The plan was originally made a week ago; before it snowed. The plan was to hike a lower elevation mountain with good views such as Mount Monadnock or the Welch-Dickey Loop in Waterville Valley. The southern facing trails on such mountains were completely snow free by the last day of March and I was itching to get a jump on hiking season. With most ski resorts reporting lots of bare ground, slushy snow, and low trail counts… I planned to hike instead. Little did I know that I would be hiking in ski boots up a well known saddle on the northern flank of Cannon to Mount Jackson instead.

Pregame

After a late night of drinking and watching the Final Four with some friends, I got home around midnight and set my clock forward an hour for Daylight Saving-Time. Instantly it became 1AM with a 5:30 A.M. wake up time planned. With great pains not usually associated with my youthfulness, I later awoke and packed the car for a 6:00 A.M. departure.

Before packing the car, I started the engine to warm things up (as per the usual cold morning ritual). After packing my passenger seat with my boots and lunch, I casually locked all the doors to the car and slammed the door, much to my chagrin as I soon realized my keys were in the ignition of a locked car. “Ah!” I thought, “I will go into my house and get my second key.” Furthering my chagrin, before taking too many steps toward the house I remembered my house key was on my key chain… you guessed it, in the car.

Fortunately, I have a broken driver side automatic window that fate and fortune would have priced a few hundred dollars higher than I had been willing to pay to fix. You would laugh if you saw me go through a drive thru or a toll booth, it is surely a funny sight to see me roll down the back passenger window, recline the driver’s seat, and reach out the rear window! Back to the embarrassment at hand, I was able to depress the window approximately 3 inches (without breaking it!) simply by sliding it downward. Not quite enough room to slip my hand down to open the lock, but more than adequate for me to find a 4 foot long stick that could reach the center console to depress the rear window button. Attempting not to look very suspicious, I engaged the advanced “break in” tool and was on my way soon enough, only slightly flustered.

The Plan Is, There Is No Plan

Burke Mountain, VT was offering free skiing with presentation of three canned goods. As much as I love free skiing, the tough terrain of Cannon and the Mittersill option called my name. Before leaving home, I grabbed three canned goods in case the conditions at Cannon sucked or the lifts were on a wind hold. They were not to be needed.

Upon arriving at Cannon, I scored a Two-Fer ticket from a nice lady who did not want the ticket to “go to waste.” I squandered no time in gearing up and scoring a $22 lift ticket; while also helping a father skiing with his two sons to a discount. Boarding the High Speed Quad for the last day at Cannon of 2003 skiing operation, I smiled a big toothy grin. That grin would continue to grow bigger as the morning wore on.

Facing The Front

As is my tradition when skiing Cannon, I immediately aimed my skis toward the Front Face. Utter disbelief overwhelmed me as I felt my skis sinking slightly into a soft fluffy powder on top of a perfect snow pack. I carved huge arcs down Middle Cannon and skidded to a stop in front of paradise. The Front Face of Cannon was completely covered with bumps except for the pleasant half groom down the left sides of Gary’s and Rocket. For a warm up, I threw myself into the bumps on Rocket. A powder and crud combo was the result, but they promised to be heaven after a few short hours.

Over on Gary’s, the bumps needed no solar fixation to alleviate frustration. I hopped gleefully through soft troughs of powder in the bump line, skiers right. With my bump feet under me, it was time to light things up. Big Time.

Avalanche was next on my to do list (which was considerably long since it was the last day of operation at Cannon!). A thin layer of soft, untouched powder covered the bumps and begged to be skied. I worked the trail skiers left to right. Upon reaching the right side by the Banshee Cut Off, I hollered bloody murder in a fit of delight. It is still a blur, but I remember skiing it fast but feeling like I was in slow motion. Hoping in and out of powder bumps in the ultimate freestyle dance.

If Avalanche was heaven, then Paulie’s was Nirvana. My spirit ascended to a higher place in the universe as my body descended through the ultimate bump line on skiers left. Effortlessly, I snapped my skis back and forth with occasional jumps over the bumps. I began stammering Vocal Declarations of Euphoria; blatant Public Cries of Affection for superior snow and turns. Just before stopping to catch my breath, I jumped high off a bump and got a face full of powder on the landing.

