Patience, prudence and piddling
Liftline at Stowe, May 11, 2018.
So it was last week when I headed to Vermont to get my younger daughter from her first year at UVM. When she picked UVM about a year ago, I thought I could combine getting her there and visiting her with some skiing, and I've done just that. I had no idea, though, that getting her at the end of the year in mid-May would be one of those times. But I kept watch on both the forecast for the Green Mountains at the webcams at Stowe and Sugarbush and decided that it could work this time. Once I made the four-hour one-way drive to get her all in one day, and I vowed to avoid that again. So I'd go up Thursday, ski, spend the night, ski Friday and load up the car and head home. That was the plan.
The forecast had Thursday dawning sunny but with rain and possibly thunderstorms arriving in the afternoon. If I shoved off early I could enjoy the bluebird and pack it in before the bad weather blew in. It didn't happen that way. I had a last-minute household commitment come up (it involved a birthday cake, spouse office event and baking), and it kept me up late Wednesday and preoccupied Thursday morning. I also had to tend to a freelance article I'd submitted Wednesday afternoon. In any case, I didn't get out of town until 11 a.m., which put me in Vermont around 3 o'clock. I had intended to go straight to Stowe, but that's an extra hour's drive, so I opted instead to head up Route 17 to Sugarbush, where someone on the Facebook group Backcountry Touring in the Northeast suggested Mount Ellen was still in good shape. He might have been right earlier in the week, but when I arrived it was bare: Not patchy, not hike-to-the-start, but bare. Strike one.
I headed over to Lincoln Peak as dark clouds were arriving over the ridge. I wondered if I should bag it and head to Burlington. But I was so close I figured I might as well take a look. I parked, walked around, used the main lodge bathroom, logged into wi-fi to check the radar -- amazed it was still on after the lifts were done -- and decided I'd give it a try.
I booted up in the parking lot and walked up some muddy grass to a muddy, pebbly lower Spring Fling. It was ashen. And the snow was surprisingly firm for a day with temperatures around 70 degrees. But hey, it was snow. Or at least something formerly known as snow, or at least something snow-like that came from a high-pressure water nozzle.
I skinned up and crossed a 20-foot gap then reached the top of the Valley House lift. It was bare here but for a 10-foot-wide patch more gray than white. I skinned till it ended, then de-booted. "So this is what the mountain looks like without snow?" It was mostly grassy but some rocks protruded. I briefly entertained the idea of booting on up and hoping Jester was covered to the summit. But it was already late in the afternoon, and those storm clouds, while thinned, hadn't gone away. What if a lightning storm came up the mountain from the Champlain Valley? I would be the highest thing on the trail. I opted for the virtue of Prudence. I climbed back down, put on the skis and headed down. It was better than I'd expected -- classic "firm but edgeable." And dirty.
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| Dirty but edgeable snow on Snowball, Sugarbush |
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| At the top of the Valley House lift, Sugarbush |
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| The Mad River Valley is down there, below mid-May trails at Sugarbush |
A young man and woman, she in shorts, came up as I was near the bottom of the Spring Fling skiable strip. Ah, youth. They moved so much faster than I had. I also encountered a man, about my age, in casual clothes of jeans and sweatshirt, who was curious about what I'd just done. I explained it all to him: Climbing skins, the lifts are closed, how long it takes to get to the ridge. He seemed impressed.
Next day I left Burlington at about 8 o'clock and went straight to the gondola parking lot at Stowe. It was windy, overcast, damp and surprisingly chilly -- about 42 degrees. I was sheepish about the whole thing. I couldn't tell which trails had good cover and where I could pick up the remaining snow. I drove over to Spruce Peak to get a vantage point, but that didn't help, though I could pick out someone in a gray jacket skinning up with a small, dark object moving behind him -- was that a dog? Finally I parked and hiked up lower Liftline. I found the snow and figured it wasn't a long hike to reach the skinning starting point. Just then I noticed a man who'd just walked down with skis in his hands. I hurried on down and caught him at his truck.
It was pretty awful, he told me. It was still set up firmly. He was sweaty, and he said it was good exercise but that was about it. But, he added, the sun's coming out, and it might be nice in about 30 minutes.
By this time it was nearly 10 o'clock. I had to be back in Burlington by 1, which meant leaving the mountain no later than noon. Was it worth it? Why don't I bag it and head back to town, take a nice walk along the waterfront, have a good lunch, enjoy a coffee shop?
Then I saw a couple more cars pull up and skiers emerge. And the sun was coming out, the temperature rising, the winds calming. "Ok, Ok," I said to myself. "I'm here, I have my skis. Might as well give it a try. I'll go until I'm out of time then come on down.
So I did. I headed up Liftline, which a pair of apparent locals agreed was the best choice today for top-to-bottom skiing, or at least as close as we could get the second week of May.
The snow had really softened up. I followed the skin track of a couple I saw head up a few minutes earlier. After a while, I saw the man in gray skiing down on AT gear. He stopped to call uphill: "Come, on Mocha! You can do it!" Mocha the dog looked tired but still enthusiastic. She stopped to greet me then scampered on down.
I made it to the end of the nearly continuous snow -- there was a break of about five feet in the middle, narrow enough to walk across in skins -- and decided to head back down. The remaining trail looked narrow and maybe still hard, and if I left know I'd make Burlington on time. Had I not piddled around and instead headed up as soon as I arrived, I would have had plenty of time to go all the way to the summit, or at least until the snow ran out, and maybe even explore the patches of remaining all-natural snow at the summit. But I hadn't, so it was time to remove the skins and head down.
My patience paid off. That added hour of sun made a huge difference.
Corn snow. The next best thing to fresh, deep powder. Maybe it's better in a way, because it doesn't get skied out. In fact, it might get better with traffic. It was soft and forgiving yet firm and not the least bit wet or mushy. Just right. I felt invincible. The sun was out, the sky blue, the air warm. This is what spring skiing is all about.
That couple came down, he in tele gear, she in AT and ripping turns and whooping it up. Another pair with a dog. Then, heading up, still mor folks and dogs.
I made frequent stops, partly out of fatigue after skiing, but also to savor what would surely be my last run of the season. I also wanted to be sure to be on the lookout for gaps in the snow, micro-crevasses that would be bad to hit without warning. In fact, I did just that, down low, where the pitch was modest. My right ski fell into it, and I took a tumble. That would have been bad to hit at high speed.
But it was a glorious end to a good season.
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