powderfreak
New member
- Joined
- Jan 9, 2007
- Messages
- 256
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- 0
I decided to write a short piece about the morning I hurt myself. I
realized I had never submitted a TR for the date. Some of this is
embellished in the name of writing, most of it is not. This is how I'll
remember that morning, especially considering the day before was quite
possibly the worst day of the season. As I watch it pour outside, I figure
today will be a good day to relive a powder morning.
December 17, 2008...
At 3:59am I'm awaken by the sound of a snowplow blade scraping the asphalt
in downtown Burlington. A minute later my alarm goes off. Its dumping in the
valley, which means it must be puking in the mountains. By 5:30am I'm
pulling into the unplowed Stowe parking, the snow rubbing up against the
floorboard of my car.
The forecast was for 1-3 inches overnight. As I watch a million flakes
dance through my headlights, its obvious we are getting that amount every
hour. I turn the car off and sit for a moment, taking it all in.
Around that time, Percy's crew fires up the front-end loaders to start
clearing the lots. The sound of diesel engines dampened by heavy snowfall.
Its just another one of those mornings at the base of Vermont's highest peak.
I let myself into the Mountain Operations Center and turn the lights on.
Another day at the office. I check the latest weather and radar, then radio
the groomers high on the mountain. They are finishing their overnight shift
and looking forward to a warm bed. Several may forgo the bed in the name of
powder.
How much do we have up top?
The radio squawks to life.
"Eight inches here at the Octagon and it only started five hours ago. Its
storming hard but winds are remaining below threshold. Today's gonna be sweet."
Yeah baby, its a powder day at Stowe! I update the necessary media
collateral and record today's message before the local powder-hounds start
calling. By 7am the first hints of daylight are finally overpowering the
heavy curtain of snowfall. I scarf down a Power Bar while jamming feet into
ski boots for the 23rd day of this young season.
My first run is down Liftline. The powder lapping up and stinging my chin.
Cheers echo from above: The FourRunner Quad is open and loading to the
public.
For the next run, I check out the expert Centerline to Hayride route.
Silver-dollar sized dendrites are falling from the sky. Drifted in along the
trees on skiers right, the snow is billowing up around my chest,
occasionally tickling the cheeks. This all fell since midnight?!
Through the storm and veil of snow, three gondola cars are slowly making
their way back down the cable suspended above Gondolier. Line-check is
completing. We've got maintenance clearance and now patrol clearance on the
gondola. It'll pop at 8:30am. This is where I need to be. The Clipper is
going to be bottomless.
At the bottom, right next to the lower Gondola terminal, I fall. I'm 30
seconds from first ride in one of those suspended red cabins, and the run of
this youthful season awaits. My knee pops with a sharp pain. My knee-cap is
now facing the wrong way as I stare at the bottom of my foot. You've got to
be kidding me. Six weeks is what the docs say, dislocated patella and minor
ligament/tendon damage.
I'll see you on the hill in mid-February.
Pray for snow.
-Scott
realized I had never submitted a TR for the date. Some of this is
embellished in the name of writing, most of it is not. This is how I'll
remember that morning, especially considering the day before was quite
possibly the worst day of the season. As I watch it pour outside, I figure
today will be a good day to relive a powder morning.
December 17, 2008...
At 3:59am I'm awaken by the sound of a snowplow blade scraping the asphalt
in downtown Burlington. A minute later my alarm goes off. Its dumping in the
valley, which means it must be puking in the mountains. By 5:30am I'm
pulling into the unplowed Stowe parking, the snow rubbing up against the
floorboard of my car.
The forecast was for 1-3 inches overnight. As I watch a million flakes
dance through my headlights, its obvious we are getting that amount every
hour. I turn the car off and sit for a moment, taking it all in.
Around that time, Percy's crew fires up the front-end loaders to start
clearing the lots. The sound of diesel engines dampened by heavy snowfall.
Its just another one of those mornings at the base of Vermont's highest peak.
I let myself into the Mountain Operations Center and turn the lights on.
Another day at the office. I check the latest weather and radar, then radio
the groomers high on the mountain. They are finishing their overnight shift
and looking forward to a warm bed. Several may forgo the bed in the name of
powder.
How much do we have up top?
The radio squawks to life.
"Eight inches here at the Octagon and it only started five hours ago. Its
storming hard but winds are remaining below threshold. Today's gonna be sweet."
Yeah baby, its a powder day at Stowe! I update the necessary media
collateral and record today's message before the local powder-hounds start
calling. By 7am the first hints of daylight are finally overpowering the
heavy curtain of snowfall. I scarf down a Power Bar while jamming feet into
ski boots for the 23rd day of this young season.
My first run is down Liftline. The powder lapping up and stinging my chin.
Cheers echo from above: The FourRunner Quad is open and loading to the
public.
For the next run, I check out the expert Centerline to Hayride route.
Silver-dollar sized dendrites are falling from the sky. Drifted in along the
trees on skiers right, the snow is billowing up around my chest,
occasionally tickling the cheeks. This all fell since midnight?!
Through the storm and veil of snow, three gondola cars are slowly making
their way back down the cable suspended above Gondolier. Line-check is
completing. We've got maintenance clearance and now patrol clearance on the
gondola. It'll pop at 8:30am. This is where I need to be. The Clipper is
going to be bottomless.
At the bottom, right next to the lower Gondola terminal, I fall. I'm 30
seconds from first ride in one of those suspended red cabins, and the run of
this youthful season awaits. My knee pops with a sharp pain. My knee-cap is
now facing the wrong way as I stare at the bottom of my foot. You've got to
be kidding me. Six weeks is what the docs say, dislocated patella and minor
ligament/tendon damage.
I'll see you on the hill in mid-February.
Pray for snow.
-Scott
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