The Plattekill Blog

Last summer in the gym, I met a professional climber from Colorado who had relocated to NYC for a girl. When I asked if he skied, he recounted his glory days of competing in bumps and gates at Vail.

“Sweet!” I replied, following with an offer to show him the East.  His reply was anything but sweet. “Why would I want to do that? I know all about East Coast skiing by reputation already.”

The conversation went downhill. I took some ill-advised shots at Colorado and it was uncomfortable running into him at the gym. Eventually we exchanged apologies, and I made my offer again.

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The end of the season always seems to sneak up on me. It’s not like I can’t follow a calendar or fathom the inevitable warmth and rain that April brings. But somehow March snows and cold allow me to indulge my fantasy that winter will never end.

When Plattekill announced that April 6 would be the last day of lift-served skiing on the mountain, I felt the pull to return. Bombarded with email from other diehards, I got my ducks in a row, and headed for Roxbury on Sunday morning.

I never seem to adjust to a proper spring skiing schedule. Just as I do in mid-winter, I set my alarm for a predawn awakening to head north. The difference was this time when I left it was light.

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