“See you at the bottom,” I said as I turned to Annie. She was still clamping her left boot onto her snowboard as I turned and looked down into the open trees at the top of BurntMountain.
The morning report had identified “Long Shot” as the Noon Groom. Every day, for the benefit of the weak-kneed sliders who can’t tolerate any irregularity on their snow surface, the Snowmass designates trail crew designates one run for special treatment. Right at high noon, it’s opened up to the crowds, freshly cut by snowcats for a repeat of the morning’s cruising on corduroy.
Usually, it’s a mellow intermediate run like Coffee Pot or Bear Bottom. But today, out of the blue, Long Shot won the lottery. This was unique for several reasons. First, Long Shot is a run all by itself, way over on the eastern side of the ski area, the only run going down Burnt Mountain. It’s really only there so the ski area can lay claim to a whole section of the valley for real estate plunder. Also, the ski area’s permit extends to Burnt Mountain, but they’ve never really had a need to open it up, and so are at risk of losing that section whenever their lease comes up for renewal.
By staking a claim to the area, they can truthfully say it’s a functioning and integral part of the operation. And they can sell off multi-million dollar lots along the base of the run and lift. It’s a nice enough run, going down to 8100 feet from 11,300 at the top, gently starting out in the natural glade from a forest fire over 10 years ago, dropping into the aspen groves curling across the middle of the slope, and finally down to the flats above the golf course.
But hardly anyone ever skis there, for a couple of reasons. First, the run ends up miles away from the main village, with the only way out being a 10 minute lift ride back up to the base of Elk Camp. But more important, it’s a hike to get there.
When skiers think of hiking to a run, they usually are imagining a route used by extreme skiers to get to the “in-bounds backcountry”, and it’s not something your standard intermediate casual skier really wants to do. Snowmass has one or two of these uphill trails, into the Cirque and the Hanging Valley areas. But now, with the Cirque Poma and high traverses above timberline, those walks are reserved for days when the wind howls or the snow blows, or both, and the Poma is not running.
Anyway, this snow year, so far, has been below average. There is some coverage in the high country, enough to open up all that back country, but the last storm was Wednesday, and now it is Sunday. The paltry 4” had been pretty much skied out in the first two days, and Annie and I, the Powder Patrol, were reduced to shredding the tree wells to find some fluff.
This whole year, though, Long Shot had not yet been open. Meaning, for those who could figure it out, this Noon Groom would be Season’s First Tracks, with a rope drop at a specific and pre-ordained time and place. While Long Shot’s upper glades are rather shallow, lacking a pure adrenaline rush of a chute’s steep and narrow drop, the open trees and easy grade really makes it a mindless pleasure, for those who can handle soft untracked snow, and know here to go. Meaning, off to either side of the center track, where the groomers have laid down a five mile long set of parallel tracks.
We arrived at the rope about 5 minutes after noon, but a pack of nearly 80 eager skiers and boarders were still shuffling in place, waiting for the go ahead. The hang up was the sooners, who had tramped upslope before the ski patrol (Annie asks – why are ski patrollers never on snowboards?) had roped off the trail. They were stopped up top by the patrol there, and forced to walk back down the hill and take a place in line. Equity!
I tried moving forward in the group, but the combination of skis, boards, and riders milling about made forward progress a bit touchy, so I just waited my turn somewhere in the middle. There was no obvious line, and the 15 foot wide cat track uphill meant we would not be marching up single-file, the usual way one accesses Long Shot.
The last of the poachers came under the rope, the gun sounded (actually, the rope dropped), and we were off. Because the group had not coalesced closely, there was a lot of room to maneuver. It felt just like an Ironman swim start, with a close pack of eager athletes all bursting with energy, bleeding off in the first few meters. I angled through slower climbers, and soon found myself behind a ski-less climber (he’d left his on top when heading back down).
We’d reached the steepest part of the climb, near the top, where a set of boot prints would come in handy, as I was starting to just dig my toes in like climbing stairs. With maybe 100 yards to go, I veered off to the right, and used my years of endurance training to to practically run up the last bit – no mean feat with skis on my right shoulder, poles in my left hand, and ten pound boots on my feet.
I’d metered my effort perfectly, and reached the top about number ten. Snapping on my skis, and buckling my boots, I noticed Annie had kept pace right behind me. There are no friends for first tracks, so I just wished her luck, and headed of to the untracked grove on the right.
Yes, indeed, no one had been here all year. The top 1/4 of the trail has the Burnt Mountain glade, and easy terrain, so it’s a fluffer’s dream. I hit about 100 turns without stopping, finally ending up in the groomed track, signifying the end of the easy powder. A few more shots on the side where the cats had not gone, and then it was all over.
Blue sky, 20 deg F, bottomless powder, and widely spaced trees – the perfect set up for skiing ecstasy, and we’d found it days after the last snowfall. I was so glad my combination of athletic skills allowed me to just fall back and enjoy the ride. Years if skiing in deep snow made me confident I could handle the stuff. And years of endurance sport training made me confident I could start out in the middle of an average group of skiers, and whip my way up to the front just by working a little harder than they were.
That’s why I do all this stuff – to put myself in the position of being able to supremely enjoy the ride when the opportunity comes. We call it Having Fun With Fitness!