Blue Snow White Wind

Blue Snow White Wind from Brett Mayer-Aschhoff on Vimeo.

I opened the shed door. It was dark. I could see a few shadows on the wall. I held up the match, and was able to spot my boots. I walked over to the shelf. The boots were cold. The laces hung down and dragged on the dirty plywood floor as I made my way for the door.

I wanted to load the Jeep so we could make a quick getaway in the morning. Plans are simply plans. They have a way of falling apart. We were overly tired. I opened my eyes at seven o'clock in the morning and desperately wanted to keep them shut.

We finally arose. The car was packed, but there were a few random sundries that did not make it to my gear bag. The slow process of gathering things I could do without began. I could not find my outer shell. Two hours passed before I shut the car door and stepped on the gas.

We arrived in Seneca Rocks close to two o'clock in the afternoon. The day was not entirely wasted. We decided to try and move past the frustrating morning and go for a hike. I cannot think of how many times I passed Seneca Rocks, but it was not until Saturday that I stood atop the ten foot wide fin of rock and stared into the valley below.

There was a dusting of snow on the ground. I wondered how the snow conditions were on the other side of the mountain. It was hard to believe the reports. Fifteen miles up the road we were surrounded by two feet of snow. Canaan is truly another world.

Hellbender Burritos is always a great time. Kerry and I managed to post up in the corner of the bar for four hours. It is one of the only places in town with a television. We were glued to the playoff action. The Steelers pulled it out. The Raven's season was over. I discovered Yellow Snow IPAs.

We deliberated for some time about where to sleep. I voted for the back of Jeep. This was perhaps a rather silly romanticism of mine: me, the wife, the dog, squished into our sleeping bags, piled under blankets, tucked away from the blustery cold and dark of night. In reality it was craned necks, sore hips, dog hair, frozen feet, and baggy eyes in the morning.

Nevertheless, we perserved. We woke up in the Whitegrass parking lot. Our plan was to go cross country skiing. We decided breakfast was a good idea. We changed our minds and decided to go skiing. We changed our minds again, and decided to walk the dog. We finally decided we better head into the shop and rent some cross country skis. There were so many people trying to ski there were no skis left. We decided downhill skiing was a better idea anyway.

Timberline was great. The slopes were coated with a few fresh inches. It was a relaxing day. We took in the scenery, enjoyed the terrain, and took a rest here and there to check the scores of the playoff games.

Kerry learned to 'drop in' in the terrain park. I attempted to learn to throw a 360 under the superb tutelage of a young lad who seemed to consider himself the czar of the mountain. He invited me to try. I was intrigued and took him up on the offer. I almost landed it on my first try. The following ten attempts did not end so well. On the last attempt I knocked the wind out of myself and smashed my face in the snow.

All in all, it was a great weekend. Canaan increasingly feels like a home away from home. If we end up on the east coast, I may have to make the relationship official one day.

Until next time...