Not tagging today as a powder day was a difficult but honest decision. This is a testament to both how poor the season has been and how great the skiing was today. Jay received one inch, which seems to have become the new foot. But drifts were much deeper, blown in snow was abundant, and untracked snow could be found all day long. I have never had more fun skiing a supposed one inch of new snow.
I will never understand skiers that dive straight into the woods on first chair. There are few things I long for more than blasting powder turns down a flat, steep, and wide open pitch. Don’t get me wrong, I love trees. And I enjoy bumps when I can’t ski powder. But there is nothing like a steep groomer blanketed with untracked powder. It is far more rare than untracked powder through the trees.
On my first run, I found almost half a foot of untracked blower on top of scraped hardpack. A delightful surprise that affirmed my destination decision. I shamelessly made wide arcs across the entirety of JFK. A farmer harvesting the carefully planted crop I was not. The feeling of my skis planing up and surfing the fresh was sublime. The feeling of my edges engaging the hardpack at the apex of my turn was not.
Today defined the awesomeness that is Burke Mountain. Burke can easily be overlooked in the shadow of its more well known neighbors to the southeast and northwest. Despite knowing how great Burke skis, even I often overlook Burke and go searching else where for deeper pow. Its a major mistake to overlook Burke. It’s a special mountain and I owe it to myself to get back here more often.
Juxtaposed against yesterday at Cannon, today was a relaxing coast. Which isn’t to say my pulse was not elevated. But rather that the thrills at Burke require substantially less masochism. Due to extensive muscle fatigue and soreness, I went to Burke intending to keep the pulse down and the excitement level low. Paths into the trees are littered with such best intentions.
Cannon makes you work. Great skiers routinely get spanked in the trees at Cannon. Unlike almost any other mountains save perhaps Mansfield, you really suffer for the best turns at Cannon. That type of rigor elevated my skiing as I was developing my tree chops and skiing Cannon more than any where else. But I don’t ski Cannon much any more. And it shows whenever I return to my home mountain.
Despite a claimed twenty four hour total of eleven inches, I immediately had trouble finding snow deeper than my boot buckles. I started on Mittersill in hopes that the lift being closed yesterday would have kept traffic to a minimum. The limited fresh felt nice but my favorite slot on the mountain was already well bumped and deeply troughed from yesterday. It was time to go into the woods in earnest and employ noontime plans just after the opening bell.
Epic descents were had and up to eight inches of fresh was slayed. I worked. I sweated. I fell on the hard pack outside the Tram Summit Station and busted the toe piece on one of my bindings. Oops. I made it work. Just like the mountain was making me work.
My visit to Middlebury College Snow Bowl served two purposes: discovering a new area and avoiding the holiday crowds. Ski on lifts, empty trails, and elbow room in the lodge are luxuries not antithetical to the busiest holiday weekend of the year. Enjoying these luxuries requires thinking outside of the box and a sense of adventure; a lack of fear that smaller might mean less fun despite less hassles and headaches.