On a recent subzero day in town when the wind was whipping the trees, we decided not to ski. We learned later (the old "you should have been here yesterday") that it was 48 degrees, sunny, and calm on Red Lodge Mountain--a great ski day. We should have trusted the snow report.
We were begging for snow a few weeks ago. Then it snowed and snowed and snowed again. Even though we know that complaining about conditions of nature does not cause them to suddenly change, we keep trying. Skiers came to the mountain in droves for the new snowfall and stayed through more changes, braving wind, ice, and frostbite. As if that wasn't variable enough, we had a day of fog. It's been a long time since we skied in fog so decided to take it as an adventure. The hoarfrost coating our goggles made visibility on Lazy M close to zero. It was disorienting and treacherous, and the only way to ski safely was without goggles. That too was an adventure.
On another windy morning, when the Grizzly chair was closed and we were feeling crusty, a friend skied up, as happy to find us as we were to see her. We went in search of good snow. One of the most graceful skiers I know, she explains it away, saying, "It's fifty years of muscle memory." Posing for a photo, we laugh because we are holding our stomachs in, under layers of ski clothes. At the top of HFNT we started giggling, two women beyond fifty, making up names for the run to fit the initials. It was the run of the week, with no rocks, soft snow, easy bumps, and a friend who loves to laugh despite the conditions.