my high fives and shots.
When we were little, my mom would write our first initial on the calendar.
I liked when there were lots of M's.
The local at the bar pulls his glasses to the brim of his nose and looks at his watch. He looks to the sky and does some calculations in his head and comes out with an answer that will probably astound you.

These are the day counters.
This number can be seen as badge of honor.
A way of measuring one's true dedication to the sport.
The larger the number, the greater they glory.
Every day like another notch in the belt of the season.
Tagged This One.
Skied that One.
Self-Proclaimed members of this group greet each other
with handshakes of acknowledgement.
They celebrate in varying degrees as different milestones are reached.
While twenty might just receive a handshake in the liftline and fifty a beer at a bar, 100 gets you a night on the town.
150 might be a pat on the back...
but by 200 they hate you.

They stand as markers of time.
10 Days
20 Days
35 Days
50 Days
75 Days
100 Days
125 Days
150 Days
175 Days
200+ Days
Every season you try to ski a little bit more than the year before.
And you can't end of the season with 48...you gotta pull out two more.

You should congratulate that guy who just passed another milestone...
we work hard for those numbers.
Besides Life, there are days where we, like, totally go to work and stuff.
How about Kelly?
who drove to Boston, ran in the Fenway Spartan Race and then drove home to sneak in a few runs before the lifts closed.
Or Heidi?
Who is willing to get up at 5am and skin up
in order to make sure she can ski before work.
Or Dylan and Joey?
Two young gentlemen in the liftine this morning
waiting since 7:30am for the gondi to run
so that Dad (oops, I mean they) can grab that first cabin...

We all count for different reasons.
Simply Put,
I ski because...
that's who I am.
and where I live
and I am pretty much addicted.
But that's another blog.
(read here)

I count my blessings.
Each and every day I get to ski is a wonderful gift that I treasure.
Some obviously waaaay less than others.
Like yesterday. Didn't thrill me too much.
Honestly felt a little clausterphobic and didn't wanna to go.
But I would have felt a lot worse if I had not gone.
If I hadn't felt the snow sliding beneath me.
If I hadn't had my skis swinging beneath me
If I hadn't made a single curtsey or railroad track.
Ugh.
I shudder just thinking about it.
But the day before, and the day before that...and the day before that one
Now those were so spectacularly amazing!

Today marked Day 23.
Twenty-Three Days where I am Thankful that I am a Ski Bum.
I have seen wonderful sunrises and sunsets,
Packed Gondolas full of Dirty, Smelly Locals,
Laughed in the sunshine of the Glades Triple with Friends,
and
Skied a Whole Freakin Lot!!

How Many Days Will You Be Thankful For?

We all count for different reasons.
We all count for the same reason.
Because Deep Down...

We all just wanna be ski bums.

May You Find the Spirit of the Mountains Within You,
Merisa

Week 2: There's a New-Old Spirit in the Air at Killington

2012-11-14T09:17:00.000-05:00

As I sit down to write this week's blog, there are still a few stubborn leaves blocking the view of Killington Peak from my kitchen table. I can see what has become a familiar site to those of us living here over the past few weeks: the perfectly clear blue sky just beginning to warm up the ground and the snowy smoke rising from certain trails which are now having their turn as the focus of our wonderful snowmaking team's attention.

There's a new feeling around town
...a new spirit...
and it is not the same one that rises from the depths of post-foliage every year.

This is a new spirit, a lighter, happier one.
More like an old-new spirit, because I have felt it here before.
When I was a child, when I was little and felt that the mountain was young, like me.

And it is a pervasive spirit, one that seems to be growing larger and has effected almost everyone I have stood in line, packed a gondola or ridden a chairlift with in the past week.

Snowboarders & Skiers,
Young & Old,
Killington Newbies, the Killingtime Gang and theOle K-Town Die Hards

...there is something going on here...

Maybe it's the amount of snow that is being blown, non-stop twenty-four hours a day, with a slight pause only for this past weekend's sixty-five degree temperatures?

Friday morning, I remember this feeling fairly overwhelmed me as we crossed Great Northern while riding the Glades Triple: they were blowing snow on Powerline.

Maybe it was the fact that, despite the Chamber Pass Meeting being on a Tuesday, those of us with current paystubs and last year's Chamber passes could bring both to Guest Services for a lift ticket to ski on Monday?

Could it have come from seeing new President & GM Mike Solimano greeting guests at the entrance to the K1 on Saturday morning or the friendly smile from Kait, who has been there every morning checking tickets and passes and actually seems interested in how the skiing is?

There has been eclectic music blasting at the bottom of the Glades, as I have seen people zoom around but not come anywhere close to each other. Maybe that's the reason?

Has it been because we have been dancing with the snowguns for so many days...or was it Friday when they finally were able to groom and we all went so fast it shook us a bit?

Or the local snowboarder who strapped off his board to help the patroller pull a tobaggan across the flats.

Or maybe the thoughts of a re-incarnation of the Bear Mountain Mogul Challenge or the nightmares of last season's snowfall dead and buried...

