Standing on my deck l scanned the Park ridgeline as headlights of snow cats traced up and down the ski runs. Glancing skyward I saw twinkling stars dotting the heavens. It was a good sign. Maybe … just maybe … tonight it wasn’t going to snow.
It’s been a hard life this winter. Day after day, shoveling a foot or more of snow so the cat has a pathway from the barn to the house, or picking away at the foot-high ice dam in front of the garage door. At the resorts, my calves would be burning as I pushed down the fall line through two feet of new snow.
Don’t get me wrong. I love a good powder day. But at some point, please, give me a break. Give me some sunshine. Give me a bluebird day!
I checked Open Snow to confirm. No snow in the forecast.
I flipped the light on in the garage to forage through my collection of Rossignols. So far this year it’s been all Soul 7 and Black Ops. So where was that new pair of groomer skis Rennstall mounted for me earlier this year?
There they were, a brand new pair of Experience 86s. I brushed aside the cobwebs that had started to gather with months of non-use, throwing them in the back of the car. I changed out the lenses in my goggles from flat-light yellow to the cool-looking sun red mirrors.
Let there be sunshine! I was in search of early morning corduroy.
Frankly, corduroy gets a bad rap. When skiers gather at Offset to talk about their day over a hoppy local beer, they chat about the lightness and depth of powder in the trees. They regale each other with the lines they took off 9990 or the stash they found in Triangle Trees. You don’t often hear, “Hey, that was some pretty nice corduroy over on Sun Peak this morning! My feet are still shaking.”
Corduroy is a little like powder in that it can get skied out quickly. So you have to be up early. I rolled into Canyons, booted up and headed for the Orange Bubble Express. From there, I zipped down to Red Pine with a little detour through High Meadow.
The ratchety feel of steel on corduroy rippled under my feet, making a zipper-like sound as I carved big turns down the broad slopes of High Meadow. It felt good, skis carving like a knife with big 17-meter arcs down the slope.
It was a quick ride up Saddleback Express for another run, arcing down Snow Dancer and Chicane to Tombstone Express. On the ride up I met a woman from Virginia, commiserating on the challenges of snow this season. With Epic and Ikon passes in hand, she and her husband were on a full winter tour of western mountains in their camper. She bemoaned their weeks in Tahoe where they spent far more time digging the camper out of heavy snow than they did arcing turns at Heavenly or Palisades. She was thrilled to have a no-snow day to ski groomers just minutes from her base at the Park City RV Resort.
I ripped down Another World to Peak 5, my favorite lift on the mountain. The ride up through the snow-laden pines is a real place of solace for me. It’s also a time of motivation for what’s ahead. For whatever reason, there was a horde of around 20 skiers and riders standing atop Upper Crowning Glory. I made my way through the group and carved big turns down the run, all the time gazing out at the snow covered peaks of the High Uintas standing out from the royal blue sky.
Some find the run down the mountain back to Tombstone to be nothing more than functional. I find it exhilarating, cruising down Serenity to Harmony, losing your legs as the snow drops out underneath you as you speed under the bridges, rip-sawing across the freshly-laid corduroy.
Relaxing on Over and Out, I recounted my memories of the morning: the royal blue sky; the crisp mountain air; the sensation of vibration on the manicured ridges of icy corduroy. It was a perfect morning.