The end of a forgettable ski season

Last Friday was for me the end of the most forgettable ski season in my entire life. The good snow never really came and for the first time ever, I had to literally force myself to go out and hit the slopes. My skis got regularly ruined so I had to work many times to fix them, and except for two or three good times, skiing was just terrible.

The times I skied (58) and the quantity of ski I logged 662,611 vertical feet (201 294 vertical meters) was similar to what I did 25 years ago when I was still working and a quarter of what I achieved 3 years ago (admittedly, I’m older, but still) ...

This is not to say that I didn’t try hard. I did my very best to ski the best I could in conditions that were the worst ever, but over me and inside my head, I couldn’t remove the specter that this season was a sample of the shape of things to come in a changing world of warming climate. 

That is, as I like to say, “The woolly Mammoth in the room” that no one wants to even acknowledge and hear about, shrugging one bad season off and forcing themselves to believe that next year will be much better. Oh, how much do I wish these folks were right!