There is a sense of time passing us by, like we are moving from the nightmares that have plagued us toward a new something else. This past week, Killington mourned the passing of one of it's magnificent co-Founders, Joe Sargent. The financial wizard behind our great mountain, the man who took Pres Smith's dreams and turned them into a viable reality, his passing has brought back so many memories for so many people in town. Thoughts of a Great Killington, one that could rise from a chicken coop to what will be a stunning peak lodge, have reemerged with a sense of obligation, commitment, quiet dedication...

A duty is being passed to us now, a mission, to carry on this freat legacy that he helped begin. To make sure that we have a mountain of which Joe's children and grandchildren can be proud. To stand guard over a mountain that for so many of us has become a home, the sacred place where we can be ourselves...

And for me, this week was filled with amazement, as my own father returned to the hill after being diagnosed with Stage IV Colorectal Cancer five months ago. While still going through bi-weekly chemo treatments, he now feels strong enough to walk...and for our family, that means skiing, too! The warm temps this past weekend meant that the cold weather neurological effects from the oxciliplatin would not bother him and we were free and clear. It might have been the longest top to bottom run I have ever taken in my entire life, but I can guarantee that I will remember every stop, every conversation, and every turn.

This mountain has to be wonderful if it means so much to so many.

So what is this spirit that has somehow reemereged over the past week throughout the mountains and town of Killington? Yes, it can be summarized and corporatized into corporate sayings and NPS scores, but it is rapidly becoming so much more than that.

It's the laughter heard as we load the chairlift after skiing sleeper pow on an early Tuesday morning when everyone thought it was going to be rain.

It's the Whoop Whoops let go by the people skiing in shorts beneath thsoe of us on the chair.

It's the beauty seen from the top of the mountain as we celebrate the existence of the Stwirway to Heaven.

It's the smile on the local's face because he can ride on Saturday mornings.

It's the amazement on our faces when we see guns lit up on Skyelark, Upper Bunny and Powerline weeks before Thanksgiving.

It's the pride returning to our town as we see all the hard work going into preparations for the Foundry at Summit Pond or the purchase of Bill's Country Store.

Great things are happening here, more than just the grooming and snowmaking, and the freakin' awesome snow with which have been blessed this past week.

There is hope and smiles, optimism and enthusiasm, and lots and lots of skiing!!

If you look through the snow covered trees,
you can see the magic is starting to return.

There is a new-old spirit in the air here in Killington.

The BEAST is BACK!!

May You Find the Spirit of the Mountains Within You,
FemaleSkiBum

Killington Opening Day 2012: Oh Winter, How We Have Missed You!!

2012-11-06T00:58:00.001-05:00

"In winter, it's easy to give up on everything,everything I've planned, everything I've accomplished,everything I believe. In the face of the first snowflake, I see the face of God, and in those who follow lesser but infinite gods, bringing MUNDANE EXISTENCE to a freezing halt, and I feel convincingly that I've arrived in exactly the place at exactly the time I was meant to be...."

For weeks now, we have been living this mundane existence. Each day we wake up, go to work, maybe have a few drinks and ice cream with friends, celebrate a birthday or two...the same types of days that I would imagine a resident of the real world experiences. Money gets wicked tight and life becomes focused on merely moving from one day to the next. The Ski Bum Life seems like only a dream, a faint reality sometime hopefully in the future...

And then it happens.
The snowguns are turned on, the lifts begin to move...

Opening Day Finally Arrives!!!!

my life has purpose again, it has meaning.

each day is wrapped with a glorious white fluffy bow
- like maybe with some lace from the Greenbrier -
and it is a gift.

A Snowy Gift.
On which we can Schuss.

So Schuss we do.

Beneath the blasts from the snow guns, my legs swing like a pendulum beneath me. With the low visibility, i am forced to feel for the mountain through my feet. From toe to heel, I breathe what I hope is a caress of the mountain and try to become one fluid movement. The dance begins. I slide overe this mound heree, and around this bump over there. A lift stansion comes into view and I dive my tips up, over and around. A slick spot pulls me further down the trail than I was expecting, but I keep my upper body moving down the hill and pause to wipe my goggle lenses at least somewhat clear. A pole plant guides me around the next mini-whaleback and I can see the loading terminal come into my distant view. There is some upbeat music and I heard there was cheap beer...But it's a quick 180 spin and back up the lift...

On the lift, I can hear the BF talking to me. He has been up on tho since 9am, has taken approximaty 30 runs and is telling about how the morning went or whatever, but I am not really listening. My whole body is caught up by the snowy beauty to my right - the trees of the North Ridge. They are stunning, as they usually are. But today they draw my attention. The past few days of snow have turned the evergreens into that perfect balance of green and white that so defines a classic winter moment. From our viewwpoint on the chairlift, we are floating amog the treetops. It is a magical view, the perfect way to start a season, and The toothsome grin frozen to my face seems to ant merely to soak up every last drop of winter.

But no day in the mountains would be complete without a hike through the woods - and so we ventured out to that magical trail that connects Vermont with the rest of the east coast. The stone structure on her path is a mecca for the Killington Skiers, a second home that provides an opportunity to simpy keep calm and take a moment to let it all sink in.

Ski Season has started.
Pheww.
Now my days will be defined by whether or not I skied,
how much snow has fallen,
which trails should we ski,
which gear for the day...

ah, somehow, today,
life just seems to be right.

