Superstar to South Bay

Once you say it, you have to do it. I’ve been talking one more at Killington for weeks now. Spring is a busy time with lots of things happening. When the Saturday of Memorial Day weekend opened up, my course was clear. On Thursday night I bought tickets online and started making plans with Junior.

Once again, I have a vehicle suitable for camping, so driving up on Friday evening was a no brainer. We got on the road after work and joined the throngs of Memorial Day celebrants on the Thruway. It took a little bit longer than usual to get to Albany with the extra traffic but it wasn’t too bad. We got off in Latham to grab dinner at Ted’s Fish Fry and buy some beer and ice. It was close to eight when we reached Killington.

Now that there is officially sanctioned camping in the overflow lots at Killington, there’s no stress about deciding where to park. We pulled into the third bay, pretty close to the porta johns, and set up. I figured the back of the van would be big enough for two people but we set up a tent anyway, just to give us room to spread out. Junior is a notoriously energetic sleeper, so I figured it would save me a few elbow jabs. I took a walk around the parking lot to stretch my legs and check out other peoples’ rigs. There were all manner of setups from simple tents to vans, full sized RVs and trailers and rooftop tents.

Junior hot-spotted my iPad so we could watch a Yankees game in the tent, which was cool. After sundown, I went out for another walk in the dark. It was a perfectly clear night and the sky was full of stars in that way that you never see around the metro area. The light reflecting off Superstar’s white carpet of snow was inspiring. I didn’t interact with any of our fellow Killington enthusiasts other than a polite nod hello here and there but you could feel the energy and good vibes in the lot. Saturday was going to be awesome.

And so it was. We rolled out of bed around six. One of our neighbors was up before us, sipping coffee. He pointed up at the hill, where a winch cat was methodically doing its work. “I didn’t think they would groom it out,” he said. I assured him that the bumps would not take long to reappear, packed up our tent and repositioned the van onto the access road. Even that early, there were a dozen or so vehicles ahead of us. A few were setting up some elaborate tailgating kits and some others just seemed to have gotten up early for the good spots (like us).

I was hoping there would be a ticket kiosk outdoors since the lodge didn’t open until 7:30 but no luck. Everybody was friendly. The vibe was positive. The next guy to park after us noticed the kayaks on top of the van and started peppering us with questions about them, then declared his intention to acquire a wood strip kayak in the near future. I suggested looking on Craigslist or Facebook marketplace unless he wanted to build one himself.

We hung out in camp chairs and took our time getting ready. I noticed some folks were carrying their skis up the hill to reserve spots in line so we did the same. There were three full chairs’ worth of skis ahead of us and one pair in line for chair four so we put ours down next to them and went back to boot up. Around seven twenty we went to the lodge to see if it had been unlocked. It had; we got our tickets squared away and headed to the lift.

There were a lot more skis laid out in the line by now, some attended and some not. We got in line by our skis and started chatting with the guy next to us, who turned out to be another New Yorker, though he was living on the access road full time now. Then another guy from Connecticut who used to work in the city claimed a waiting snowboard that was next to us and talked about running his dog up to the top of the mountain already that morning.

The female half of an older couple in front of us noticed the Plattekill sticker on my helmet and said she thought she’d read something about it someplace. I said yeah, it was a cool place, nice terrain and good people. She then proceeded to wonder out loud why we would bother skiing there. Actually, she was shitting all over the very idea of New York skiing in general, or anywhere other than Killington if I understood her correctly. I let it go.

Next, the guy who’d been curious about our kayaks showed up and counted too many people in line for chair four. ”This is bullshit!” He declared, “I lined up for chair four and now I’m in chair five! Who the fuck has been moving skis?” I looked down and did my own count. In line for chair four were five pairs of skis and one snowboard. I didn’t want to take a position on whether somebody had moved any skis or if he was entitled to chair four or to chair five so I kept quiet on the issue and after a minute or two of cursing and ranting, he seemed to run out of steam.

Then another dude showed up, clicked into the last pair of unattended skis and commenced condemning the whole system. “Leaving skis in line is bullshit!” He said that he’d complained to the liftie and was assured that his position was the correct one. Next time, we were informed, the lifties were going to chuck unattended skis into the mud. I did not take a position on this issue either. By now all of the skis and boards in line had boots in them and a good sized crowd had swelled the line behind us as well. The crowd’s energy, both good and bad, was crackling.

