If you live in or visit McCall, you know snow is magical. The way it falls. The way it drifts. The way it looks floating in the air on a bluebird day. The way it coats your goggles and jacket during a storm. The way it makes you feel — and the friendships it helps you form and keep. It's magical.
Unlike many things, the more snow the better. And, by that definition, this winter has been one for the ages. Those of us who are addicted — and that's most people in town — started skiing on November 3. The assumption, as always, was this storm would melt out and "true" winter would arrive sometime in mid-December.
But no, the snow kept falling, and we kept skiing.
Fast forward, past Christmas and New Year's, past a three-week high pressure in January, and you hit February — often the most magical month of the year on a McCall skier's calendar.
Just prior to the start of "Febru-buried," I found myself in Utah skiing Alta and Snowbird with my brothers from the Midwest. They had planned a midweek trip to what they consider, rightfully so most years, the powder capital of the world. I drove down to Salt Lake City, picked them up at the airport at 10:30 a.m., drove the 29 minutes to Alta (crazy how close it is), grabbed a cup of chili in the lodge, and we were skiing by 12:30 p.m.
As usually happens when I leave McCall midwinter, I was left wondering why I would do something so foolish. Despite our weeks of high pressure, the cold weather had kept the snow fresh and light — and if you were willing to walk a bit, you could still find untracked, powder turns.
Not the case in Alta. They had experienced the same high pressure system but their snowpack didn't hold up as well. At one point, I followed my brother Robin through a gate to a couloir he wanted to ski. I took the lead, skied a couple turns, then saw a rope closing off the couloir we had planned to ski. Our only exit was to traverse skier's right through a boulder field to what turned out to be an even more vertical, tighter couloir with less snow. We found ourselves sidestepping over granite boulders and exposed ice patches on a 45-degree slope with no other option.
At the bottom, we looked at each other and smiled. Robin said, "Well, that was spicier than I imagined, but it was fun."
"Ha," I laughed, "I'm happy to be down in one piece. Let's go find Ryan — he's probably wondering what took so long."
And off we went to search out the best of what Alta had to offer that day and, more important, catch up and laugh, and laugh, and laugh. Always the best part of skiing.
A few days later, Friday to be exact, I dropped the boys off at the Salt Lake City airport after a final round of low-tide skiing and raced north to McCall, hoping to beat the first storm of February.
I almost made it. The storm came in hot and heavy that night — just as I started my drive up Hwy. 55 from Boise. My oldest daughter, who travelled the same route earlier in the day, called me and advised me to grab a room in Boise and come up in the morning. She said her drive was almost four hours long.
I couldn't imagine stopping in Boise — and missing Saturday morning POW turns — so, I soldiered on, windshield wipers clearing the snow in their own special cadence, lights illuminating a winter wonderland. It was beautiful.
I thought back to my years driving the family from Cleveland to Buffalo on Friday nights for our weekend ski trips. My father-in-law always told me, "You want the drive up to be awful and the drive home to be easy. It's better skiing that way."
Well, if that was the case, then skiing was looking up.
As you all know, such was the case. February has been amazing — face shots, seemingly unlimited powder turns, a nice mix of storm riding and bluebird days and, most important, a multitude of reasons to grab buddies and loved ones for a quick lap at Sargent's or a "few" groomers or a session at Big Creek.
Here's hoping you have a great weekend — one full of giggles and happy thoughts.
See you out there.
