The past eighteen months have been brutal. On the cusp of greatness and actualization, work fell apart and I was overtaken by a deep malaise. Despite being awarded my company’s highest honor, I’ve never felt my shortcomings more keenly both personally and professionally. I awoke every morning without feeling alive. My consciousness disassociated from reality but yet I still saw it, a distinctive blur that I imagined myself reaching out and trying to grasp.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was never work but rather my work, an extension of myself. But I took that philosophy too far. I moved here partly because I viewed a job as a means to an end. But something went wrong, terribly wrong. And through the powder and face shots, my eyes opened wide and I felt alive again: knowing what went wrong and how to fix it.

Some of these pictures might look eerily familiar, vestiges of Cannon powder days past. Cannon’s Front Five might be the best location for pre- and post-season turn earning with a foot or more of dense powder. When I see the radar lining up just so, I know it’s on. Driving north to the Notch was still somewhat nerve racking: Ashland 8″, Plymouth 6″, Thornton 4″, Lincoln 2″. But I know by now to trust in Cannon’s magic, it rarely disappoints.

Over a foot of high density powder blanketed Cannon’s slopes. Learning from past mistakes, I declined a summit bid and hammered the Front Five: Avalanche, Avalanche, Paulie’s, Zoomer, Zoomer. Untracked run after untracked run. And every one kept getting better until the last, but it’s hard to ski when your legs are shaking.

That last run was not planned. But halfway down Zoomer Lift Line, I started squealing like a once dry pig in mud. Euphoria squeezed my soul and would not let go. Powder turn after powder turn, side to side, up and down. I’ve never had as good of a run down Zoomer Lift. I couldn’t stand to let the day end. What would I be saving it for? As long as I could put one boot in front of the other, I was going to have another run.