Spring was sure to make an appearance at some point this month, but it was hard to believe that hot on the heels of one of the biggest dumps of the season we’d be skiing without our shells.
After devouring the pow harvest from my desk on Friday, my brother and I were champing at the bit to ski. Our enthusiasm spread, and we ended up back at Plattekill with several others who came to the mountain for the first time.
I didn’t have to look in the rearview mirror to see the quizzical looks as we drove past Belleayre. I could feel the lasers bouncing off of my neck and quickly pointed out that when skiing, going the extra mile is often worth the effort.
Last month I made a connection between 
