Reflections on an epic winter

Early mornings, new addictions, laughter, tears, and quiet alpine thoughts. If life is best remembered in moments, those words were my winter.
The inevitable has happened, the clock kept ticking and a warm breeze blew through Whistler. The nearby Green River is flowing with newly transformed snow and the ski out is slipping back into the soil. My sandals are out of the closet and I received my first sunburn. One million more sit-ups before I bust out the bikini.
It was an epic winter. Again let me state the obvious, it was an epic winter. A fat line of skiers and snowboarders are waiting at the Peak Chair. We are cheering and jeering the adrenaline junkies seeking attention on Air Jordan. We are spoiled with powder days.
The snow is hitting my face and my cheeks hurt from smiling too hard. I realize I am hollering like a kid with a sugar fix. Suddenly I am tumbling through the snow, leaving my skis behind but I am still smiling. Pass the sugar and keep skiing the fresh line.
I’m talking about the snow and tossing around weather reports like a meteorologist but folks understand. It’s the never-ending conversation in Whistler. Some say it’s shallow but life makes sense in the alpine and this conversation leads to something deeper.
Sitting in the snow on Cowboy Ridge, a friend shares her “uber” stoke for the outdoors. It reminds my friend of her journey toward God, the creator of her playground. With wide eyes she says she is made for this. She is so certain of her purpose before carving a sweet telemark turn. It’s a good day.
I’m focusing on the gaps and not the trees while chasing the genetically superior through gladded runs. My quads are flexing, the sweat is pouring, and I’m not a super hero. While watching the gaps, I am "clotheslined" by a fallen log. The wind leaves my chest and the f-word makes an appearance. These are not mellow trees.
Skinning up Flute, working on a goggle tan, and looking forward to lunch. It’s a weekday and I’m alone feasting on an unquenchable view. Is this place an accident? Can something this beautiful be a coincidence? Snacking on cold pizza, nature is pretty sweet. Stop thinking, it’s time to shred.
I’m watching my Dad tumble or “Tomahawk” down a steep face. His gear sticks haphazardly out of the snow, marking his descent. I don’t know whether to laugh or review first aid procedures. He claws the snow, stopping breathless but manages to wave. We take it easy in the afternoon.
Everything is better with fresh snow. I understand the race for a few turns in the deep stuff. Tracks turn the mountain into a meandering road map within minutes. We search for the secret pockets of powder. The quest is rewarded and I discover an addiction.
The sun slips behind the mountains creating an unmistakable alpine glow. I’m slipping into a bikini after all and soaking my bones in hot water. The moon reflects off the remaining high alpine snow during the first of many summer nights.