Really there's nothing to say. 1, because I your fearless blogger am too tired. 2) because if you look at Facebook you will find countless posts on knee-deep powder. It snowed. Hard. The sun came out. A better day couldn't be had. I heard fine, fine rumors about snow in the trees -- in fact I believe them to be true given how windy it was. Not that I'm advocating you ski the trees. Somehow this season is starting to seem like magic from the very start. So now I just give you the goods (as in pictures). For the real goods, you have to search yourself. I do keep some secrets. And if you look hard, you might find your fearless blogger looking a bit like a refugee with her hood up...
Really what is there to say about the skiing today? You could measure it in feet and that is no small thing. The powder was deep, steep and a bit heavy but what a day. And new trails skied from Blockbuster to Free Fall and the Plunge. Everyone was getting fresh tracks. Just stay in the fall line and remember not to turn too much (memo to self). And this weekend is looking ever more epic with more snow coming. Oh, and if you (or your ski pals or your ski pals' kids) get tired of skiing, there is also now daytime tubing at Platty. So more fun, more snow. "More" that is the operative word here.
Yes, you like to ski (or ahem "ride"). If you didn't, you wouldn't be here at Platty's blog. And, I can bet that you are dreaming of a white Christmas. Perhaps the refrain of Crosby's classic song is winding its way through your mind right now. Yes, "and may all your Christmases be white."
I promise this one is. And will be, but rather than Bing's confection, I give you real snow. Yes, falling from the ski some 6 inches of it this past weekend. And more much more being made by Platty's snowmakers. And then even more forecast this week. Serious snow. In the meantime, I'm reposting an old piece from 2010 about just how snow is made. And how hard it is. So while you're dreaming of a white christmas, or sugar plums or what-have-you in the run-up to Platty's opening on the 26th, spare a thought for those whose Christmas is being dedicated to fresh powder for us.
I had no idea how hard making snow was. Or if it’s even snow. For the record it is. Snow itself has many different categories (graupel anyone?) The kind Chris Nolan and Colin Oliver make is a recipe of water and compressed air pushed through a snowgun or fan gun or snow cannon – all are deployed at Platty. Easy, just add water, right? Plus temperatures below 32 F. Wrong.
The afternoon I went it was 23, but with 87% humidity, which Nolan (he, the man in charge of the mountain’s snowmaking, goes by his last name) shakes his head at. High humidity = wet snow – fine for a base, but not powder. The ultimate snowmaking temperature is 15 degrees, which is why snowmaking usually happens at night. As he explains all these things, it’s like he’s talking philosophy. We’re riding around the mountain on a snowmobile dragging guns and hoses – very heavy hoses, the sort fire departments use, some 25 feet long. He slings ‘em like a lasso towards the guns and their valves. Watching him it strikes me the job is like ranching or herding sheep.
He travels with a blowtorch and ice axe and stops more than once to pound on a fan covered in ice (another humidity issue). He tells me to duck. The ice comes off with the speed of bullets, he explains and then nonchalantly dips his head himself to avoid them. They’re inches from his face. The whole endeavor gives him and Colin the air of cowboys, that is to say, as men of few words, weathered and with grit, a strong stance and exacting standards (just ask those who work for him). Like the Marlboro Man even, Nolan travels with a cigarette between his teeth as he clangs on the fan or lights up his blowtorch to melt the ice off a gun.
The whole thing is hard enough – (and cold. He’s out in balaclava, hat, insulated everything and blown-out snowboarding boots) but picture doing this in the middle of the night, fighting frozen valves open or closed and flushing ice out of the air hoses in the dark at 2 AM – or even say 6 PM when the only light comes from the headlight on your snowmobile and a headlamp. Thinking about it, I’m struck not just by the job’s heroism but its futility as well. Ultimately it will all melt. Farming snow is Sisyphian if anything ever was.
The idea is not lost on Nolan. A couple weeks ago on a Sunday afternoon he had to go home. He’d been working two weeks of 12-hour shifts and then it rained. The base was fine. He’d made enough snow but to see the weather was disheartening particularly on his second season here. He came to work at Plattekill after growing up skiing then snowboarding here. He volunteered in the summers on the mountain bike races. Now, the terrain park – which he’s currently busy building – is named for him.
I myself will never complain about snow again. Ever. Not after my two hours with Nolan and Colin. We all know those early season chairlift conversations the why-isn’t- more-terrain-open complaints and the it’s-been-cold-enough-to-make-snow gripes. I for one foreswear them. Forever.