Fluffy Days

The "spring" has shone a new light on the mountain scene. After an almost dreadful winter, comprised of month long snowless spells, the snow has started to land on the hill. Two weeks ago the skies opened up to drop 50, yes 5-0, inches of snow in 3 days, countem' 3. I headed up on Saturday, handsomely sporting some new skis, to find that most of the good snow was done skied, not what i was hoping for with the new planks. I spent most of the day on the groomers with a couple trips through the trees. Riding solo all day taught me something. . .it helps to ride with someone who knows the mountain better than myself or. . .stick to the trails you know. I found myself on a couple runs that i probably was better off avoiding. The skies were crystal clear and the temp was borderline warm so i had to do it. I had big plans to give my fancy new skis two days of back-to-back action but the conditions on Saturday didn't warrant a night in the back of the Yota (i'm not the spring chicken i used to be). Some photos. . .

Looking back from the lift.

A look southwestward toward Mt Jefferson.

A look down into the Rock Garden. I didn't know this when i pulled up to the edge but apparently it starts with about an 8 foot drop. . .oops.

Yet another run i "stumbled" upon named Waterfall. A fun, steep and narrow chute that takes a charming bank to the right.

Last night went just as any pre-ski evening should go. I went out for some fresh tacos and beers with some fellas, reciprocated some eye-shagging from a few ladies at Porque' No, and headed back to the house to freshen up for another outing. I met my "young" friend at a lounge for some surfer rock meets California punk tunes. It was the rhythm guitarist's girlfriend's birthday, who happens to work with Devon and had some lady friends in tow. I started chatting up one of the lasses and quickly found out that she was a stage 2, maybe stage 3, clinger. I had to find a way to make my escape. I went for a blend of "say some the most ridiculous stuff and eventually she'll give up on any pursuits" with a what i believed was a respectful "thanks but no thanks." Speaking of thanks, thankfully she was on the prowl so it didn't take long before she found someoneelse's arm to latch onto. Better him than me. After stuffing a glass into the sleeve of my jacket (for the collection, not a roadie), i bottomed out my last pint and headed home for a few hours of sleep.

I, being the not so spring of a chicken that i am, drink a large volume of water to stave off any angry, morning-after alcohol. I am proud to say. . .i was successful. Thirty-minutes after i woke up the truck was packed and Dan and i were scooping up some bagels for the uphill trip. The rain was falling in Portland so it meant nothing but good things for the mountain. Before the day even really started Dan took the spill of the day. There is no better way to start a day on the hill than to eat shit in the parking lot, slick (Dan, not the conditions). The lift lines were pretty thin and the visibility was probably just as short. But the snow. . .ohhh the snow. . .was wonderful. We spent most of our day in "Heather Canyon," a large bowl-like canyon lined with steep walls and some woodland leading to a creek bed and snow bridge. Deep, powdery goodness only made it better. By about 1:30 the hill had taken out whatever energy my legs had left over from all that dancing the night before. We made two more runs and the day was complete. In the parking lot we were propositioned by a lady looking for a hitch back to Hood River. Lucky for her, we always pass through HR for some pints and pizza after skiing. She offered up some brownies but she used the wrong kind of butter for my taste. She was quite the lovely and entertaining lady.

Her story was a good one to tell. She hitched up from HR in the morning to meet up with some dude-friend (with the expected hopes any single woman would have after hitch hiking her way to the mountain for a ski date) but on her way up the mountain the knob had informed her that he was not going to make it, maybe tomorrow. Dan and i both suggested she not give him a second chance but the fact that he's "fucking hot" may overpower any stellar advice we gave. She just so happened to be a bit of a celebrity too. She is the snow-line voice for Mount Hood Meadows Thursdays through Mondays (just one of her 5 jobs). It was all a bit much to believe until she dropped it on us. . ."Good Morning! Skiers, Riders and Free-Heelers!" She was legit. We dropped her off at the China Gorge parking lot, a deliciously tempting sight just as you pull into HR, and headed into town for the obligatory pitcher of IPA and italian pie (pizza) at Double Mountain. Some pics. . .and a video. . .

It may take a minute to fully load. I take a lazy snow dip and the camera action toward the end is Dan taking an impromptu seat. It's worth it.

A little self portrait. My poor camera took some abuse today. At one point it was iced over. Good thing i went for the extended warranty.

My fancy new planks. It's Brody time baby!



A steep ride to the run out at the bottom of Heather Canyon.

Sorry Mom. . .but i had to do it.

Between weekends Dan celebrated his somethingth birthday. Even though the "theme" was to guess the Canasian's age. . .nobody was successful. It was only one night but the hangover lasted 2. I've never heard of any thirty-something's birthday parties that finish the night, and the keg, with keg stands. Which promted the question last night. . ."When you were a wee-teen, what did you think you would have been doing at 30?" Kegs stands?