Snow is in the air in Colorado and winter conditions are upon us. Our ski resorts received 30 inches of snow, which took me back to my first job after college: the voice of SkiUtah (the PR/marketing end of Utah’s ski industry). Yep, I was the Craaaaaaazy Canuck ski reporter on all the radio stations and one of the perks of my job was I skied all 14 of Utah’s resorts….for free. Pretty idyllic? One would think. But then I remember…..
January 13, 1998– my first powder day in Utah. I remember it well. Mark Eubank sported his legendary white jacket on KSL’s evening meteorology report, which meant only one thing: snow, and lots of it. I was like a child the night before a very white Christmas and I could not sleep a wink.
I had planned to go to Park City Mountain Resort with my friend LeAnne, but she bailed mere minutes before our departure. I resolved to go without her. Nothing could have prepared me for the conditions on that perfect morning–all was white, all was powder.
I hopped on the lift and gazed down upon all the skiers making their tracks in the soft, untouched snow. I saw the powder shoot up behind them as they connected with the very soul of that mountain and I imagined myself carving my own signature in the sea of white.
I was soon at the summit of Jupiter Bowl. I started down Main Bowl strong and fast, and the whole experience was almost surreal.
And then I turned.
Or rather, my body turned, but my skis kept right on going. And I met the soul of the mountain in a way I had not anticipated: face first.
I laid there in shock for a moment, and then attempted to dig my skis out underneath three feet of powder. Despite the fact that my foot was technically still attached to me, I had difficulties locating its whereabouts. Fortunately, I found it long enough to snap it back into the binding.
I blew off my little setback. After all, it was my first ski day of the season and I was still a bit rusty. With renewed vigor, I once again started my descent. Seconds later, I was down. And then again. And again.
Then I remembered the terrible truth: I did not know how to ski knee-deep powder!
Somehow in my visions of a perfect ski day, I had overlooked that minor detail. I soon became a flailing ski bunny in my miserable attempts. Gone was my perfect form, and gone was my morale for that “perfect” ski day.
And then the blizzard came.
I didn’t have any goggles. Blinded, gasping for breath with my legs screaming out in pain, I somehow made it down the mountain.
My ski day ended officially at noon.
I'm a Canadian-born mom of two, former Denver Post columnist, family travel writer, editor of MileHighMamas.com and 9News contributor. Expert on all things Utah, Denver, family and travel. Lover of laughter and life. Happily married to a man obsessed with growing The Great Pumpkin. 