After additional runs down each of the Front Face trails, I realized I was getting a bit winded from my efforts. Before I beat myself into the ground, I knew I needed to earn some turns at Mittersill.

You Like Apples?

After downing a quick snack at the lodge, I stuffed an apple into my jacket pocket and hit the lifts. Recently, I have started the tradition of partaking in a “Summit Apple” upon finishing the short climb up the saddle to Mittersill.

Once I reached the summit, I noticed the rope across Taft Slalom and feared for the worst. I tracked down Upper Ravine which was pretty wind blown and not entirely pleasant. I ducked a rope halfway down, to access the lower slopes of Taft Slalom. Entering the Tuck Position, I blasted my way as far up the saddle as possible.

Upon reaching the summit, I reached in my pocket to claim my “Summit Apple.” Much to my dismay, I had somehow lost the apple… but when I looked up, I had discovered something much more important, companionship. Three other skiers readied themselves for the descent and we quickly engaged in delightful conversation. I accompanied them down the old Taft Trail which was in amazing condition. The powder had already been packed down, but the bumps were as soft as ever and very inviting. As per usual on this spiritual journey, I disengaged control of my body and skis allowing the will of the mountain to guide me through paradise. The bumps formed a soft and slow roller coaster winding gracefully through a narrow glade towards a hollowed out shrine; the clearing at the Old Double unload station.

Two of my new companions enjoyed some elicit substances in the shack by the unloading station. After much mirth and merry making, we kicked off down Baron’s Run. Everyone else noticed the sticks and thin cover showing through on skiers left and went the other way. I, on the other hand, noticed the untouched snow, soft powder, and the more natural conditions. I dived right in playing slalom with the brush, launching myself over the occasional rock, and hopping joyously through some of the best snow I have enjoyed at Mittersill all season.

Somewhere I hear a voice that asks rhetorically, “What month is this?”

I worked the turns harder, snapping the skis deftly around the bumps, obstacles, brush, rock, and thin cover. I continued to plow down the untracked left side while everyone else still opted for the packed down, brush free right. It is not lost on me how this reflects my entire life, I always enjoy things the hard way. I let out a “Woo Hoo!” and finished out the run with style I have only recently added to my technique.

Together, we ventured forth for another run down Mittersill. An amazing time was had by all once more as the sun brought forth the better qualities of the snow. Again, I skied hard, skiing Baron’s even better than I had my first time down. Yet again, I opted for the brush covered left side where I found the snow to be the sweetest. I let forth a triumphant cry of bliss and disbelief.

John was tired from the two runs down Mittersill, so the remaining three opted for a quickie off the High Speed Quad. On our way up, one of my new companions spotted my apple under the lift. It was located just below one of my favorite unmarked trails that I now refer to as Closed. After unloading from the chair, one of my companions asked “How about Middle Cannon?” I had a better idea. With a mischievous grin and an evil laugh, I asked “You guys mind ducking some ropes and skiing some old lift lines?”

Before I even heard their response of “Lead the way!” I had already shot off like a rocket. After finding and skiing the old lift line earlier this season, a skiing partner suggested the trail be called Closed due to the rope and closed sign at the entrance. The name stuck and in true Cannon style, I have since divided the Trail into Upper, Middle, and Lower. Upper Closed was already well tracked out and the brush was mighty fierce but still easily skiable. Way more than I would ever have hoped for in late March, let alone April!

Middle Closed was where the fun started. The quick turn bumps had filled in from the last snow storm, leaving this narrow fast paced shoot perfect for slow, quick, and nimble turns in complete control. Upon reaching the bottom of Middle Closed, one of my companions put his hand on my shoulder and said “Thank you for that, that is just what I needed. Thank you.”

Lower Closed concluded the rope ducking debauchery with perfectly edgable yet soft packed powder. Before kicking off second, I watched the first of our party descend and said “wow, look at that snow, it is perfect” to my other companion. I whooped a primal scream of joy halfway down and started laughing giddily.

