Very little likely remains of the Superstar Glacier by the time this report is posted (more than two weeks after the trip). Killington legitimately pushed operations as long as they could feasibly go given the remaining snow. As it was, some might have suggested that walking was required in multiple locations. But as with so much in life, a single thing that is observed or experienced can yield varied and equally legitimate perspectives.

My perspective was that stepping out of your skis was not only not required, but a waste of time that diminished the enjoyment. To get to the snow, I gladly sidestepped my skis down the headwall over rock and dirt. Two chasms, muddy and growing, were easily straightlined providing an opportunity for flourish and flair. Superstar could be lapped without ever removing your skis.

Superstar’s moguls were better than usual for Killington’s closing weekend. Even the headwall and final pitch had good lines (albeit difficult to find amongst many bad ones). The middle section extending from just below the headwall to the final pitch contained great lines. Though the finest skiing was prior to the two snow breaks.

I was extremely satisfied with the bump skiing on Superstar. So I was reluctant to follow Harvey’s gaze towards the closed and flatter Skyelarke. But I knew Harvey wanted it so I was up for the poach and the adventure. Word on the deck and chairlift was that Skyelark was skiing extremely well with only a few short portages required (or were they?).

Unlike Superstar, walking really was required to get to SKyelark from the Quad. But after that, my skis were not coming off again. The skiing was as good as rumored with smaller bumps and a few open stretches. But the real fun was in connecting the patches. After the Skye Lark split onto Bittersweat, things got really interesting.

And really fun. “Racer Ready!” I hollered as I queued up on a snow ending roller, tips in the air, preparing for a steep straight line over grass and other obstacles. Nailing the turn on the first bump, the snow fell away as a crevasse revealed itself requiring an unanticipated timely jump that I easily made. It was on.

I spotted the next grass crossing and tried to find the most difficult way across, straight lining a grass lineup onto a water bar jump for the next snow patch. The last pitch tipped down with a double crevasse feature down the center of Bittersweat which made for fine carefree launches. And the adventure concluded with a twenty foot grass ski preceded by attempting to gain enough speed to bridge the gap without coming in too hot.

After weeks of lackluster skiing and fatigue, I was feeling great and pushing hard; nothing was pushing back. Was it the spring skiing? The good turns? The sense of adventure? Perhaps. But I feel inclined to believe it was having someone to share it with that made the day, especially Harvey who I rarely get to ski with.

All season, I constantly study and research storms and reports and weather maps and forecasts trying to identify the best location that has the most snow of the best quality, the shortest lines, the most untracked opportunity. All the while, I know in my gut that I am doing it wrong. I just can’t get my mind wrapped around the simple fact that the best place to ski is where I can ski with a friend, who, unlike the untracked, is still there at the end of the day.