mapadu
New member
Santa is Evil
Ho, Ho, Ho.
Mineshaft / Devil?s Crotch / Satan?s region, 12-01:
This is just my fourth winter in Summit County, but by all recollections I?ve heard from long-timers, this is the best start to a season that anyone can remember, ever. Here comes the fun.
On the first day of December, I skied the local hill in the midst of a cold, windy and fierce snowstorm. By ?local hill?, I mean Breckenridge Mega Resort, caterer to the masses. But there were no masses. There were so few people on the mountain that day that it was downright eerie. Twenty lifts open, and maybe 10 people for each one. Spooky, creepy, ghostlike. Pick your adjective.
?6 Chair?, which quietly serves some of the best terrain of the resort, was hardly used at all. At two in the afternoon, I crossed a track or two down a run whose name I can?t remember, but it was one trail over from the liftline, around 35 degrees, ~100 feet wide and largely untouched. How deep? When you don?t touch bottom, it?s hard to tell and just doesn?t matter.
The wind is what I remember most. Snow devils galore. Blowing straight downhill. The lift rides were hard to take, but the skiing?. the skiing was crazy. Maching top speed down hover-iffic powder, gales full-o-dust sent swirling downhill would eliminate vision for nano-seconds, give glimpses of what?s to come, then white it out again. Skiing within the flow of gusting snow clouds in a race against nobody whatsoever. Isolation on a superhighway ? over and over. Crazy. Cold, wind-whipped and weary. An eight-hour ski day, through the cracks between the teeth of a vicious storm.
Spitfire Glades, 12-01:
Friday, December 2nd, had all the earmarks of a classic powder day.
Wading out the door, towing gear up the driveway in knee deep snow. A driveway that had been plowed the night before. Flakes falling downward instead of sideways like the day prior.
Waiting in line at 8:05am., well ahead of the 8:30 scheduled opening. A ?line? that was two people deep before stragglers came filtering in. Cheers to the lift ops for clearing the snow early enough to start spinning chairs at 8:20.
The first run on a powder day. It?s always highly anticipated. Anxiousness builds and builds until it?s hard to take. It doesn?t matter that yesterday was epic. After a dog inhales a dropped slice of pizza, it?ll stay there and hope for more. Salivating and staring as if it?s never seen food in its life. The first lift ride of the second powder day is very much the same. And there?s a plan. A run of choice to get while the getting?s good. In this case, it?s Cimarron to a lengthy glade and exit to Bronc?s bottom.
Finally, it?s time to unload. Two quick strides, and then point downhill. Flying down the unblemished sea. It?s happening. It?s real. It?s freedom. It?s cold smoke in the face. I can fly, for I have wings. Breathtaking.
The second ride up is easier on the mind. You just got that good one, your back actually touches the chair and it?s kickback time. Like catching your breath after really good sex ? smoke ?em if you got ?em. Because that was ?it?. That was the one.
But no, it wasn?t. The Burn was next. A twist here, a turn there and suddenly there?s not a track to be crossed for the last 98% of the run. A pristine Burn ? the one that everyone had flocked to. Oh, my.
My roommate, ?Jungle? George, just a bit psyched at that point of no return atop the Burn:
Something else came next, and it was every bit as nice. We meander our way toward a rumor - that the T-Bar was going to open for the first time of the season. There hadn?t been a bomb for a good fifteen minutes when we arrived, and the rumor proved true. It had just opened. Got right on & soon would get off. Two strides to the right and shazam! Two months worth of accumulation, ripe for the taking. Three laps later, to the left and to the right, and then it was time to go to work. I have a job. Boos and hisses all around.
Three hours of ecstasy. ?I got the best of it? is what I tell myself, ?No more untracked for anyone.? Yeah, right.
Next morning, same drill. The driveway had been plowed again last night, but once again, we wade our way out the door in knee-deep powder. Someone had hit the ?reset button.? And it was still snowing.
With all of yesterday?s tracks erased, I?m Pavlov?s dog all over again. The first run on the third powder day is very much the same. Memorable: All of it. The opening of Dark Rider: Really, really deep. Then, another pristine run through the stunted and sparse trees of the Burn. Oh, my.
A run here, a run there and another somewhere else. All including the deflowering of virgin snow. E Chair Liftline to Satans seemed unbeatable, until?
Until the climactic run down Horseshoe Bowl. It was just a big, long face-shot with 40 feet on either side between tracks. Then, I had to go to work. Boos and hisses all around.
I?d truly stretched the limit this time. Scheduled to work an hour earlier than yesterday, yet still managing nearly three hours of self induced whiteout. Barley caught the bus to Frisco via carrying my skis aboard and changing from ski gear to civies at work. My job today was to dress up as Satan, I mean, Santa, and hand out candy canes to kids.
I transitioned from this:
To this:
?in a matter of minutes, and yes, I get the girls, too.