While I love earning my turns, theeer is something to be said for running laps on the chairlift. The flow is there, the rhythym, the grace. Run after run makes you think - or not think depending - only about skiing and you can lose yourself in the moment. You find your winter friends - the ones to whom you share the deep kindred bond of snow love - and you do what you do best.
Ski.
And Ski some more.
oh man, the feeling of the schuss is just so magical, so ethereal, like floating on clouds but much silkier than I ever imagine clouds could be. My legs fall back into the old familiar motion, the muscle memory comes back easier each year, and I just let myself go. I feel like maple syrup, slowly oozing down the side of the bottle as i come down the mountain.

But all good things must come to an end.
And we will be skiing tomorrow.
And the next day.
And the next 150 days after that.
And more than a few more after that just for good measure.

Because that is what we do here.
That's Why We Live and Work in Killington.
The skiing.
It's Our Thing.

I feel like we're on our way to visit Santa as we make our way up the Stairway to Heaven, and I start thinking about how my holiday wish has already been granted.
I live the life I want, the life I need to keep me sane.

Days like today are the very reason I became a ski bum.

May You Find the Spirit of the Winter Mountains Within You,
Merisa

The Wait is Finally Over!!: Opening Day Tomorrow at Killington

2012-11-04T16:03:00.001-05:00

The hardest weeks of the year will soon be safely behind us.
We have been waiting
- some could even argue patiently -
for this season of torture to be over.

We started this past week with a torturously tiny flurry.
An amount of snow so freakin' tiny that Vespi didn't try to eat or roll in.
But after months of snowless depressions
(excluding that awesome week in October)
I was more than a little over excited for even just a dinkiness of fresh white wonderfulness.

In fact, on Friday I was late for work.
Why?
I had decided to myself that there was snow underneath that damn K Cloud and I wasn't going to stop hiking until I found the snow.
Which didn't happen until I was almost at the top of Snowdon,
a good bit passed the beginning of the cloud.

You would think that one would use up a "late for work" day over two feet of powder. Not me.
It was less than a half inch.

at least the mountain was stunningly beautiful in all her frosty glory.

Something that was creepy was discovering this huge section of blowdown. All of the trees were uprooted and leaning toward the Peak. Obviously, a microburst or some ofther such Sandy-ish freak of nature thing had just come threw and knocked the trrees over in just this one section of the mountain
(sadface)
Insepction of this area might also have contributed to my lateness.
Sorry.

But the week didn't end there.
More snow continued to fall.
I mean, it wasn't as much as West Virginia by anymeans,
but it didn't ease the pain of our decision not to travel through all the damaged areas of the country to go skiing.

So we stayed home.
And got up way too damn early.

We were a huge crowd.
Three lovely ladies,
and four dogs.

Walking in the wee hours of pre-dawn to get up and into the woods before the light came down.

Awesomely, no headlamps were needed even right at the begininng and we could enjoy a kick ass hike up to the cold summit.

I had told a girlfriend of mine she only had to come until we found the snow.
But she didn't turn around when she drove up to the K1 and saw the snow had made it all the way down to the Umbrella Bars.
Cause that meant there would be LOTs of snow at the summit!!

But first we had to move through the dark woods, listening to the crunch of leaves under our feet combined with the whish of silky snow. Our toes didn't get cold, but our hands definitely turned numb after a while. Which reminds me that ai really have to make a decision on my gloves skinning - Outdoor Research or Mountain HardWear.
Anyways, we kept moving upward, with increasing amounts of snow under our feet until we could finally hear it.
You know, that squeek.
The squeeky noise that just the right temperature of snow makes when you step on it. How snowflakes make noise when they heat up and consolidate I have no idea, but the noise is wicked cool and is one of the many things that mark the arrival of winter in the mounatains.

The dogs were having the best time.
Unlike just the day before, Vespi was able to roll in the cool white snow while Coopie spent most of his time simultaneously running and licking the snow from the ground.
Mountain Dogs are Happy Dogs.
Snow Dogs are even Happier.
Shop Dogs are the Happiest, because they get pet all day after a great hike up into the snowy mountains.

And then we were at the summit.
I know it's kind of anti-climactic when you come around the corner and see the top of the gondola...but that is just a weigh station. Once you get up that black metal staircase into the alpine zone, the world changes.
All is quiet.
And it just smells right.
Like Winter.
Like Pine Needles and Snow.
Like Heaven.

And somewhere in all this, the sun rose.
But the only way we could tell was that the world went from
blue-ish white to grey-ish white.

Sunrise in the K-Cloud.
You have to "see" it to believe it.

Here's Wishing Everyone the Best Ski Season Ever!!
May You Find the Spirit of the Mountains Within You.

Ski Bum Life: The Emotional Roller Coaster of Twig Season

2012-10-27T10:42:00.000-04:00

Snow.
It was here not too long ago.
Like last week.
And now it's gone.
Just like that.

Talk about messing with a ski bum's brain waves and mental stability. I was all set to get my season started, getting stoked about adding more trails to the one proud Rime. But now, we are reduced to walking through fallen leaves as they completely cover the bike trails and litter the ski ones.

I was all set to ski...
and now I really just don't know what to do with myself.

