The ski world is all about the love

Last week, with that whole Valentine’s Day thing and all, I got thinking about love. I love my family. I love my new granddaughter in a way that borders on crazy. And I love another thing almost as much: skiing.

Or more precisely, the ski life. I don’t know why it clicked for me at such a young age, but for skiing and me, it was pretty much love at first sight. As a young school girl in cold Minnesota back when parents gave kids more freedom, I loved getting dropped off at nearby Highland Hills after school and taking run after run with my group of friends.

I knew even then it was good for my soul. And as I grew up, skiing stood by me — good times and bad — like the loyal partner it continues to be.

This I know is true: I can have the worst day, and I know all I have to do is get on snow, let my skis turn and breathe deep ski world. Sometimes I think if everyone skied or snowboarded, we’d be a better society. Hyperbole? Maybe not.

Skiers and riders like to joke about not sharing their favorite mountain stashes with anyone but locals, but they’re just joshing you. On lifts at resorts across this continent and even on some others, I’ve been pointed in the direction of the best snow time and time again. This means my tracks will be one more chance for that perfect snow to be cut up a little bit, but skiers love their stashes and their fellow skiers so much, they just have to share the joy. A when someone takes a spill on a trail, they are never, ever alone. It’s in our DNA — we skiers have to stop and make sure everything is okay. And if it isn’t, we stick around until it is. Even with the challenges of the world today, skiing amps up my love for people in general.

A recent experience sums it up. I’d been lucky enough to enjoy an evening at Sugarbush’s Allyn’s Cabin. We rode a snowcat up, had a gourmet dinner and then booted up to ski down in the dark, just the winter moon and some headlamps guiding us. “Cool!” I thought. But when I started along the dark trail, I got a bit spooked. I wasn’t familiar with the trail, and in the dark, was a wee bit nervous charging ahead. Not wanting to admit it (I was with a ton of great skiers) I kept it to myself. But being who they are, the other skiers picked up on my angst. And being who he is, one skier stepped over and make it alright for me.

“Hey, Moira, you know what would be fun now? Powder eights!” My friend Eric Friedman (who happens to be a big shot at Mad River Glen and a guy who just exudes ski love) said to me. Powder eights would involve him turning, just ahead of me, and me turning behind him, melding out tracks into “8’s” on the snow surface. It sounds hard, but for most skiers, it’s not. What he was really doing, though, was guiding me down in the dark in a way that would put me at ease, keep me from freaking out and still allow me to truly rock the trail.

It was incredible. In the dark, the moon above and the world quiet as town twinkled below us, Eric led me along the loveliest run.

That, in one simple story, is the ski world.

So you should join us. Sign up and boot up. And if you feel nervous, find me — or any other skier on this earth. We’d love to share our love.