Midweek powder on a day off must be the best kind of powder. Yesterday morning, even though I slept in (I know, I know, for shame), there were fresh tracks in Cedar Bowl waiting for me when the upper ridge opened just before noon. And even after several delicious turns in knee-deep powder and a ride up both the T-bar and the Boom Chair, there were still plenty of fresh turns to be found for my second run. And my third. And my fourth.
So while dirty laundry sat strewn on my floor, the little food left went bad in my fridge, bills stayed unpaid, and my body entered day three without a shower, I giggled down the ski hill, eating powder (and one ridiculously overpriced burger from the Day Lodge) for lunch. Weee!
Never mind that I haven’t washed my hair in days, or that the smell of my ski socks would kill a small mammal. Never mind that people have started phoning me, wondering why I haven’t answered their email from a few weeks ago. Never mind that I still haven’t deposited my paycheques. It snowed! To the hill! And when I’m done? A chronic case of jelly-legs deems hot-tubbing and sitting on the couch my only feasible accomplishments.
That's the problem with powder: when there's fresh snow, you HAVE to ski. Other obligations get pushed to the side. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining. If my biggest problem is that the piles of deep powder have made it difficult to complete mundane everyday tasks, then I have no problems.
In any case, low levels of personal hygiene and chronic lack of groceries seems to be a Fernie-wide state during powder days. Am I the only one wandering around town in my fermenting ski gear after a day at the hill? Certainly not.
Town-wide acceptance of low levels of productivity on powder days: just one more thing to love about living in a ski town. Happy powder days, everyone!