It's nobody's fault.
There really isn't anything you can do about the weather turning from a frosty wonderfulness back to the warm days of Autumn. It'll be fantstic weather for the Halloween Parade tonight in Rutland.
I am fighting it, this warm weather.
Each day I start off with a silent protest, picking a wool hat from the hat drawer but it has to come off by around 10am because I am sweating to death.

Of course, it hasn't helped my mood any that my body crashed as the snow melted. I spent the entire last weekend under the covers, sweating like a bitch in hopes of breaking my fever. It was as if my body had given me absolutely everything it had to get through a week of October skiing - and then left me with nothing.
But I thank my body soooo much for holding off on letting whatever crap this is take over until the skiing was done.
My physical body knows my priorities :)
Sweet

But sickness means that I have barely made it higher than lower Superstar on what have become more strolls than anything else this past week. I felt trapped, not able to look down on the valley and remember that I live in the mountains. I couldn't make it above tree line and so I had to force myself to look differently at the mountain. To focus on the small stuff, the little flowers, the one year old golden retriever that I have been trying to train.
I know these things are beautiful - sometimes I just have to be reminded.

And when you are forced to look at things in a new light, you notice new things. I found a few new sections that I am interested in exploring a little more when the snow fills them in. Perhaps I would not have noticed them if I had remained focused on walking higher or faster than the day before. The slow pace let the dogs run wild and we explored instead of committed. There are still so many places that I have yet to discover on this mountain, it amazes me :)

It's the curse of the seasonal lifestyle.
The moods of a ski bum depend entirely upon the weather,
the temperature, the precipitation, the wind speed.
I think this is what makes twig season the most difficult,
the most trying emotionally.

The excitement of the upcoming season contrasts starkly with
the passivity of waiting for the damn thing to start.
The leaves fall from their trees and we think, this is it!
The snow will be coming soon.

And it might.
Just enough to torture us,
to bring our hopes sky high and get us all over excited.

And then again, it might not,

And so we must find other things to do.
A lot of the time,
that thing is drinking.
(we are BUMS, after all)
or hiking.

or even sometimes,
working on getting our lives together & prepped for ski season.

Deep dark thoughts start creeping into your mind.
Maybe you start wondering what your life would be like if you had never become a ski bum, if you had taken that corporate job for the money.
You look through your closest and realize you could buy, I don't know, like real clothes or something instead of just ski pants and crampons.
You rearrange the furniture and think, wouldn't it be nice to replace this old rickety couch for some new furniture that doesn't smell like ski wax and stale beer.
You dream about all the things you could have done, if you had stayed on the straight and narrow path laid down by your forfathers.

But then you look across the room and see Vespi cuddled into her corner of the couch and think of how happy she is on our mountain adventures every day.
The joy of watching a sunrise or a sunset.
The smell of the fresh mountain air that greets you everytime you venture outside.
The feeling of your skis underneath you as you schuss down the mountain.

And you realize,
you made the right choice after all.

Being a ski bum isn't just about the days of skiing and riding in sick deep pow.
It's a lifestyle.

You shake your head,
hoping to chase away all the delusions of grandeur that were challenging
your simple and peaceful life in the mountains.

Don't do something stupid.
Just be patient and wait for the snow!!

First Week of Skiing at Killington: Behold the Power of Krom!

2012-10-19T14:06:00.000-04:00

What a Long, Strange Week it's Been...

It's my dad's fault.
I used to dream of weeks like this when I was a kid.
He had taken me one wonderful day,
to ride the K-Chair into October Skiing Glory.

The excitement of getting our ski fix in way before Halloween was probably about all this little ski junkie could handle...
Although I am pretty positive my dad must have been even more excited than I was.

But we had done it.
Skied in October.
Done laps off the mid-station until our legs couldn't move anymore.
If nothing else,
I will always be grateful to Pres & Joe for giving us those magical ski days.

Once you've skied in October in Vermont,
you want more.
You are itching for it.

When the mountain opened up for Saturday,
I knew there was no way I was letting all that snow go to waste.
I would be there.
I would ski it.

With the rain on Sunday also came word that Chamber Business Employees could get day tickets by showing a current pay stub.
A ticket?
To go skiing?
In October?!

I would wear that ticket plastic Zicketed to myself with pride.
Cause when there is skiing in October, you don't want to miss it.

Even if it's misty, rainy, kind of a miserable day that only true Vermont skiers would appreciate. Where the snow is a silky soft and your limited visibility through the cloud reminds you that blind people can ski, so why the hell you?

You eat Neil Diamonds in the Gondola and give the tele skiers big "Whoop Whoops" from the chairlift as they drop a knee beneath you. You get a little crazy, because your balance is gonna be slightly off anyways so might as well roll with it. Plus, the ever faithful ski patrol is there to peel you off the increasingly water logged snow.

Did I mention you are skiing in October?

But, as all miracles and bouts of greatness are want to do...
the lift service skiing must come to an end.
There would not be enough for hordes of people to come and get their fix, not enough snow to groom out what is now going to become small craters of snow in the pattern of intermediate terrain moguls. Thankfully, there is enough room to maneauver around these hardened fall bumps, skiing zippers or making bizarrely shaped turns through the developing patches of earth.

As the temperature drops and the sun sets earlier and earlier,
the snow becomes the challenge...
and it is almost the excitement accrued during the ascent that makes the journey.

