There’s a lot of lamenting going around about how terrible this ski season was. True, it wasn’t the powder-filled bonanza that we relished last year.
We started the season off in November, and while the snow was lean, there was no reason not to hold out hope. The holidays came, relatives cancelled their ski getaway with us, and the slopes remained on the slim side, but ever the optimist, I believed the snow would come. January and February came and went and still, I think I can count the two times I skied in the woods, both times immediately regretting what the rocks and roots just barely covered with a dusting of snow were doing to my bases.
Yet in true Yankee style, we got out there. Snowmakers and groomers relentlessly performed their magic and made sweet corduroy day after day. We got out there every weekend, save for a fun pre-Christmas wedding we took part in. We skied on Range View, Bode’s Run, and eventually Waumbeck. We skied on ice, we skied on packed powder, we skied on groomers and more groomers. We skied in the sun and we skied in the fog. We skied in rain and enjoyed the edgeable snow as we watched it drain down the sides of the trails.
The kids were out there every weekend with the ski team, from pre-season dryland training to a fun dual-slalom season-ender, racing against parents and friends and coaches.
It’s not that we’re so dedicated or masochistic. It’s that its fun. No matter what the conditions, it was always more fun than not skiing. The kids looked forward each weekend to hitting the trails with their ski buddies, and for that matter, so did I. Sometimes we commiserated about how unjust the snowfall patterns were, but most of the time we remarked at how good the skiing was despite Mother Nature's cruel joke. More than once we raised a glass to the snowmakers and groomers who made this season possible.
Sure, my Facebook feed seemed to intentionally torment me with photo after photo of western powder shots. But we hearty New Englanders know one thing for sure: winter will come again.