We waited all winter for this month of spring skiing. The time of year when you lose your mittens and trade your ski cap for a baseball cap. Our skis actually glide over the snow on a cushion of water, like they were design to. Skiing is such a delight.
March madness passes in a blur. It now April, and the thaw is on full force, changing the soundscape around my house. In the morning the icy crust on the snow crunches under my weight, then by afternoon, each step if followed by a swash of slush. I fall asleep to the sound of water drops sliding of the second story roof snow pack and banging on to the metal awning below.
I want to continue to ski in the sunshine, but my path is booby-trapped with by patches glacier ice in the low lands, sandpaper earth on southern exposed trails or collapsing snow depth on low use sections of the trails. Others have traded their skis for running shoes, but they have also left the forest for paved roads. My first run of the season ended in a mud bath. I slipped on the icy spot on the dirt road right into the thawed earth (ie mud). Break-up is such a painful time.