We see new and different things every time up.
Runoff streams today...and small patches of fresh snow tomorrow.
The dogs
- for I am puppy sitting the Coopie for the week -
run here and there,
discovering new sniffs that might have been frozen yesterday or freshly marked today.

And we meet people.
People whose love of skiing has surpassed their desire to only ride a chairlift.
People who know that snow is there and it, therefore, must be skied.
People that are just a little bit on the crazy side,
like me :)

This is a logical argument...
Ski all that is Skiable.

And so we go.
Slowly sometimes,
other times with great enthusiasm and commitment,
trudging up the hill to arrive at our goal.

To try and get enough skiing in while the snow is there
to appease the itching,
to wane the wanting,
to ease the pain of waiting
for the ski season to actual begin.

But for now,
To make the most of our October Gift,
We Hike.

And the reward,
the sounds of bindings clicking in,
the rustle through backpacks as someone has inevitably misplaced their goggles,
the quietness that overtakes the group as the excited chatter from the upward journey stills and we can take in the scene that is played out before us:

Oh yeah, I lugged all my crap up here because I am going skiing today!!
I am not missing the snow
- no matter how gnarly the conditions might be
or how absolutely hideous my turns might look or feel.

Even the dogs get that joyful look and bask in the glory
that is modern snowmaking technology.
Sometimes I get a look of whoah - how did all this get here?
Are you serious?
They have been hiding snow up here?
When did it get here - it certainly wasn't here the last time we hiked this trail.

I wonder what they think of how snow comes to be,
how sometimes it will magically appear and
how other times we dance around and burn things in tribute
in order to make it snow.

Sometimes, everything just works out :)

And so we ski.

In October.

While we Can.

And then,
basking in the glow of our glory,
we put our skis back on our backpacks and make the long walk home.
Only it doesn't seem so long this time,
not because it's nice and downhill,
but for one reason and one reason only:

We were skiing in October!!!

thanks once again to Mike for giving our amazing snowmaking team
The Go to Blow!!
And much and many thanks to Krom!!

The Greatest Gift: Killington Opens on October 13th!!!!

2012-10-13T14:15:00.000-04:00

The Sky overhead was crystal clear - and dark as any good night should be. The stars shone brightly as we unloaded our gear from the car and strapped our skis to our packs. Ski boots were put into walk mode and we began our ascent toward wintery greatness by the light of the silvery moon.

Ever so slowly, the sun began to rise and we were able to turn off our headlamps. As our eyes adjusted to the darkness, we kept having to turn around. The light from the first sunrise of the ski season was poking it's colors out from behind Skye Peak.
And we didn't want to miss a second of the sun's majestic rise.

Slowly - and with great commitment - we weaved our way through the trees and up toward our destination. At about 2500', just past the top of Lower Conclusion, we began to walk on snowy covered ground. My buckles got caught on some still standing grasses as we made our way further upward. But we continued - there was greatness to be had in these mountain today.
We could hear it.

As we got closer, the snow began to cover the trees and we were welcomed into a deafening winter wonderland. I always forget how unbelievably loud snow guns are until I am standing under the first one of the season. Yelling to each other, we grinned in anticipation of what was to come. Yeah, there was more than enough snow for us :)

From the bottom of the snowmaking we quickly dove back into the woods, even more anxious to get up to the top of our wonderful section of what would count a the skiable terrain for the day. What did the middle look like? Or even the top? The excitement was building as we reached the Great Northern Crossover to take a peak at the trail in all its glory...

And it was glorious!

Any other year,
this trail would have laid hidden under the driving guns for days on end.
A base would have to be built up before the hordes of skiers would be allowed to play upon her beautiful white landscape.
Any other year, we would still be waiting.
Hoping.
Dreaming of that moment when the guns would be turned on and
the magic would begin.
Any other year, we would not be skiing.

But not this year.

This year we are making the trek to the top of the Glades Triple on October 13th.

Today,
instead of dreaming,
we will ski.

After the traditional stop at Cooper's Lodge, the safe haven of all True Killington Skiers, it is time to get ready. Because today we are not just here for the hike.
There are puffies and shells that need to be put on quick before our well earned heat goes flying away from us. I flex my fingers to try and bring some feeling back into them as I try to switch my muddy frozen buckles from walk to ski mode.
To SKI mode!
How exciting is that?
And it's back to business.
I switch my Skida hiking cap for my warm and cozy downhill one and dig in my bag for my goggles. A quick sip from the water bottle and my hands into the heaven that is warm and cozy down mittens.
Even if they are lined with frost.

Throwing our skis over our shoulder, we can barely contain our grins.
We come out from around our shelter and there she is.
The top of our glory.
We will be skiing today.
And the ski bum in me wonders:
Will we be the first?

Of course we were.
(phew)
I was up at five in the morning for this moment.

Fresh Tracks on
Fresh Snow
on the First Day!!

Whoop!! Whoop!!

I don't think my grin could have gotten any bigger.
The snow was amazing!!
I mean, starting the first turn we were both so nervous that it was gonna be that fresh snowmaking breakable crust that is usually filled with the postholes of snowmakers.
This snow was fresh, new and blown last night.
Could it have set up enough to be that
wonderfully epic first run of the season
that we we hoping for?