Thankfully, eight o’clock rolled around. The lifties pulled the rope and people started loading chairs. Since I had no strong opinions on the matter, I told Junior to hang back and we would take chair five. Two more skiers filled in next to us and we were on our way. At the top, the energy was all positive. Everywhere you looked the grins were ear-to-ear. And just like that we were all blasting down Superstar’s groomed surface in big arcing GS turns. The joy of the moment was palpable. Halfway down my legs were already asking for relief but that was for later. We charged right back to the lift and hopped on.

After that, I did tend to stop somewhere in the middle to rest my legs on each run. Junior and I lost each other on our first few laps but met up again at the lift. Superstar started to bump up immediately of course. Each run was a little bit different but it was all fun, all morning. Each chair ride back up introduced us to new friend and some new entertainment being played out on the trail below us. We kept going like that, pausing briefly a few times to drink water from the backpack we’d left under a tree by the lift.

There were a variety of costumes and colorful shirts on display to go with the all the amazing skiing and one guy in a cowboy hat using a long walking stick as a lurk. I was familiar with the Lurk concept, basically a long single ski pole held in two hands and used as a brake on the downhill and to propel yourself cross country on flat ground. This guy was performing a sort of ski ballet with it though, twirling and spinning around his pole as he proceeded, skiing backwards almost as much as he did frontwards. It was something to behold.

As we accumulated laps and the soft bumps grew in size, I could feel it in my legs. I started taking two stops per run instead of one. I slowed it down a little. We took a slightly longer break to eat a few sandwiches from the backpack and discovered it was still not yet 10 AM. Wow. That was it, just an awesome day of spring skiing at Killington. Sunshine, soft bumps and good times. We had plans for afternoon adventure so we cut out around lunchtime and headed back to New York.

We considered seeking out a more scenic spot to paddle than the South Bay of Lake Champlain but the convenience factor overpowered our decision making. While driving up on Friday evening, I’d pointed out where the Champlain Canal ran parallel to the road between Fort Anne and Whitehall. In spite of having driven this route with me a bunch of times, the Champlain Canal was news to him. He claimed he’d never heard of it. “So we could paddle from here all the way home?” He wondered aloud after some quick research on his phone. Yup, I told him. We could actually start in Plattsburgh and paddle all the way to the city if we had the time. He was astounded.

After skiing, thoughts of going further north to Crown Point or Wilsboro Bay completely left my mind. The South Bay was right there on the way home, just around the corner from Whitehall and that was where we would put in. There is a big beautiful concrete boat launch there which I have used in the past. We pulled in and began to unload the paddling gear. It was a busy day with a half dozen boat trailers parked in the lot and a couple in the process of launching a motorboat as we arrived.

As we carried our kayaks down to the water, I saw two jet skis roaring up to the ramp. The first one there tied up at the aluminum dock and went up the hill to retrieve his trailer. No problem. Like I said it was a huge boat ramp. Our two kayaks took up almost no space over on our side, leaving plenty of room for whoever wanted to launch or load next to us. With Junior’s new found fascination with the Champlain Canal, he wanted to go explore in that direction. It sounded good to me so that’s where we headed.

We paddled in that direction, under a train trestle, and into the Poultney River, which forms the NY border with Vermont. We paddled southward from there, enjoying the nice weather and sun. The contrast between the peaceful, tree lined river and Killington’s boisterous crowded base area couldn’t be more stark. The river was not too wide. The occasional buoy or navigational marker reminded us we were on commercial waterway but otherwise the river felt very remote and natural.

We spotted a boat with fishing lines out, ahead of us by a good distance, motionless on the Vermont side. As we came closer, they started up the motor and headed in the direction of Whitehall. Then a motor boat came towards us, in the direction of Lake Champlain. They slowed down as they passed but we still got a little ride on their wake. Then a little later, another one went by fast in the other direction and we got a bigger wake to ride. We paddled a long time, pausing once in a while to drink some water and listen to the chirping of the birds, mostly unseen in the woods along the shore.

During one of our stops, I noticed Junior looking at his phone and asked him who he was texting. He said he wasn’t texting but was looking at the map. The entrance to the canal and the first lock was still really far away, he said. Oh yeah, I confirmed. That would be a long paddle. I had no expectation of going that far. He nodded. A little while later, we decided to turn back. The return trip probably took just as long but it seemed to go faster than the outbound leg.

We were pretty pooped at that point but mustered up enough energy to car-top the kayaks and put everything that had gotten wet into the cargo box with our skis. We got on the road and were back in Albany right around dinner time so we got off the Northway at Wolf Road and got a really good meal at Warehouse barbecue. Oof, what a trip.