Working at Mammoth Mountain
It was 5:40am. The morning air was frosty and bitterly cold with a wintery breeze that intensified it. It sank into my skin, through my muscles, and straight into my bones.
Like when you are in a hospital with way too bright lights and you get an ice cold IV in your arm and you can feel the fluid freezing every vein in your body. It was that, but much colder.
Though I was wearing thermals, snow pants, Ugg boots, a thick jacket, a beanie, and mittens, the cold still seeped in somehow. The morning sky was still dark and the sun was giving no signs of rising soon. The only light was from the street lights behind Rite Aid. I was waiting for the shuttle bus with my dad so we could go up to Mammoth to work. I took off my mittens with my teeth and unlocked my phone with frozen fingers.
December 28th, 5:43am it read. Two more minutes, I thought to myself. Two more minutes until I got to escape the nipping wind and use the bus as a temporary sanctuary from it.
There were piles of snow on the ground from the intense storm that raged for two days straight. It was so vigorous, the highway all the way up to JCT 120 and further was closed until today. Mammoth Mountain, the 365 million dollar ski resort, had gotten absolutely dumped-on during this storm. So much so, the mountain had to close, and if you work there, you know that place won’t stop for anything. This was a record breaking storm.
Mammoth getting smothered with white means three things for the mountain.
Lots and LOTS of fresh powder, masses of tourists itching to tear up that powder, and shoveling that will last for days. All of this results in needing diligent workers to make sure all the tourists are safe and getting the proper service they deserve and paid for.
Though the cold gusts were raging against my skin, I wasn’t awake yet. I was also reluctant to even go. Staying in my warm bed with my cat and sleeping in sounded so nice. It was winter break after all. But I needed to suck it up and come alive so I would be ready for the hundreds of tourists that were going to come through my line that day. Finally, the headlights of the shuttle bus interrupted my thoughts. I could escape the tiny ice needles that the wind was blowing at last.
I walked across the street to the bus, the doors opened and the warm air licked my skin, then I hurried up the stairs, and luckily found two seats available for my dad and I. The bus was filled with sleeping workers trying to get another hour of sleep before they had to go to work. I was about to be one of them, I thought to myself.
The bus was warm thankfully and the sun was just starting to have its rays peek out through the White Mountains. The sky was a midnight blue now instead of pitch black. The snow on the ground made everything bright as well. It reflected the light of dawn and made it glow like how white colors do under a black light. All of the ground on either side of the highway was a blanket of white. You couldn’t decipher what was rabbitbrush and what was rocks. The scenery was plain and still hard to make out through the darkness so I decided to sleep as well.
After about an hour of nodding in and out of sleep, I decided to stay awake when I looked out the window. The sun had risen enough to where there was light but It had not gone above the mountains yet. The sky was a powdery blue now with streaks of orange and pink from the dissipating storm clouds. When you think of a stereotypical “winter wonderland” that is exactly what it looked like. It was magical.
The trees closest to the road were covered in piles of snow that weighed down their branches. Every inch, from the smallest twig at the top of the trees to the base of the trunk was frosty. The beautiful edges in the mountains from years and years of weather were black against the white. The valleys were filled with snow while the towering cliffs peeked out from the powder. The pine trees that went up the cliffs looked like hundreds of little black dots while the valleys remained bare, white, and untouched by the trees. The landscape was changing rapidly as the bus went by. Though it was weighed down by sleeping workers, it went up the grade well.
We chugged on up the 395 and swayed around icy corners. The snow chains rattled and tinked as we turned and went over bumps. “Clink, chink, clink,” they jingled.
Our driver, Ms. August, had her hands in mittens tight on the wheel to make us safe.
Her eyes were sharp through her round frames. We were coming around another corner now, “Hold on to your hats,” she called out to us. A tan colored cliff scaled up towards the sky to my right, snow clung to the ledges of rock that protruded out from it. We were going through the corner now, everyone swaying to the left in unison from the turn, when we passed an open field.
It was beautiful, white and smooth. Nothing had been on it yet to disturb it. The mountains were glowing now from the sunrise. Beautiful orange, pink, and yellow streaks, mixing in with each other in the powder blue sky. It lit up the snow with it so everything was orange. It was like everything was set on a warm fire. The orange shone through the trees and reflected the snow making everywhere you look like little ice diamonds. Like everything was covered in glass. It was exasperating. I kept turning my head, looking like a psycho, trying to see all the different views in the windows that lined the bus. Instantly I had woken up and was ready to start my day. I had a big old smile on my face. I was thinking about how I would get a view like this all day at the mountain while I worked.
It made me grateful too, that we all get to see these amazing views when you live in Inyo County. I also don’t blame all the tourists. Traveling all the way up here to shred, and gaze at these natural beauties of ours while they’re here. And I get to live with them everyday? It really makes you think about how lucky we are. I feel like I hadn’t really appreciated where I lived as much as I did before writing this story. It really opened my eyes and helped me reflect. I finish this while sitting outside, starstruck with our mountains. Extremely grateful for where I live.
(My name is Morgan Renard and I am a senior at Big Pine High School. I have lived in Inyo County since I was 10 and I’ve always been entranced by the beauty of this valley. My hobbies include crocheting, enjoying the outdoors, cooking, art, and reading. I hope to find a career path at Cerro Coso this fall.)