I think our faces say it all:
This was all that...and more.

Because the old Killington Spark,
the one that is the first to open and the last to close,
where ANY day skiing is a wonderful day,
no matter the conditions.
Where the skiing comes first,
and everything else comes in a far distant second.

We are skiing on
ungroomed
unsettled
unperfected
man-made snow
in October.

WHY?

Because this is the East Coast.

Because this is Vermont.

Because this is Killington.

WE ARE SKIERS
WE ARE COMMITTED

Thank You, Killington, so so much.
Today was wonderful.
Today...
Today was a Gift.

Today was just
...and I am using this term in its utmost extent...

today was just
EPIC.

Waiting for Winter: Canoe Camping in the St. Regis Canoe Area

2012-10-11T17:53:00.000-04:00

We arrived, as usual, just as the sun was setting on the western shore of Hoel Pond. Quickly, we loaded up the boats, signed into the registry and launched. In fact, we we so quick that I hadn't bothered to take off my jeans. You know, just in case there might be a fashionable event somewhere in the upcoming no service area.

But I managed not to step into the pond and arrived nice and dry at our Campsite. For some reason, The Boyfriend decided to drag Out the fifteen year old Mountain Hardwear Tent to see if it was still backcountry friendly. Setting up the tent was helarious - no waterproof zippers, crinkly clear plastic to serve as windows built into the fly...and pretty heavy eastman poles. About the same size but about twice the weight as our newer tent, it was fun - and easy to cook out of with its one ginormous vestibule.

The next morning started out as any other in the backcountry - with Vespi heading down with all the other anomals to drink her fill from the water's edge. The brisk fall temperatures bring with them a thick fog on the pond, which slowly rises as the morning moves along. We had brought the big gas tank this time, so no stress as I crouched over the Whisperlite, working through the oatmeal, bacon and eggs. How can one go camping withhout bacon? Seriously.

We finally made it onto the water around ten, but were still rrewarded for our sluggishness with crystal clear glass. The foliage colors were holding on strong in certain places...but so many of the trees lining the shores of this adventure would be diffent varieties of
pine you almost couldn't tell what time of year it was.
But at the put-in for the first portage....it was definitely autumn :)

The temperature began its slow climb for its brisk 42.0 F as we exited the tent, but she hardshells never came off pretty much the entire trip. While most people look for breathability, I love the idea of trapping the warmth close to my body. Between the sun and the shell, I am never cold - at least while paddling.

A second quick portage led us through some gorgeous post-peak foliage and onto Long Pond, where we would be doing most of our exploring this trip. Thinking ahead, we chose to set-up camp where we ate lunch and paddle around with much lighter weight boats for the remainder of the day. This gave me time to take a nap...which Vespi thought was entirely agreeable.

After a quick paddle to the trailhead, we spent the majority of the afternoon hiking past Mountain Pond up to the summit of Long Pond Mountain. From there, we snuggled under our emergency bivy and watches the sunset over the autumn Adirondacks. We could see the many campsites we've stayed at over the years, see how long the lakes and ponds actually are...and even caught sight of a new pond on the backside of the mountain that we had nevere really noticed on the map. It was the kind of moment that most couples dream of - a private summit, snuggly warm under the blankets watching the sunset..and my ever present Hot Toddy thermos ;)

Vespi lead thhe way back down through the dark and we eventually arrived at what we thought would be a peaceful dinner at the already set-up tent. But as soon as we began to cook dinner, an army of small mice began their attack. These were brave mice, running through the boyfriend's legs, crawling on the tent and generally taking over the entire site. As we crawled into the tent to hide away from these crazed creatures and try to enjoy our dinner, a conclusion was easily reached. The water was glass and you could see the reflection of stars in the clear night sky in the water below. We would pick up camp, and paddle further down Long Pond until we reached a suitably mice-free campsite.

This might have been the best decision of the entire trip.
We turned off our headlamps and paddled to the stars. We could see the glow of the treeline above us and stayed in the middle of the pond to avoid obstacles. As we got closer to presumed site locations, the boyfriend would turn on his crazy bright Petzl lamp. The light would reflect off the trees along the shoreline and we would distance ourselves just enough to see the small reflective disc that marks legitimate sites.

This might have been one of my favorite paddling moments of all time.
And completely unphotographable (at least by me)

When the initial alarm went off, it blended in with the sounds of raindrops on the fly. Easily enough, the decision was made to pull the sleeping bags back over our heads and settle in for a few more hours sleep. Cooking breakfast in the rain was easier with the huge vestibule, and we were on the water -still raining - by about noon.

But we are not ones to be deterred from our plans by a little soaking, spine chilling rain. We cinched up our hoods and headed out to explore narrow sixe tunnels off of the main pond that led to even more secret places. Like finding the magical tree trail, paddle canals have very much the same aura. You slow down your pace, duck under fallen branch and hold your breathe over shallow passes. And then, you get to see the beauty that is hidden there, in the forests.

Eventually, it was time to go home.
So of course, the sun came out.

