November...

November

November is a month of contrast in our little corner of the ski obsessed world. On the one hand, it brings promise, anticipation, and in many cases, the first deep days of the year, even if one must tread lightly over the shallow pack. The first screaming turns of the year through November Down are magical, the long absent feeling of floating returns, and like a panacea, months worth of stress and sleepless nights are forgiven. That is what skiers live for. For the rest of us not lucky enough to live in climes where snowfall is regular and essentially a given from winter to winter, November is a time of angst, worry, prayer and finally resignation. November in New Jersey is a far cry from the beginnings of winter, as I write this today it is 70 degrees and sunny with a warm breeze, while at the same time, 3,000 miles away, Crystal Mountain is opening with feet of powder.

At no time during the winter are the differences more apparent than in November, and at no time during the year are people more impatient and more excited to ski. Even if the snow sucks, even if you destroy your skis, it is worth it to slice down a deep line in the woods after months of biking, rock climbing, drinking, or whatever it is we do to fill the space between our most beloved of seasons. There is nothing more exciting for me, a resident of a terribly un-snowy place, than watching the first big storms of the year pummel various regions around the country, watching webcams on Friday that show grass, rocks and a light dusting become a veritable winter wonderland by Sunday afternoon, with a tempest still raging high above.

Until I can free myself from the imposed bondage of New Jersey residency, I will live vicariously through webcams, trip reports and pictures of winter from the Pacific Northwest, British Columbia, Tahoe, Utah, and Colorado. And I know, that without fail, each time I check a snow report or see pictures of the downy deepness, I will become physically ill, the adrenaline pounding through my system, my guts wrenching themselves in knots and my palms beginning to sweat. It is involuntary, it is painful, it is what I live for until I can be there and experience the reality of a raging storm suddenly quieted as I duck into a glade, simply grinning and nodding to my dad, who will surely return the gesture as I offer him first tracks, knowing that there will be more than enough for me. As I watch him disappear into clouds of smoke rising around his knees, hips and shoulders, I smile to myself like an idiot, not wanting to punctuate the silence with an insignificant whoop of joy. The simple sound of snowflakes tinkling off Gore-Tex is sufficient verbal celebration.

That is often what my dreams look like, run after run, just like that, always deep, always cold, always snowing hard, and always with my closest skiing companions, my dad, Tim and Doug. Sadly enough, the planets have never aligned right to allow us all to be together on a powder day, I’ve skiied them with Tim, and Doug, and with my dad, but have never completed the perfect trifecta.


to be continued....

very well said

continued...


I will be the first person to admit that I think about skiing year-round, but most of my thoughts in the summer are fragmented and not all that chill-inducing; however, the change truly begins around Columbus Day. The memories become vivid, flashbacks begin to echo through my brain like gun shots, tearing any thought process, no matter how well rooted, to pieces, filling my mind with only snowfall, the concussion of avy bombs and the sound of snowplows scraping down the road. Like a junkie, withdrawal hits me hardest during November, sleepless nights filled with hucks, fat, Sinners-esque snowflakes and bluebird skies make everyday life seem like a chore until the day finally comes when the suffocating bitch known as fall finally succumbs to the advances of winter and the first flakes flutter out of a cloudy, polluted New Jersey sky.

While skiers across the west can pretty much expect good skiing at some point during November, the best I can hope for is a few turns down the “ribbon of death” at Gore, where it will undoubtedly be cloudy, windy as hell and downright freezing, a proverbial cocktease: it looks like snow, it feels like snow, but nothing and nobody can coax it from the reluctant Adirondack sky.

Like all skiers, especially those not blessed enough to reside in towns like Jackson, Nelson, Truckee or Bozeman, November is a time to hope and pray, a season of purely hedonistic desires. This year, the idea of November being a season of prayer and hope rings truer than ever before, with a friend of mine in a coma from a football injury and his chances of waking up growing slimmer each day, all I can think to do is to turn to prayer and hope. Kurt was a skier as well as a football star at my high school, and my prayers are not only for his recovery and for his family, but for a winter that will do justice to his spirit: fun-loving, caring, and most of all steadfast and large in generosity. Wednesday night I went to a prayer service for Kurt at his church, the first time I had been to church in nearly 4 years, and for some reason, it seemed fitting, despite the gravity of the situation. The unity in thought and desire for Kurt’s recovery is reminiscent of the unity and desire expressed by skiers when it comes to the early season; just when things look there worst, and there is no hope, a miracle from Above serves to remind us that nothing is outside the realm of possibility. Whether that miracle is a complete recovery or a 6 feet in a week storm is irrelevant, the power of it is the same, it is some worth rejoicing, celebrating, and most of all, being thankful for.

