You can't rush certain things. And a backcountry ski season is one of them.
Backcountry skiing in 2015 took its sweet time getting here. There are, of course, enthusiasts who hit the woods almost after the first frost, wrecking their skis, getting tips caught under called logs, and tearing their clothes in brambles. Not us, however. My human, having an employee season pass at Stowe, prefers to access the lift-served trails until the woods have halfway decent coverage. Despite inherent risks, it's nicer to concentrate on the solitude, beauty, and fun rather than the hidden dangers under a less-than-adequate snowpack.
Anyway, after a bang of a start and a cold, but not-very-snowy January, winter arrived with the Ground Hog... and the backcountry is deluxe. Skiers were really getting restless towards the end of January though...
Not me, of course. Instead of restless, I get opportunistic. Without referring to weather records, January 2015 must have been one of the coldest in history, and my people just didn't take me out as much as usual. My answer to that? I simply eat every morsel of food in the house that is left on a counter, left unwatched on a plate, or even left in the sink on a dirty dish. Just my way of sending a message: exercise me!
But then in came February. It has remained cold, but the snow has arrived. And the backcountry has never been better. In fact, without a thaw yet, the skiing in backwoods Vermont has been awesome and sustained. We keep getting an inch here, a few inches there, a foot there... and tracks and skin trails get filled in. Today, we went to a backcountry area growing in popularity, but because of the repeated fill-ins, we skied the shot where "everyone goes"... and got fresh powder all the way. We never ski that line because -- even in the backcountry -- it gets tracked up.
Why were there freshies there today? Well, I suppose the minus-9 degree temps had something to do with it. With Gunnar in a new childcare (we are referring to it as "school") that takes him on Fridays, Mark, Gladys, and I are now fired up about skinning and skiing on Fridays. We went back and forth this morning, but ultimately decided to go for it, figuring there was not much wind, the sun was shining, and we could always turn back if it was too cold. Let me tell you: it was brisk but beautiful. As usual, the "go for it" call worked.
We have been out in the backcountry about five times in the last two weeks. The first time out, Mark was concerned about me. Something about my age. The snow was deep, and -- I'm not going to lie -- if there's an easier way down (read: a skin track instead of swimming through snow over my head), I'll probably take it. And that can sometimes mean I'm not right behind him. And two times that first day -- twice -- Mark stopped and called for me. I was nowhere in sight as he and Gladys wondered what to do. Both times I had to double back and return to him... from my spot on the route farther downhill from where he was. Don't worry about me, human. You just try to keep up.
I'm not too worried though. If I have to climb back up to let him know I'm waiting, so be it. I'm just psyched to be out on negative temperature day in the Vermont backcountry.
