It’s not like I get out there that much these days. My spouse and I used to get out at least once a week to ski, often long days in the backcountry. Of course, we lived in the mountains. We could walk out the door and access hundreds of acres of wilderness. We also could walk out the door and ride the lift to ski or snowboard. We used to sled on the groomed ski trails.
I’m not saying “Oh those were the days” or anything. I’m no sentimental sap. Living there was amazing but it also was pretty much impossible to walk out the door in the winter and safely go for a run. A five mile steep road, covered in snow and hemmed in by snow banks is the place to run if you want to get back home. But we did get in lots of skiing.
Yesterday I had one day at least of the kind of adventure we used to have. I went with a handful of other gentlemen, poking around for some slides in the Adirondacks. We found the snowmobile trail, skied up that, the puttered about looking for some access in the woods. It was thick, filled in with hobblebush and birch saplings that had sprung up from the ice storm ten years ago. Eventually, however, we found the slopes.
There were a couple of steep slopes, covered in powerdery snow. There was a little ice underneath, but hardly much. We were in there, we sweated, and we earned out turns. It was great fun. We sat for lunch at the top of an open slice of moutain, snow falling like crazy, with our backs a frozen waterfall and ate lunch before dropping down. It was pretty dang good.
In the past week five feet of snow has fallen in the mountains. Tomorrow, school on break, my wife and I both off, we will get into those mountains and, hopefully, link some turns. I got in a little skiing. I hope to get in much more this week.