So this winter, if you are blessed enough to ski deep powder in the early season, floating through glades, bowls and chutes as though gravity itself is on hold until at least tomorrow, realize that you are experiencing a feeling that is transcendent of religion, geography, race or political beliefs. Kurt was a meathead jock, and I’m a long haired wannabe hippy, and our uniting factors were skiing, winter, snow, and our love for all of them. Lend a thought, utter a silent thank you to whomever or whatever you want next time you stand atop that perfect run you’ve visualized a thousand times in your head. If every moment is a gift,then every moment in the mountains, ensconced in snowfall and silence with close friends is the greatest gift of all. It is thoughts of this that both madden me and keep me sane through the snowless early season, and runs like this that I hope to stand atop this season, whether by myself, with close friends, or even people from the board. I can see it as I write this, trees with their branches covered in snow, a smooth, virgin canvas of bottomless fluff lies below me tilted to a perfect pitch through trees littered with fun airs and terrain variations; but before I can partake in the feast of powder, I will turn my head skyward, thinking back to that ominously cold, grey late October day when Kurt was injured, and utter to nobody but myself, “this run’s for you Kurt…”

AMEN!!!!

I like the feedback so far, it felt good to get that off my chest.

As a fellow native of New Jersey, I can relate to everything you have said. You seem to have read my mind and put my thoughts into words. You are not alone in your intense desire to ski, there are many of us.

PS
By the way, I heard about Kurt on the radio. While I have felt bad for him from the beginning, to learn that he too was a skier really brings him closer to my thoughts. Like you have said, skiing is a brotherhood and to learn that a brother has fallen is terrible.

Ben, you have a gift. One of the best blurbs I have read in a long time.

Best of luck to your bud, Kurt. I hope he comes through.

I would highly recommend to get writting on Apsect Journal too. And win letter of the month, you have what it takes.

Hope to see you in Utah soon enough.

Take care,

Buzz

Thanks for the comments everyone. I'm thinking about submitting to Aspect and hopefully will in the next few months. As for LOTM, I suppose I could try for it, but until then, I'd rather post my ramblings for random internet freaks to read. ;)

Soulfully well written.

nice words glademan
stories like Kurt's make ya thankful for everyday, esp. skidays- hope he wakes up, there's lots to see...
perfect stuff for aspect methinks, we should use that place more...

Quote:

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Like all skiers, especially those not blessed enough to reside in towns like Jackson, Nelson, Truckee or Bozeman

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think I'd take seattle over any of these this week ;)

Hey glade, when you have something ready --> submissions at aspectjournal dot com.

Now that dream run will truly be in Kurt's honor, he passed away earlier this afternoon(around 2pm). I need to ski now more than ever, please take a run for him if you're lucky enough to be skiing already.:(

Ben, I am very sorry to hear about this loss. That is horrible news.

Next run is for Kurt.

glademaster, sorry you lost your friend.
RIP

Missed this the first time around. Beautiful writing.

Sorry about the loss of your friend. He will be there at your side every time you ski.

Nice words.

I was sorry to hear about your friend. I heard something about it on the local radio station, I didn't hear a name, but I figured it was your buddy.

I found that run at Vail of all places earlier this month, courtesy of one HomerJay. The entire trip seemed blessed, clear days for travel both ways, and about 3 feet of snow while we were there. Shortly before Kurt died, the school passed out orange wristbands with "KS" on them in white letters. On the first of what would be 3 consecutively deeper days there, I hung my band on an Aspen tree about 1/3rd of the way down this run while exchanging a few words with a friend of HJ(I don't remember his name, but it was the guy on Hippy Stinx). It's a minor tribute, but I thought it was fitting.

The full TR will be up tomorrow, I've procrastinated long enough.