JD
New member
Got up to the lot at 6:15 and a friend was waiting in the lot. As we got our boots on a few other cars rolled in. Off we went. Cruised up the stupid flat runout and got to the base of Cliffs. Cruised up Cliffs and the snow depth incresed from 3-6 inches fairly quickly. As the sky lightened with the morning sun, light to moderate snow came in. We went right to the top of Northridge where a fiendly Mtn. employee approached us. He told us that he was not going to chase us off the Mtn, but to be careful because the Mtn. sent out a memo last week telling everyone to kick people off the hill if they saw them skinning or hiking up. Then we had a real nice talk and he said he had thought about learning to ski instead of snowboarding because hiking sucked and skinning looked way better. He was a good guy, but I couldn't help but feel as if the soulfull oneness I was feeling moments before had been somehow deminished with the thought that the Mtn had informed all it's employees to chase people off the mtn. if they showed up to ski and play in the new snow and rejoince in the coming solstice, as we were doing. We dropped into bravo and the top was real nice. Several bottomless turns. The steep in the middle was a bit scratchy, and the low angle runout skied great....big fat carves.
Then we cruised over to Tumbler and it skied nicely, although the icey base was definitely in play if you got too heavy on your edge. At that point my crew spit and I went back up the skin track for a hammerhead lap. On the skin up I went deep in my trance. My mind wandered to a dark place where skiers turned on their own brethren and the purity of silent, self powered climbing for velvety smooth turns was hunted out and hated on by exculsionist pigs who tried to own a world that has been existing in it's cold static state since before columbus, when native humans hunted it's slopes. Then I thought about the first skiers, thousands of years ago, using skis to explore a snowbound world by their own power. Silently ghosting thru light snowfall hunting game, they must have felt that same trance state of breathing and motion. They must have felt the butterfly lightness of their stomachs lifting and the gluided down a slope over a horizon into the unknow, monochrome POW. And how now, at a Ski Area in the year 2008, that roots expression of a love of winter, and skis, and snow, is now hunted and banned by OWNERS.
Sugarbush is a beatuiful part of the greens. The people I have met on the hill have been, for the most part, brethren....but the owners are souless mongrels. Mutants of a thing that was once pure and has been corrupted by the allmighty dollar, exploiting my own mother, and religion, passion, and soul in an attempt to own me as well.
Then I dropped in to hammerhead and that all quickly faded as the terrain unfolded infront of me. Thru the birches like shredded, muscley arms reaching up from some giant closing over the sky, down into sweeping silent turns, over hummocks and thru low hollows I was pure again.....
Then we cruised over to Tumbler and it skied nicely, although the icey base was definitely in play if you got too heavy on your edge. At that point my crew spit and I went back up the skin track for a hammerhead lap. On the skin up I went deep in my trance. My mind wandered to a dark place where skiers turned on their own brethren and the purity of silent, self powered climbing for velvety smooth turns was hunted out and hated on by exculsionist pigs who tried to own a world that has been existing in it's cold static state since before columbus, when native humans hunted it's slopes. Then I thought about the first skiers, thousands of years ago, using skis to explore a snowbound world by their own power. Silently ghosting thru light snowfall hunting game, they must have felt that same trance state of breathing and motion. They must have felt the butterfly lightness of their stomachs lifting and the gluided down a slope over a horizon into the unknow, monochrome POW. And how now, at a Ski Area in the year 2008, that roots expression of a love of winter, and skis, and snow, is now hunted and banned by OWNERS.
Sugarbush is a beatuiful part of the greens. The people I have met on the hill have been, for the most part, brethren....but the owners are souless mongrels. Mutants of a thing that was once pure and has been corrupted by the allmighty dollar, exploiting my own mother, and religion, passion, and soul in an attempt to own me as well.
Then I dropped in to hammerhead and that all quickly faded as the terrain unfolded infront of me. Thru the birches like shredded, muscley arms reaching up from some giant closing over the sky, down into sweeping silent turns, over hummocks and thru low hollows I was pure again.....
