A Good Mt. Washington Day

You can tell when it's going to be a good day at Mt. Washington just by the sound. Actually it starts with the lack of sound. Most of my mornings here start with the sound of the clock radio; whatever AM station seems to offer the best signal, not too loud yet not quiet enough to ignore. But on a good day I slowly drift into consciousness at an unhurried pace. Then the realization: no alarm! I look through darkness to where the red digital numbers reside and find that they are absent. And there I lay in the dark, quiet perfection that is the start to a good Mt. Washington day. To offer insight into why darkness and quiet are good omens of the impending day requires very little explanation, in fact so little that it can be reduced to a single word: snow. The reason for the darkness is that snow has piled up so high around the house that sunlight no longer enters bottom floor windows; and the silence is the result of last night's heavy snowfall knocking out the power lines and thus silencing my clock radio.

This is a work day though, so there's no time to wast as I've already slept in for an hour. Pull on some clothes, a quick bite to eat and I'm off to the next sound; the distant growl of diesel engines. Now this may seem as strange to you as darkness and silence, however this too is easily explained; the snowcats that groom the runs on the mountain work all through the night to be ready for the lifts to open at 9am. Usually when I'm on my way to work the snowcats are almost done their night's work and are off cleaning up around buildings or helping to plow the parking lots. But on a good Mt.Washington day they are still out on the hill, working at a furious pace, trying in vain to keep up with night's heavy snowfall. On a night like this the dozen cats worked non stop just to keep a select few runs groomed and to keep the snow plowed from under the chairlifts.

I'm now half done my ten minute commute to work and I'm greeted by one of the greatest sounds a skier almost never gets to hear. A loud, sharp thud that can be felt in your bones and in the ground you stand on. The ski patrollers have started this mornings avanache control. It starts in the distance and high up. They start at the top and work down, using explosives and making ski cuts in avalanche prone areas. Once all the suspect areas have been deemed safe, they give the okay for what terrain will be open today. Being as this is a good Mt. Washington day the cloud cover begins to break as the sun rises, giving little glimpes of the snowy summit, as well as the ocean far below.

I'm at work now, busy going about my usual routine, but on a good Mt.Washington day I sneak away and listen for one last sound. Just before 9am I make my way up to an outside deck on the second floor of the alpine lodge. The two way radio on my belt crackles to life and it is confirmed that the avalanche control is complete and all of the snowcats are off the hill. With this final tinny sounding, staticy crackle, the chairlift starts loading the people eagerly waiting in line. It only takes seven or eight minutes for those first people to reach the summit. A few moments later the same people once again come into view, making first tracks down the steep alpine slopes, down into the glades and into the trees. Heading whatever way they desire in the un-tracked blower
powder, disappearing briefly in a cloud of snow with each turn.

I didn't get first tracks today, but maybe I will tomorrow.

Late in the afternoon at the end of my shift, I prepare for the commute home. For me the trip to and from work happens on skis; old wooden ones given to me by my grandparents. After spending the day looking at the new, advanced, and fashionable ski equipment that is used by the modern skier, I really get a kick out of showing these off. They are a good 7.5 feet long, and 2.5 inches wide, tip waist and tail. They are outfitted with the old standard 3 pin binding, into which fits what basically amounts to a duck-billed bowling shoe. I live at the bottom of the resort and what is pretty much a long bunny hill lays between the house and the alpine lodge where I work during the day. To get to work I ski up this bunny hill (almost 1km in length I'd guess), it is only a green run but heading up it in the morning provides instant feedback on weather I've selected the correct kick wax for the conditions. At the end of the day I descend the same route, this can be quite sporty if the snow is hard packed or icy! I have this vision of myself one day soon casually cruising down this slope making gracefully linked telemark turns, but I fear that this may prove difficult; I feel that the logistics of turning these almost eight foot long, non sidecut, and no metal edged beasts in such a manner may prove to be beyond my ability. I still work on it everyday though.

Once home I usually find Ashley cooking some dinner (I'm so lucky!). Ashley has been spending a lot of time doing yoga, meditating, drawing this past few weeks (she even says she'll knit me some socks!). I think she has gotten over the cabin fever-isolation feeling of before a little bit, and really is making the most of her time here. Sometimes we go into Courtney to get groceries, sometimes we watch a movie, but eventually we turn in for the night.

And so ends a good Mt.Washington day; dark and quiet, in the same way it began.

Who knows what tomorrow will bring.