Ski Bum Grins

      "Damn! Why now?" No sooner did these words come out of my mouth as I watch my ipod go dead from a low battery. I keep questioning myself as why this day had to be the day my trusted companion gave out on me. The mountain had gotten 13 inches of freshies, and the snow was still coming down hard. How could I enjoy the pow without Bob Marley, Wolfmother, or Sweatshop Union keeping the rhythm going? My friend looked over the car roof with amusement as I stared at the black screen. I dreaded the thought of not having my music all day long. A casual glance around the parking lot showed several others with white headphones drooping out of their hats and helmets, all jamming to whatever is on shuffle. A sour start to the day.
      With the line being long, my friend suggests we take the singles lane. Being separated by a couple of chairs is a small price to pay on a pow day. I slide in with a trio of older guys, and quietly get on the chairlift next to them. Slipping my mirrored goggles on, I casually glance at the three men. All of them wear standard ski clothes bearing mellow black, green and grey colors. In comparison I look like a character out of a Dr. Suess book with my brightly colored Jacket and pants. Wanting to see what skis they ride, my eyes are met by an arrangement of 80's edition Rossingols and K2 skis. Each one bears unique damage to it, evidence of the long days and many seasons it has enjoyed with it's master. Chunks of P-tex are missing in random place, areas of paint are starting to chip, the sidecut have a---
     "Them beuties ain't they?" Snapping out of my trance I am greeted with a bearded face and a open smile absent of a tooth or two. I notice glasses behing the scott goggles on his face.
      "Yeah, pretty rad. How long have you had those?"
      "Since '89. These babies have helped take me fr'm Colorado to Europe. Havent giv'n up on me yet!"The conversation carries on as we fly above Ptarmigan bowl. Jokes are exchanged complete with laughter you swear would be out of a Clayton Moore western movie. A story is told with the involment of buddies, interrupted on to give an occasional whoop and hollar at someone shredding under the lift. I quickly bring up the question;
    "So where have you guys been skiing today?"
    "Try Langley or Elkweed, they always still have good snow at this time of day. Com'on, we'll show yeh!"
    Off of the lift, I am led off trail through slots and narrow trees to a home-cut powder field. Funny i've skied by here a thousand times and never thought of going through there. A few high fives are exchanged and we push off down the slope. The powder is unbelievable. My ears bear witness to a thousand snowflakes flying overhead coupled with the sound of hollers from the trio and the sound of carving skis through snow. While I swerve around a group of trees to avoid wrecking, all three thread the needle into the cluster and emerge a few turns ahead of me. Showing off, I throw a butter 1 on a pillow into soft snow, but curses I am upstaged again! One of the friends throws a massive spread eagle over a lip, and whizzes past me. Try as I may, I cannot keep up with them, and I find myself falling behind. How could I have missed this area? I keep thinking. Exhausted, I stop to catch my breath and give my burning thighs a rest. Staring in defeat, I wave a friendly good bye at the three skiers who keep pushing on down the slope.
     As the panting subsides, I hear silence. No music or ipods, just the sound of snow falling upon the ground. My back makes an unusual sounding pop altered by the cold. The sound of the slow breeze is momentarily interrupted by a faint holler trough the trees. I think of the scraggly beard and hand-knit sherpa hat on his head. Glancing back I see where I had come from, by a rowdy group of skiers only a short while ago I was afraid to look at. My conscience thanks the pitfall of electronics. Having had my ipod with me, I would never have talked to the trio, or found out about this place. The snow keeps on falling. Down below me lies the rest of the open slope, eventually being swallowed by the the trees. Somewhere below that lies the cat trail, and my way back to the lift. For now I just listen to the silence around me. The snow falls harder now, the storm is moving in and the forecast is calling for another foot.  That will be later, for now I stand knee deep in snow.
I am alone.
  

The S-Jenk