In the months leading up to this trip, I thought that I had chosen the worst possible year to go on a big ski trip. While that may be true, I couldn't have picked a better possible time this year to do it. Exhibit A: 40+ inches of snow at Heavenly Resort on the 17th. While it may have been St. Patricks day and the Jameson and Guinness were flowing, champagne would have been more appropriate; the snow that came in the night was some of the driest and fluffiest I have ever skied on. People on the lift were saying that much of the lower parts of the mountain had been mostly brown just a day before, but that day, there was nothing but gnar to be shred.
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| The Heavenly View out to Lake Tahoe |
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| Salomon Shoguns |
I had promised myself that if in fact I did get an epic powder day on this trip, I would splurge and rent some demo skis. I like my skis fine, but given the opportunity, I wanted to see what fatter ones would be like. Seeing my opportunity, I was set up with some Salomon Shoguns, and by 8:30 am I was on the lift. I made the mistake of not consulting a map. Had I done so, I probably would have headed straight to the Powderbowl instead of starting out with the Face, a steep, long double-black diamond run that ran from the top of the first lift to the California Lodge. Not knowing what else was there, I did it again, since the snow was still fairly untracked. Only once I went up to the Powderbowl did I understand my error: untracked pow pow through manageably steep glades as far as I could see. The trees were far enough apart that I could really fly through them, which I found out was almost a necessity, as you don't want to be caught going too slow through thigh-deep powder - you'll just get stuck. Once, after falling down, I lost a basket at the end of my pole in the struggle to get up. I found it annoying to ski without it, so I had to head down to the lodge to get a replacement - back down the double black slope.
Skiing The Face/Gunbarrel three times not only took time out of my morning, but strength out of my legs. By the time I got back up to the Powderbowl, much of the snow had been tracked over, and my quadriceps were killing me. After one run where I biffed a few too many times, I took a much needed break for lunch.
Originally I had planned to go to Tahoe with my brother, Chris, and his girlfriend. However, the girlfriend couldn't make it at all, and Chris couldn't until Saturday afternoon. But he showed up on the mountain in his best approximation of ski clothes - running gloves, and a fleece with a rain jacket over it (he is not a skier). I then gave him a crash course, trying to remind him of all the things we learned in the few times we went downhill skiing growing up and everything about skiing downhill on cross-country skis. After a few trips down the lazy slopes of the green runs, we moved onto a long blue route that took us all the way up to the top of the mountain. Up there the trees were short, needless, and plastered with snow. I regret I did not take a picture. He handled the mini-moguls well, while I would dart off into the woods in search of pow, only to pop out and rejoin him farther down the slope.
After we were done skiing, we checked into the hotel room at the Timber Lodge in Heavenly Village, which I had paid for with 30,000 Marriott Rewards points. It was nice, but all I really needed was a hot tub. After a good 7+ hours of skiing, my legs were shot and my lower back ached. After a good 40 minutes in the hot tub, Chris and I went out for dinner at a pizza place, which seemed to be the only place other than a completely empty taqueria (seriously, we didn't even see the staff) that didn't charge $20 a plate.
It being St. Patrick's day, we thought ourselves remiss if we didn't at least try to go out, even if both of us were dead tired. Since South Lake Tahoe is right on the border of California and Nevada, there are many large Casinos on the East side of town. We went into Harrah's to check out the scene, but quickly left. Though I love drinking, I don't particularly like St. Patricks day. It's annoying in the same way that Olympic years bring out thousands of people who are suddenly experts in judging diving or gymnastics along with actual experts who seize upon people's willingness to finally listen: it glorifies alcoholics in such a way that those who aren't pretend that they are, and those who are pretend that it's not annoying. That leaves litte room for people like me who have their serious drinking under control. The clientele at Harrah's this particular night did nothing to motivate me to party: lots of dudes I know I wouldn't be friends with hanging on lots of girls I know I couldn't hold a conversation with. Apparently penny slots there don't actually take pennies and you can't actually just lay down the keys to your car at the roulette table. At least the blackjack dealers had really low cut shirts. Chris and I instead got a six pack, some pizza rolls and went back to the hotel room to watch South Park.
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| This was supposed to capture how awesome the snow (and view) was |
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| Hangin at the Timber Lodge |
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| Heavenly Gondolas coming into the Timber Lodge |
