The Silence of Lapping-Up Early Morning Turns
After what seemed like an endless stream of bluebird days and jamming loudly to a variety of good beats while ripping perfectly arced carves into machined corduroy, silence finally came today.
I love skiing. It’s simple and beautiful in every way, and I love skiing to music because it makes me feel like I’m dancing. Music, like for many, has just become apart of my essential gear. On oh-so-sunny-days, it makes me feel groovy and blocks out any possible sound of scraping my edges on the ice, rocks, and whatever else sneaks it’s mischievous way through the early season snow pack. But then, when the snow comes, the sky turns white, and clouds blanket mother nature’s mountainous sexy curves, everything is different. Everything is still, and silent, and skiing is no longer something I’m in love with. Skiing becomes a force that literally unhinges my soul and moves into my being, quieting everything in it’s self-doubting path.
The last ten days of bluebird perfection reminded me of why I left my desk and turned towards the mountains to find purpose. But that was left by the wayside when last night’s storm rolled in, when I fell asleep hearing rain outside, thinking that I was gonna wake up to another clear sky and some fast dust on crust. I wasn’t just reminded that I love skiing more than anything, but rather, that skiing is apart of my core sense of self, and there is no place I’d rather be than getting absolutely nuked on, in the mountains, dancing through a sea of silence.
I woke up this morning, late for a powder morning, at a lazy 8:20am. I habitually looked at the avi report on my phone while having a truly enjoyable snuggle fest with my pillow, and immediately jumped outta bed. 5 inches? That’s comparable to 3 feet when you’ve been in blue-bird hell for 10 straight days. SHIT! It was nuking, puking, and dumping outside. Time to hustle. I grabbed some slightly clean, pre-worn (I’d prefer to think of them as ‘broken-in’) base layers, brushed my teeth, attempted to brush my matted hair (thank god for helmets!), and flew into the rest of my gear while literally walking down my stairs and sliding into the subes. I also made sure to grab the husband, who was amped to get some freshies before heading into work.
We got to PCMR at 8:45AM and caught second chair at Crescent. We saw, maybe, 20 other people. The resort had a beautiful blanket of thick, creamy high water content snow, perfect for covering up those core-shot inducing little bastards known as rocks. And there was at least 10 inches! We booked it over to the Thayne’s lift and were presented with a completely track-less sea of white. Kevin immediately entered an intense level of little kid-like joy and smoothly punched the gut. And that’s when the silence hit.
There was no need for music today, just the overwhelming silence of the snow underneath me. Bliss washed over my mind, my insides, and everything just made sense. This is why I exist. This silence is what I yearn for everyday that I wake up and look at the weather report, hoping for endless storm days (and after today, stronger legs).
We ended up lapping the chair at least 10 times till I was no longer able to turn. The crowds had come. There was a beer to be drank. And stoke to be spread. Day 11 way good to me. I feel whole, renewed, head-over-heals in love with life, with skiing, and with the silence of today. Cheers to many more stormy days ahead.