Diamonds sparkle across the surface of the snow. Light catches my eye everywhere I look. I might just be the richest man on earth. Last night was calm and cold after nearly a foot and a half of snow fell. That combination has created a condition on the surface of the snow that leaves my mind wondering if these glittering gems I’m seeing might just be better than actual diamonds. I can only ponder this thought momentarily, however, as I need to carve my skis down into the fluffy powder and negotiate my way around an aged larch devoid of needles, as is their winter custom. Back on point after my momentary daydream, I scan ahead to catch a glimpse of my partner rounding a stand of trees. I dig my edges in again, driving my face into the crisp crystalline vapor trail he leaves in his wake. Floating through the knee-deep untracked powder, I feel I’m living out a ski dream sequence as I feel the elusive yet familiar tingling in my spine that only this experience can create.
As a child I learned to love skiing for all the simple pleasure it brought me. The ride to the mountain in a school bus packed with other kids always felt too good to be true. It was almost like I should be in trouble for being this far removed from my parents without them knowing exactly what I’d be up to for the next few hours. The rare days when my Dad would drive just the two of us to the mountain will always be some of the best days I had with him. Just arriving to the mountain on any winter day always brought with it the unbridled joy of knowing I could ski any run I could handle and turn anywhere I desired as the cold arctic air rushed deep into my lungs. Of course, what memory of skiing as a child doesn’t also include the simple pleasure of a hot cocoa break in the lodge? In those days gone by I loved skiing for a lot of reasons, but not for the main reason I love it so much now — Powder.
Once I’d come to know the ways of untracked powder and its keeper, the Norse God Ullr, I began to seek it in any way possible. Of course there’s the simple tricks. Get out on the mountain early before most other skiers are on the scene. Hit the slopes on weekdays when those folks who haven’t quit their jobs can’t be there. Head further out into the tighter trees and seek the lines others have yet to discover. Perhaps even do a quick walk or skate ski to the edge of the mountain’s boundaries where those who refuse to work for turns never wander. But once I reached that boundary line rope enough times, I naturally began to realize that what lies beyond it is the land of dreams. The slopes less traveled. Beyond that rope lies the place where all true powder hounds must eventually wander, the backcountry.
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And so it is that I find myself here today, with the Selkirk Powder Company, cat skiing run after run of the good stuff. Just a short distance beyond that boundary line at Schweitzer Mountain lies 4,000 acres of pristine wilderness. After a morning safety briefing and layout of the land, I set out with my partner for the lift ride to the top. A quick regroup and introduction, and we set off behind our guide until we come to the moment I’d been waiting for all morning: a gate in the rope line and the entry to the playground I’ve always wanted.
Once again focused on the skiing at hand, I hear the distant whistle of our guide and look up to find a line through the blissful snow and trees that takes me his direction. Gliding to a stop it’s high fives and hollers all around as our group now realizes that for the rest of this day we will board our magical snow cat Thor for a short ride to the top before we do it all again. As I climb into the gently rumbling machine, it suddenly hits me that riding in the cat, on bench seats, surrounded by other enthusiastic skiers, I don’t feel that far removed from those joyous school bus rides to the mountain back when I was just a kid only beginning to slip deep into the addiction that is powder skiing.
By John Grollmus
As Featured In: Winter/Spring 2017
