When I began skiing at age 8, I became obsessed with it. Almost immediately, I was so gripped by the sport that although very little of my time was spent on skis, I thought about it constantly. I watched videos and read ski magazines and designed my own mountains and trail maps. It consumed me, and every chance I could (for many years every Saturday with The Mass Ski Club), I would get on a slope and play. I have skied many mountains and enjoyed every one, but there was always a legend, a myth of epic proportions, whose mystique I have long dreamed of conquering. This weekend, I finally got my shot. Mt. Washington.
On Friday night, Brian, Blake and I drove up to The Wagner’s house in North Conway, arrived at 3 and awoke to the most dismal weather report we could possibly have heard; freezing temperatures and zero visibilty means extremely icy conditions. But up we went into the clouds. We climbed into the bowl with zero sense of where we were and put our skis on on the steepest slope I have ever attempted to complete that maneuver, and as I clicked in, the Lunch Rocks crowd roared. I looked up and watched the fog lift to reveal the awesomeness surrounding me. It was stunning… but unfortunately the snow was still frozen solid and conditions were great only for watching people fall down the entire headwall–and they were some of the most spectacular falls I have ever witnessed. Despite/Because of the intense conditions it was a great alpine experience and I was glad to be there at every single moment. And then there was Sunday. Absolutely perfect conditions. Glorious sunshine and t-shirt temperatures are what Tuckerman’s Ravine is all about. The lunch rocks crew is in beach mode and loving the view, letting the skiers know how they feel and the comraderie is joyful. But Lunch Rocks was just that, and after sandwiches and beer, we continued to climb, all the way to the summit of the highest peak in New England, where more appropriate celebrations took place before we strapped on our skis and headed down the 4400 vertical feet we had climbed up, through open snow fields, down the headwall, then through mogul fields and tight gullies in the trees. It was an epic run that completely fulfilled my lifetime Tuckerman’s fantasies. Of the seven hours we spent on the mountain, perhaps thirty minutes were spent on skis, but as I learned early on there is much more to skiing than putting boards on your feet and going downhill. The entire experience was truly unique and inspiring.