Ho, Ho, Ho.
Mineshaft / Devil?s Crotch / Satan?s region, 12-01:
This is just my fourth winter in Summit County, but by all recollections I?ve heard from long-timers, this is the best start to a season that anyone can remember, ever. Here comes the fun.
On the first day of December, I skied the local hill in the midst of a cold, windy and fierce snowstorm. By ?local hill?, I mean Breckenridge Mega Resort, caterer to the masses. But there were no masses. There were so few people on the mountain that day that it was downright eerie. Twenty lifts open, and maybe 10 people for each one. Spooky, creepy, ghostlike. Pick your adjective.
?6 Chair?, which quietly serves some of the best terrain of the resort, was hardly used at all. At two in the afternoon, I crossed a track or two down a run whose name I can?t remember, but it was one trail over from the liftline, around 35 degrees, ~100 feet wide and largely untouched. How deep? When you don?t touch bottom, it?s hard to tell and just doesn?t matter.
The wind is what I remember most. Snow devils galore. Blowing straight downhill. The lift rides were hard to take, but the skiing?. the skiing was crazy. Maching top speed down hover-iffic powder, gales full-o-dust sent swirling downhill would eliminate vision for nano-seconds, give glimpses of what?s to come, then white it out again. Skiing within the flow of gusting snow clouds in a race against nobody whatsoever. Isolation on a superhighway ? over and over. Crazy. Cold, wind-whipped and weary. An eight-hour ski day, through the cracks between the teeth of a vicious storm.
Spitfire Glades, 12-01:
Friday, December 2nd, had all the earmarks of a classic powder day.
Wading out the door, towing gear up the driveway in knee deep snow. A driveway that had been plowed the night before. Flakes falling downward instead of sideways like the day prior.
Waiting in line at 8:05am., well ahead of the 8:30 scheduled opening. A ?line? that was two people deep before stragglers came filtering in. Cheers to the lift ops for clearing the snow early enough to start spinning chairs at 8:20.
The first run on a powder day. It?s always highly anticipated. Anxiousness builds and builds until it?s hard to take. It doesn?t matter that yesterday was epic. After a dog inhales a dropped slice of pizza, it?ll stay there and hope for more. Salivating and staring as if it?s never seen food in its life. The first lift ride of the second powder day is very much the same. And there?s a plan. A run of choice to get while the getting?s good. In this case, it?s Cimarron to a lengthy glade and exit to Bronc?s bottom.
Finally, it?s time to unload. Two quick strides, and then point downhill. Flying down the unblemished sea. It?s happening. It?s real. It?s freedom. It?s cold smoke in the face. I can fly, for I have wings. Breathtaking.
The second ride up is easier on the mind. You just got that good one, your back actually touches the chair and it?s kickback time. Like catching your breath after really good sex ? smoke ?em if you got ?em. Because that was ?it?. That was the one.
But no, it wasn?t. The Burn was next. A twist here, a turn there and suddenly there?s not a track to be crossed for the last 98% of the run. A pristine Burn ? the one that everyone had flocked to. Oh, my.
My roommate, ?Jungle? George, just a bit psyched at that point of no return atop the Burn:
Something else came next, and it was every bit as nice. We meander our way toward a rumor - that the T-Bar was going to open for the first time of the season. There hadn?t been a bomb for a good fifteen minutes when we arrived, and the rumor proved true. It had just opened. Got right on & soon would get off. Two strides to the right and shazam! Two months worth of accumulation, ripe for the taking. Three laps later, to the left and to the right, and then it was time to go to work. I have a job. Boos and hisses all around.
Three hours of ecstasy. ?I got the best of it? is what I tell myself, ?No more untracked for anyone.? Yeah, right.
Next morning, same drill. The driveway had been plowed again last night, but once again, we wade our way out the door in knee-deep powder. Someone had hit the ?reset button.? And it was still snowing.
With all of yesterday?s tracks erased, I?m Pavlov?s dog all over again. The first run on the third powder day is very much the same. Memorable: All of it. The opening of Dark Rider: Really, really deep. Then, another pristine run through the stunted and sparse trees of the Burn. Oh, my.
A run here, a run there and another somewhere else. All including the deflowering of virgin snow. E Chair Liftline to Satans seemed unbeatable, until?
Until the climactic run down Horseshoe Bowl. It was just a big, long face-shot with 40 feet on either side between tracks. Then, I had to go to work. Boos and hisses all around.
I?d truly stretched the limit this time. Scheduled to work an hour earlier than yesterday, yet still managing nearly three hours of self induced whiteout. Barley caught the bus to Frisco via carrying my skis aboard and changing from ski gear to civies at work. My job today was to dress up as Satan, I mean, Santa, and hand out candy canes to kids.
I transitioned from this:
To this:
?in a matter of minutes, and yes, I get the girls, too.
