After a big day at Plattekill on Wednesday, I went home to work Thursday and Friday morning. Out the door at 1pm on Friday afternoon, I drove to our ski hut in Johnsburg, NY.
The next morning I was at the North Creek Ski Bowl early. Things were looking good when my friend Duck stepped into the yurt before first chair to boot up. After a lone warmup run on Moxham, we went into the trees, and struck paydirt.
We hit our favorites hard and then headed up to Burnt Ridge. We ran into another musketeer — Suds — en route. Riding the quad we could see that ropes were down on the trees, and we hit Boreas in fine shape.
In my own personal utopia, work would be a three-season activity, limited to those times when there is no snow in the hills. But life has a way of expressing it’s own opinion, often in an insistent way.
Midweek ski days are rare for me, even in years when my workload is sane. Still, by the time Zach texted me about skiing the biggest winter storm of the season, I had plans to hookup with Stella.
Tuesday the flatlands were shutdown by the storm, and I was the only one who made it into work. My brain was on overdrive juggling different projects, trying to clear the decks, for one day.
In an age of international consolidation, mega-resorts, paid parking, expensive burgers, and an arms race for snow guns and fast lifts, Mont Alta stands apart.
Years ago the lifts were plucked from its slopes. Now, what remains is a reborn ski area dedicated to uphill skiing and natural snow conditions.
Vail probably isn’t shaking in their Bogner’s yet. Mont Alta caps its season pass sales at 300, each priced at about $50, and you can’t buy a burger anywhere on premises. Not to mention that calling it 600 feet of vertical could be a bit generous.