My last visit to Jay was almost two years ago. It was surreal reflecting on that, as I peered at Jay’s cloud enshrouded peak from Kitzbuehel. I missed the place.
I missed its terrain. I missed its trees. I missed its culture.
I missed its powder.
It is good to be back.
The February vacation storm resembles the 2020-2021 season: a massive buildup of expectation vaporized into mediocrity. Possibilities of two feet of snow became two inches of mixed. The wind howled, intermittently pelting cars with rain and sleet. The lifts would eventually turn, but it was a tease compared to what might have been.
Lower mountain lifts opened as the weather relented. I skied all of the trails from Gary’s to Avalanche, and the glades in between. The snow was better than it had any right to be considering the weather. Tracked was often better than untracked, particularly in the trees where a thin layer of skied off snow could covered rocks.
The Peabody Quad eventually opened but not the upper mountain Cannonball Quad. The lower mountain trails were better than mid-mountain trails. Warming temperatures kept the snow soft and forgiving down low, not so much up high. The following evening, temperatures would plummet and turn moisture laden snow into concrete. Entering what should have been the snowiest part of the season, it was already the beginning of the end.
I lost the narrative this winter. Not the skiing narrative. The skiing narrative followed the foreseen arc: stay local, earn turns, observe travel restrictions, and occasionally ski Cannon when it did not feel like a zoo. I did not ski much, but I did not care to ski much. It was a lost season. I took what I got and I was happy to not miss any epic days in VT (since there were none).
Rather, I mean the personal narrative. I spent more time on my bike indoor training than skiing. I am fitter going into the spring than I ever have been before. But I lost some personal discipline. I lost focus. I floundered aimlessly this winter without making much personal progress. I probably should not view stagnation as a setback. At least I can say that I am fit as fuck for cycling season.
The story goes on and the protagonist has noticed the obstacle and works to tear it down. Onward.
No sense in burying the lead chronologically: When I got home, my partner asked me “how was the skiing?” I replied that it was better than staying home all day and watching YouTube. That sums up a day at Tenney; it honestly is better than than doing nothing.
I was just happy to be outside. I waited until temperatures reached double digit temperatures, which meant a late start. But not too late, as temperatures would eventually rise to near the freezing point. The mountain was quite active with at least a half dozen turn earners, plus some snowshoers, snowmobiles, families, and snow tubers.
The snow was a mix of wind blown soft pack and groomed. Did the owner groom a non-operating ski area again? It seemed like less flora was sticking up through the snow. I was not going to be skiing untracked, so the grooming did not bother me. I did not come for the snow conditions.
I made fast time to the summit and decided to ski the northern side of the mountain. Sunflower and Sweet William provide the most prolonged pitches at Tenney. I skied Sunflower and then skinned up Venus Fly Trap and hit Sweet William. Both trails have some identity, and thankfully lack the mishmash of never ending junctions characteristic of Tenney’s jumbled trail network. I finished the day off with a short hike to the top of the Triple.
I am probably all set with Tenney for a while.
It has been seven years (almost to the day) since my last time skiing Tenney. Despite living less than twenty minutes from the semi-lost area, I have only earned turns at Tenney five times in fourteen seasons. One might think that Tenney would be an ideal mountain to harvest days old untracked powder. But anything more than a few inches of dense snow will stop you in your un-tracks.
Recent snowfall suggested that a few inches of dense was exactly what I could expect. And base depths in the region were finally sufficient. But much to my chagrin, the management had seen fit to groom most of the mountain despite not being open. I was puzzled by this at first. But later, I reasoned that the condo association might help pay for the grooming given the amount of turn earners and the active outdoor community in the village. Maybe?
I made quick work of the first ascent and opted for mellow meadow skipping down Shooting Star, which was ungroomed but tracked up. It wasn’t much to write home about; but it was powder skiing. Near the base area, I applied my skins and pointed my skis straight up Morning Glory, where I briefly used the stiletto position on my heel raisers. Shocking that such a pitch exists at Tenney.
After topping out again, I headed for Forget Me Not. The trail had been mercifully groomed since my last outing, which literally required swimming through ten foot tall saplings. The final pitch was nice but not yet completely filled in. That dumped me into Snap Dragon which was enjoyable, until I found the only part of the mountain not yet opened back up by the new management. It was adventurous skiing, I did not regret it.
It is pretty rare that I can say that my last day of the season was my best day of the season. If I had to end my season early, at least I picked the right day for it.
I do not have a record of the last time my season ended this early. My online reports date back to 1998-1999. The prior two years I took off from skiing to pursue other activities in college. The last time that I did not ski in March or April, I was a teenager.
This was my 22nd day of the season, my highest number of ski days in six years despite missing the ending half of the season. Something profound changed in my life this season. I hope you enjoyed reading about that change. I hope it reflected in my writing. I hope you find the thing that you want to change in your life and begin the process. For me, the journey continues. But my head is so far out of the fog that I can’t even remember what the fog felt like. For which I am thankful.
I have a lot to say about how the season ended. And I don’t mean about how my season ended or this particularly day at Jay. I don’t even mean to specifically write about the end of the ski season. But rather to use the inevitable season ending as a lens to inspect heuristics and cognitive biases on a societal scale.
It is surely beyond me, but I am going to give it a try.
More later. Right now, there is so much to digest, process and synthesize.