Franconia Ridge Trail: If You Don't Trip, Then You Aren't Looking Around

2012-10-03T07:20:00.000-04:00

I am usually one to make fun of the tourists for stopping short in the middle of the road, captivated by the fall colors as the leaves take on their myriad of autumn hues. But I willingly admit that it was my turn this time. This latest adventure was one marked by me tripping over rocks, roots, whatever...and all because I couldn't stop looking around :)

The trip started innocently enough: Diane's alarm didn't go off and I forgot my hiking shoes. But when we finally turned onto Route 93 into Franconia Notch State Park, nothing else mattered. In fact, as we drove under the mountainside that use to hold The Old Man of the Mountain, I am surprised we were able to stay on the road.

And then we started hiking...

It had rained for the past four days and we had chosen this day because it wasn't.
We started laughing out of sheer joy when naively realized that Falling Waters Trail would mean walking up a raging waterfall during Peak Foliage.

Seriously, does New England get any more beautiful than that?

So we kept moving upward, hiking about 3000 vertical feet from the parking area to reach the summit of Little Haystack. With Vespi on lead behind me, we were guided by Other Dog, a beautiful white huskyish creature who had decided that he could wait for us but not his humans. He would appear like a ghost out of nowhere, seemingly checking on Vespi and then continuing upward. He stayed with us for most of the hike, until we ventured off onto a spur toward Shining Rock - where I believe his humans finally caught up with him.

Vespi was in her glory.
At the summit of Little Haystack, she climbed atop the lone boulder marking the highest elevation.
She was posing for a picture.
I shook my head, laughed, and took the shot she wanted.
Actually, I took like three of them, but this one was the funniest :)

And then it was time to
"Run the Ridge"

With the Presidential Range to our right and the Old Man & Cannon Mountain to our left, we were hard pressed to stay focused on our foot placement.

The Ridge was not like Brigadoon today.
The winds were constantly and just cool enough to stand up the hairs on my arm as I cooled off from the ascent. Clouds littered the skies, making a sunburn out of the question but casting a perfect photographers glow on the yellow and red valleys below.

We stopped for a quick lunch just after the summit of lafayette,
nestled behind some rocks on a pseudo peak.
Our original plan had been to make a quick dash over to Garfield and back,
but I should have known.

There is no such thing as a quick dash in the Whites.

Diane kept an eye on the time as we made our way down the wet, slippery slope. We had descended out of the Dry and windy Alpine Zone and into the slick muddy mess of a pine forest. As life long skiers, we still had not perfected the art of walking downhill and eventually had to turn around before our destination. We really did not want to be walking out of the woods in the dark.

When we got back up to the Franconia Ridge, the once whispy clouds had no become a solid grey sky. The winds had picked up and we knew we had to push forward. Potentially heavy rains were expected and we didn't want to get caught up. Besides, after looking down at the gorgeous valleys below, we couldn't walk to walk through the vibrant colors. :)
So began our final descent from the ridgeline down to the Galehead Hut.
Nestled just above a pool of mountain water and built in the 1920s, the hut looked more like a mansion than the classic Vermont lean-to. Leave it up to the Appalachian Mountain Club to go all out.

We still had some exposed ridge to go, so enjoyed our final glimpses of the apex of our hike. We could see Shining Rock way over to our right and were impressed with how far we had ventured. Boulders that Vespi could barely make her way up now looked smaller than a pinhead, a true sign that we were indeed on our way home.

But the final section of our journey was not a sad one.
The Old Bridle Path took us directly into the peak of foliage and I made a remarkable three step recovery as I tripped over what I couldn't tell you. A day that had been marked by laughter, good conversation and stunning views ended in very much the same fashion.

Driving home from New Hampshire, a combination of peace and pride swirled about in my head. How awesome that we were able to follow the weather and run away from the shop on just the perfect day. Thanks to Mike for holding down the fort so that the ladies could get out for some fresh air :)

May You Find the Spirit of the Mountains Within You!!

Ski Bum Phobia: A Fear of Missing the Snow

2012-09-27T16:08:00.001-04:00

Yep.
I am admitting to my fear and saying it outloud.

I am Afraid of Missing the Snow.

It begins with the height of foliage,
as the winter snow predictors begin to prostelitize about when the first snowfall may or may not arrive in Killington.

Above 4000' at Killington Peak,
maybe at Mount Washington,
maybe at Jay...it doesn't matter.

If I can semi-logically deduce that there is even a 5-10% chance of snow in the area, the symptoms come rolling in and the anxiousness takes over my entire body.

My stomach starts to get all queezy
as I get way too overexcited about even the possibility of
playing in the snow.

And then my brain,
my way too over intense brain,
starts kicking in.

How much snow will it be?
Will there be enough snow on which to ski?
Where should I go to have the best chances of the most snow?
If I have to be at work by 9am, then I should be leaving the house by...
Which skis will be the most appropriate?
Do I know where my goggles are?
What about my ski socks?
Will I be able to get any sleep?
Will there be anyone else up there?
Will I have to share?
Maybe I should get up earlier?
Which ascent will be the sexiest?
Will I sleep through my alarm clock?
What if I don't have enough time to ski before work?
What if I miss the snow?

The last questions always makes me laugh.
Why?

One:
Because I never leave town in the winter.
Ever.
That way, it won't snow when I'm not here.

