Gore: Sometimes You Just Gotta Ski

All week at my desk, reports from the hill told of stellar spring conditions, with skiers pealing slices off the steepest terrain on the mountain. It rained on Thursday and then dropped in a quick blast of cold air for the weekend. As we passed mid-February, I was sitting at 16 ski days, with a three day weekend in front of me. The season isn’t getting any younger, sometimes you just got to ski.

Ski Bowl Yurt

I slept late Saturday and drove to the mountains in the afternoon skipping what seemed like it would be the iciest day of the weekend. Sunday looked warm-ish with a little sun and Monday was forecasts as a mixed bag of snow and rain.

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Do You Love Your Home Mountain?

Late afternoon on Sunday, at the end of a long ski day, I was sitting in the bar at Plattekill, surrounded by friends. When I’m in that spot, reliving the day’s adventures, I feel like the luckiest man alive. I snapped a picture of the room, and fired off a tweet on NYSB’s twitter.

Home Mountain Tweet

“Do You Love Your Home Mountain?” The thought as expressed was actually incomplete. I could have added … “as much as I do?” to the end of the question. Smiling wide at the end of another joyful ski day, I decided to bounce it off the internet. I think Twitter is my go-to in the mountains as it seems to require minimal signal strength to function.

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Catskill Double: Birthday Surprise

Each year I find a way to make my birthday fun. I get a few days off work and drive north to the mountains looking for adventure. When I pull it off, for the moment, I can forget I’m a year older. There’s really only one rule for the trek: it has to include skiing Plattekill.

driving at night
Required element

For me, being born in early January was a blessing.

When I was a kid, it stunk having a birthday right after Christmas. Nobody was the mood to party. But now, there’s something I really want, that I can give myself, every year without fail. My present to myself is a solution to a problem: how can I avoid pondering the relentless march of time on the annual reminder of my birth? It’s simple, go skiing.

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