I wrote this before I realized this year's photo comp was for a pic from this season so here ya go, from last year...in all its disqualified glory:
Belly full of coffee, I pull on gumboots to dig the truck from 35 cennies of goodness, trying to conjure any possible reason why I should be reaping this good fortune. My wife’s already donned Goretex and is packing skis from the garage. Ullr chuckles. The plow truck rumbles by, two feet of snow at the end of the driveway.
Today started like any Sunday in Rossland. Rising from bed, I folded down the blinds and squinted into a pure white expanse. Little mountains of snow clung to the fence. On Red, Sally’s Alley gleamed golden-white in the early light. Are you sure you want to go first today, I asked her. “Why, did it snow?!,” she says, leaping from the sheets. Yeah, it snowed.
The truck didn’t need to be dug out. It was more a miserable, public display of a sulking powder hound. But deep down I was hoping for something rare, infrequent yet dimly possible. My elderly dear sweet lovely neighbour walks over. Could it be? Powder day, she smiles. Yup. What do you say I look after the kids this morning? Say wah? Uh, well, yeah if it’s no bother, I mean, if you don’t, er, well, yes! Admittedly, this is not the first time Powder Granny has delivered. In seconds we have kids suited up and across the street, packs and skis in the truck and we’re rumbling up the road. My wife flashes a “you’re one luck bastard” smile.
We take the t-bar to avoid the ridiculous line up following a two-week powder drought and skate to the Motherlode Chair. After the obligatory first tracks on Lynx Line and the Slides, we’re skinning up Robbie for a couple laps of untouched steeps. From the summit I spot our house and can almost make out our kids throwing snowballs in the neighbour’s yard. The slight overcast draws perfect light across the ridgeline above the Hourglass. One snapshot. One silky turn. Another day in the life. Thank you Powder Granny.