Two:
I manage a backcountry ski shop.
So...if I am running a wee bit late,
my bosses are stoked because I was out playing in the snow.

and finally:
because I have never, ever, slept through my alarm on a "powder" day.
In fact, I barely get any sleep at all.

I will toss and turn,
glancing around the window curtains in hopes of catching a glimpse of
some snowflakes falling in the night.
I will fluff my pillow over and over again,
vain attempts to stop the ski dreams from entering my head
just long enough to get some sleep.

Chances are that I will finally give up grying top sleep by around 4:30am,
watching Vespi to see if she is awake yet.

Most of the time, she has her nose on the bed,
asking if it is time to go yet.

I love her :)

Frequently,
in the fall and sometimes the winter,
there isn't any snow on the ground when I wake up.

Like this morning.
Somehow, I had gotten it into my head that it would snow above 4000 feet in Vermont.
I don't know...I guess I was just hoping that If I told enough people, if I told myself enough, that I could just will the snow into falling.

But I couldn't.
I bounced up out of bed this morning,
like I do every morning when the possibility of snow has entered my thoughts,
and saw...
nothing.

I had a dream a few nights ago where it all seemed so real.
I had opened the bedroom door to let in the early morning sunlight
glistening off the white covered ground.
I dreamed up glitter snow.
It was so real, so gorgeous.
There is a wonderful peace that comes
when the world is covered in that blanket of white.

But not this morning.
Probably not any morning in September.
Just stupid, beautiful foliage.

So I get up, get dressed and go for my run.

And I wonder...
is this what Blue Balls Feels Like?

Autumn in Killington is for the Dogs

2012-09-26T21:27:00.001-04:00

What dog doesn't love hiking Killington in the Gorgeous Vermont Foliage?

The Golden Sunset of Autumn

2012-09-20T11:24:00.001-04:00

In Vermont, as the temperatures turn cold and the air starts to clear,
the sunsets begin to take on a golden hue

Killington Foliage: On the Way to White

2012-09-17T01:44:00.000-04:00

With every new color we get a little bit closer to White

Canoe Camping in the Adirondacks: Little Tupper, Round and Rock

2012-09-15T21:03:00.000-04:00

It amazes me that after all our trips to the Adirondacks to go paddling, we still need to check the map for directions on how to get there. Maybe it is because our minds are so focused on wheer we are going, not what we are doing that makes us completely incapable of memorizing some really simple directions.

As the boyfriend drives, I guess I should be figuring out the roads.
But my mind has a tendency to wander.
Like my trail name, Spacey Jane, implies...I tend to zone out when the movements are repetitive. The rhythm of the car, the endless yellow and white lines marking the road...and the flow of life slows down as we reach the waterside.

Soon the tent has been set, dinner has been made...and we can sit by the shore in our wool hats and fleece coats and enjoy the quiet sounds of the wilderness after sunset. In the Adirondacks, that consists of the song of the cicadas, the slapping of a beaver's tail and the belly aching of bull frogs.

Vespi is asleep on my feet, keeping them warm as we expect a frost and I am too stubborn to take off my flip flops and put on my socks.

It is going to be a wonderful night for Canoedeling.

All too soon, the morning sun creeps into the tent and Vespi barely picks up her head as I wake for my morning constitutional.

It's still chilly, but no frost :(

So I take my photos of the morning fog rising from the lake...
and get right back into my sleeping bag to sleep away
a few more hours until our kick ass breakfast:
egg, bacon and avocado sandwiches
(why do you think we bring the cast iron skillet?)

And then we paddled.
And paddled.
And Canoe Carried.
And Paddled Some More.

When we chose to travel across Little Tupper,
I mentally had it as a small quick paddle to the other end.
Instead, it ended up being a four hour trudge into a head wind with one hour meanderings through gorgeous swamplands inbetween.

So we stopped at the infamous Eagle Point for a much deserved hot lunch,
which, although delicious at the time, screwed up my gas allotment for the stove.
This did not bode well for our final meal.

Then we came to the beavers.
A swampy river stream leading into the next pond had
obviously been absconded by a community of beavers.
We spotted at least six different lodges and
struggled crossing several beaver dams.
I will say that it is a very eeiry feeling to stand on a stick structure
that is floating in the water while pulling your loaded canoe over it.

A few times Vespi helped out by jumping out of the canoe.
This proved extremely unsuccesful,
as she only found herself belly deep in a floating plant life.

We arrived at our own private lake
just in time to sit in the middle of it and
watch the sun dip behind the Adirondack Pines
and sip a little whiskey.

The water was glass,
the air just cold enough to put on a light winter hat as we sat,
him in his kayak and I in my canoe.

It was beautiful.
It was peaceful.

It was Nature in her element.

After a warming yoga session on the shores of our island campsite,
I got down to the task of making breakfast.
Except that the decision to eat a warm lunch the day before
meant that we ran out of gas halfway through cooking the apple brannock.
Luckily, the cast iron skill was warm enough
to at least solidify the outsides and warm the middle of mine.

At least we had bacon!!

Eventually, it was time to admit we had reached the end of our adventure.
We paddled back through the beaver dams,
once again across the length of Little Tupper
and loaded up the car for the long drive home.

Our "weekend" of canoedeling had passed.
And we began to start planning our next adventure
:)

Any Suggestions?