{Note: After night skiing at Wachusett Mountain several weeks ago, I composed a post with several off-the-cuff observances. Most notably, I expressed surprise that I — a relative snow sports novice who only 5 years ago couldn’t stand up on skis — could ably coast down a trail that was labeled with a black diamond, and therefore concluded that the black trails at Wachusett were underwhelming compared to the black trails in the only other place I had ever skied extensively — the French Alps. It was just one of hundreds of “duh” conclusions I make on my little obscure website, and it might have gone unnoticed by the world had the post not found its way onto an online NE skiing forum. I became the object of a disdainful circle jerk of ski jocks who intepreted my remarks as evidence of a mean-spirited pompous attitude towards New England skiing and life in general. So for now on, whenever I blog about downhill skiing, I’m going to pretend that I’m speaking directly to a teeming lodge bar of armed beer-drinking skiers at 5pm. In other words… I’ll keep my snide thoughts to myself.}
This weekend we went to New Hampshire to revel in the spring skiing conditions that have prevailed after an iffy winter. After much debate as to which skiing disciplines we should undertake given the conditions and our inclinations, we decided to go XC skiing (skating) at Bretton Woods on one day and downhill skiing/snowboarding at Cannon Mountain the next day. (Snow, like youth, is fleeting, so every time we go skiing in the spring we tell ourselves that this could be the last time… but we’ll probably be back next week.)
Bretton Woods Nordic Center is, for my $17, simply the best trail system for XC skating in New Hampshire. The extensive trails are consistently wide enough to accommodate two skaters plus a classic skier in the tracks. The hills are (mostly) gentle and rolling, so a good skier can go downhill and then uphill without losing momentum. There’s some great flats, too, when you want to really burn some snow. Plus, all of this is within view of Mt Washington and the Presidential Range, as well as the idyllic and historic Mt. Washington Resort (a hotel so big that it has its own bed and breakfast.)
Mt. Washington Resort
Mt. Washington and the Presidentials
The weather was near-perfect: blue skies, high-30s, and a mostly calm wind. In the morning, the snow was still icy enough to make for good skating conditions, but the same sun that warmed us also warmed the snow, and by afternoon it was too soft to skate gracefully. Which was okay, because after two hours of XC skating, I can’t skate too gracefully anyway. Much better to fool around and gape at the scenery.
Posing on old railroad bridge
On the trails, the snowshoers threatened to outnumber the skiers. Indeed, snowshoeing just might save XC skiing centers, who have opened trails and stocked rental equipment to cater to this booming winter activity. I think that’s great, but seriously snowshoers: What is compelling you to walk on the groomed XC trails? You’re wearing… snowshoes. (I know, I know, I said I’d be nice. I don’t want to end up being pilloried on some online snowshoeing forum — those bitches are vicious.)
Although there were a good number of XC skiing experts/skilled amateurs at Bretton Woords, the skiing crowd was dominated by people over 50 and retirees — a fit bunch, and easy to banter with in the lodge, but still…. being in a room full of middle-agers wearing tight black pants can be, at times, jarring. For your comfort and safety, I will omit pictures. (God, I just can’t stop with the mean, can I?)
In the nordic center, a pair of ski jumping skis were propped up against a wall, perhaps to celebrate America’s unlikely success in the Nordic Combined events at the Vancouver Olympics. (And I thought we owned every type of ski possible!)
Skis for Jumping
The next day, bright and early at 8:30, we headed off to Cannon Mountain. Having driven past Cannon dozens of times on I-93, I was excited but nervous to finally ski its expansive, steep trails. I climbed Cannon during my 4000-Footer Quest, so I know that Cannon commands respect; there was no way I’d be coasting down its black diamond trails. It also commands views — terrifying views for the vertigo-plagued skier who looks out into the void in front of her and finds that her legs have become throttled by her mind, which is convinced she is on the cusp of skiing off a cliff.
Cannon Mountain from I-93
These days, Cannon Mountain is puffed with pride over Bode Miller’s performance at the Vancouver Olympics, since it was on these steep icy hills that Bode learned how to ski. And while Bode’s success can be attributed to many factors, I don’t think that spending his formative years on Wachusett Mountain would have prepared him to win Olympic Gold.
In the Cannon Mountain Lodge Bar
Aside from the Bode cache, the coolest thing about Cannon is the tram — a 70-person gondola that seemed to be the quickest way up the mountain. It allowed us to make roughly a dozen satisfying runs down various intermediate trails. By the end of the afternoon, my thighs were screaming obscenities.
View from Cannon Mountain Tram
Very good spring skiing — by mid-afternoon, we could have skied in t-shirts had the wind not been so biting at the top and had we not stupidly attached our lift tickets to our jackets. Not too much iciness, although reportedly a bit rough for the snowboarders.
Getting a suntan
Towards noon we ventured over to the “calmer” part of the mountain, with the green trails and family zones. On the quad chair lift, I overheard two little boys talking:
Boy A: I blew up my house once.
Boy B: You did? How?
Boy A: I don’t know. I touched something and our house blew up.
Boy B: Did you die?
Boy A: No, but my pet did.
Boy B: Your pet did? What was your pet?
Boy A: A unicorn.
My new favorite punch line is “Did you die?” said with sober sincerity. As in, Mr. Pinault tells me that he hit an icy patch on the Avalanche trail. “Did you die?” Of course he didn’t. Because rage melts ice.
Rage
