The porch was warm and the windowsill was lined with wine bottles for Thanksgiving dinner. I snuck out of the kitchen and scooped up my niece in a bear-hug to steal her away for a moment while the cranberry sauce thickened. The house smelled of turkey and pie and the yard was covered in festive winter snow. There was plenty to be thankful for at Red Quill this year and I watched the snow falling as I played with my niece.
I woke up still stuffed with turkey and mash potatoes and looked out of the window to the sun streaking through the frozen tree branches. The snow was lightly falling and everything was covered in glistening white powder—8 inches of new snow!
I headed to the mountain, giddy with anticipation for the first turns of the year on the slopes. Saddleback wasn’t open for the season yet, but I peeled my climbing skins apart and stuck them to the bottom of my skis and we started cutting through the powder to the top of the mountain in the morning sunshine.
Near the top I pointed my tips down the slope and let the first turns of the year rip! The cover was a little thin and I hit a few rocks tucked under the white surface, but as long as I didn’t dig my edges into the snow I could manage without getting too many core-shots to the bottom of my skis. I let the powder fly, occasionally cringing at all the little rocks I could feel underfoot, and then rejoicing when I found deeper snow to turn in. I hooted and hollered leaving a poof of snow behind me. The first ski of the year is pure joy; our laughter rang out on the mountain as we remembered the magic of skiing fresh snow.