Roger This
It is the heart of summer, a good time to talk about a great day of skiing. It is too hard in the winter with everyone half paying attention, waiting to one-up you with their own tale of pow. Then you might as well talk politics.
It was later in March. I had been working a streak of days without pause. It was sunny with a little powder and I had only skied Snowmass a handful of times, trying to ski Gowdy’s on all of them without luck. I am always amazed how steep that run is at the top and need to annually check to make sure I am remembering right. The problem is it seems to be closed more often than not. They stretch the orange rope across it early in the afternoons or shut it down often for too much sun, wind, snow, or, it seems, imaginary Sasquatch migration. It adds to the allure of being handed a treat when they let you ski it.