Gravity Works: Spring tease

The fat lady is so over it. She finally had her say, and got to take off that itchy corset. It was doubly uncomfortable under her retro one-piece, and made it almost impossible to buckle her boots. To her credit, though, she looked pretty good flirting with the half-naked young stoners on Paradise deck. Who could blame her?


Besides, I know for a fact she wasn’t pounding down Phoenix Bowl or hiking Teocalli Bowl in that corset. Late season snow made for outrageous powder in all those favorite lines, and even motivated me to hike for it. I got fooled several times, skiing Morning Glory in the zone and forgetting the traverse back onto Headwall was closed. Oh well: the skiing invariably turned out to be great, and the hike out wasn’t all that onerous.


I am pretty sure, though, the fat lady made it to the peak of Crested Butte Mountain where a closing day party gathered to sing along. I’m not absolutely sure she made it to the party because I didn’t make it up there myself. Instead of hiking to the peak, and knowing I wouldn’t be able to enjoy the luxury until next ski season, I concentrated on skiing a few final lift-served runs. Why hike, I ask myself, when I should be skiing?


Unlike some of my more enthusiastic colleagues, exercise isn’t my sole motivation for skiing. I ski for fun and lifestyle, and if I must, I will commit exercise to accomplish that. I don’t entirely enjoy hiking up mountains, but the rewards are proportional to the effort. Regardless, I am honestly looking forward to skiing places where ski lifts will never turn. There is something to be said for that…besides the view and of course, the exercise.


One distinct phenomenon colored our final ski days: A great amount of Utah real estate blew into Colorado. Ski Utah, stay home. High winds carried red dust from Utah’s Colorado Plateau desert over our Colorado mountains. It was positively apocryphal; blood-red skies howled as red dust covered everything and colored the snowpack. It wasn’t the first time we’d witnessed Utah red—Taylor called it Navajo snow—but it was...memorable.


Skiing Navajo snow in flat light helped me distinguish the surface; slicing through it was a colorful experience. But it’s not all good. That stuff will make the snow melt faster since it absorbs instead of reflecting sunlight. It might make for good corn snow, but will probably also limit opportunity because the snow will get too warm and soggy too fast. Nor does Utah red bode well for summer water retention, since the snowpack will melt and flow back to the desert before its water has time to sink into the ground.


Red snow didn’t prevent the fat lady from warbling on the peak. She closed out eighteen months of skiing for me, the longest ski season of my life. It isn’t completely over yet, though, since I still anticipate skiing during May and June. But even the diehard in me recognizes a coda when he hears it. Hardly had her dulcet echoes subsided when chairlifts closed and ski patrollers pulled the ropes.


With ropes gone and closures vanished, the whole mountain is open again. Teo Two might offer decent powder, and the West Side will offer good corn to anyone with the energy to get up there. Moguls will vanish into the surface and the skiing should be good. For my part though, when I choose to hike, I’ll do it somewhere I haven’t ridden lifts all winter. Hiking makes me more discerning.


Always bittersweet, I concentrated my last few runs on not getting hurt, not getting hit. Sometimes I want ski season to last forever; sometimes it is entirely appropriate that it be over. One way or the other, over it is.


Once again, the cyclical nature of resort living defines my life. We lifestyle enthusiasts pack off into whatever off-season pleasure and adventure we can conjure. Winter passes, spring teases and summer beckons. Don’t complain about the heat.