Zoomer Lift Line

During the past dozen years, I’ve become rather selective about ski days. Quality over quantity was an absolute, a guiding principle, the raison d’etre of my ski seasons. Sometimes I wasn’t even excited for a few inches of new snow. Meh, maybe I would think about going skiing. Maybe.

Even if I went skiing, I wasn’t excited about it. Sometimes I felt like I had to go because I am a skier and that is what skiers do. And I’d be damned if I was going to lose the one last thing holding my identity together. I went for self defense rather than joy. Skiing was a bulwark to my identity. I kept skiing because I had to.

My ski days dwindled to twenty days a season, less than half as much as in years past. But it wasn’t just the quantity that suffered but also the quality. I was missing good days because I didn’t feel like skiing. When I did ski, I couldn’t ski as well because quantity of days helps build conditioning and endurance. The tough hard pack days make you a better skier. My skills began to atrophy. Things were going in the wrong direction.

Despite Cannon being my second most skied mountain, I have never been a season pass holder at Cannon. Much as I love the mountain, it gets less than half the annual snowfall of my northern Vermont favorites. Early season can be lean and glades are often slow to open when snowfall is not favorable.

But quality be damned, I desperately need quantity. Cannon is only forty minutes from home. With a pass, I have no excuse not to be at Cannon at least once a week. If not for a full day than at least for a few hours. Having the freedom to ski during the holiday breaks further adds a significant amount of days.

Today’s lesson about quantity over quality is that sometimes I can have both. I wouldn’t have had either today without the excuse of a season pass. After saying goodbye to family visiting for Thanksgiving, I went up to Cannon for an afternoon session. I found two to four inches new, enough for Cannon to open the entire front five complex (minus glades). The coverage was thin and the turns were fabulous.

Here is to a shit ton of both quantity and quality this season.

A familiar emotion triggered when I climbed into bed last night: excitement. I knew today was not going to be a powder day. I assumed I was hiking for a top to bottom groomer run. Hardly something to get excited about. But I could care less about conditions. I was heading up to my favorite mountain for some earned turns. During the last few seasons, that giddy feeling was rarely there even for powder days. This season, I am no longer just be going through the motions.

It feels great to want it again.

And wanting it paid off. With a rock solid base, natural snow trails skied well despite undulations and terrain hazards. While Vista Way was pleasant enough, Avalanche was damn near amazing with what felt like peel away spring corn on top of a supportive base.

I want some more of that.

“It’s called a “changeover.” The movie goes on, and nobody in the audience has any idea.”
— Fight Club

It was raining at the base, snowing at the summit. The changeover was somewhere around mid-mountain. After a few runs, I went back to the lodge and shook off my soaked gear. I dried off, looked outside, and considered going home. I didn’t want to leave yet, but few things feel as awful as putting on wet gear.

As a general rule, I don’t ski in the rain. It has been over a dozen years since I last “enjoyed” this type of experience. But I decided that I wasn’t done yet. I wanted it. The wet jacket and gloves went back on, I went back out.

While wet gear feels awful, it felt great to want it again… to not let inconvenience and easily made excuses get in the way. What was truly awful were the years before the changeover. I am still trying to make sense of it. And I am still recovering from it.

It felt good to get after it again like I used to.