I did not bother to stop, I just kept going until I spotted my apple stuck in the snow under the lift. I put both my poles in one hand, grabbed my apple with the other, took a delicious bite of the cold and juicy apple, and kicked off down the slope. I continued to chomp away at my apple in between fits of laughter all the way back to the lodge.

Back to the Front

I parted ways with my companions for lunch. Glad I was for their company, but they were soon to leave and not interested in skiing the Zoomer Chair with me. After a quick bite to eat, I gazed up at the clock and noted the season at Cannon would be over in less than four hours. Refusing to walk away from the mountain with any regrets, I left the lodge after only a short break promising myself I would squeeze every last turn that I could in the time remaining.

Taking the Eagle Cliff Triple, I quickly found myself lakeside at the top of Gary’s. I arched my skis hard down Gary’s in large GS turns, warming the legs back up.

Properly restored with energy, the sun came out to restore my warmth. I analyzed Zoomer and Zoomer Lift Line underneath the chair noting that the lift line looked particularly inviting. Not having skied Zoomer yet, I embarked on yet another unbridled fit of bump bliss.

Zoomer Lift Line was the best I have ever seen it. I know not the proper adjectives, adverbs, proverbs, similes, or other such grammatical garnish to adequately describe the many runs I took down Zoomer Lift Line. With an audience overhead to witness, I floated over some bumps while launching myself off others, and even occasionally skied around a few of them.

Things only got better as the afternoon wore on. The Liftie shouted “Not much time left!” as I tried to catch my breath on a chair. My ankles agreed with the statement but differed on the sentiment. Before they could argue any further resistance, I launched into a fury of bump skiing madness. Avalanche, Zoomer, Paulie’s, Rocket, Avalanche, Paulie’s, Zoomer Lift, Zoomer Lift, Paulie’s, Avalanche. These runs can best be described in the words the author used while skiing them: “Yes!” “Oh BABY!” “Oh Yea, Oooooh Yea, OoohHH YeEaAAA!!!”

Last Run, and One More Last Run

By now, my legs and ankles had almost had enough. I insisted they endure Middle Hard before they call it quits. I took Avalanche to Banshee Lift Line, launching myself over the steep cliff as one enters the Banshee area. Boarding the tram one last time for the season, I readied myself for a top to bottom run.

By the time the tram reached the summit, my ankles were buckling. I sat down for a few minutes to rest before clicking in. Ducking the rope for Taft Slalom, I found the rope a ridiculous adornment on the trees as the trail had arguably some of the best non-bumped snow on the mountain going down skiers left. A rather large ice/rock formation covered much of the trail half way down, but it was easily avoidable. Upper Hard had great soft snow and bumps, but I was starting to fight my body. I had put the hurt on the mountain all day and now the favor was being returned with a vengeance; which Cannon has been known to do. Parts of Middle Hard were to die for, but it was all I could do just to reach the bottom, let alone enjoy it. At only quarter of three, I knew I had enough.

Or had I? Perhaps if I just rested long enough, I could gain enough strength back for one more glory run down Baron’s. I debated with a classic inner dialog. The angel on one shoulder said “You would be happy to walk away now, what is there to prove?” While that devil asked “You don’t want that to be your last run of the season at Cannon, do you?” Both valid points, but the clincher was when one of the lodge staff members walked through the lodge and stated to the crowd: “Not much time left now… You will have all summer to rest!”

Indeed. I strapped the boots back on and headed out for one more. But despite best intentions, while attempting to ski down Big Link toward the Cannonball Quad, I honestly could not hold my edge and felt weak in the knees. Without shame and satisfied that I had at least tried for one more, I instead opted for a cruiser down Gremlin back to the lodge.

The morning after I awoke to much pain and discomfort in many parts of my body. But it is the proverbial good pain that signifies the most and best bump skiing I have ever crammed into one day on some of the best snow conditions I have ever experienced in my life. Reflecting back on the powdery perfection of yesterday, I believe my experience was best expressed by the verbal praise, joyous cries, happy howls, and laughing that I professed while skiing. For some reason, I still can not wipe the smile off my face. And I can only hope that I can retain that smile until Cannon opens again next season.