I am not a hoarder. Or at least not of material things. But I might have to confess to being a recent hoarder of snow. And for that, I’m sorry.
Today, December 11th, 2012, I took a hike in the White Mountains and watched yesterday’s thin layer of white turn to clear liquid in the span of an hour. My skis—touring, downhill, classic and skate—are lined up in my garage ready to go. Like most of the northern hemisphere I am ready to ski. But I might be the reason why so few of us are actually getting to shred the gnar.
Here is my confession. I went south to ski and now the north is paying. In my defense, it was for a good cause. My dad turned 70 this year and one of ways we celebrated was to go skiing in Tierra Del Fuego. My father is ski obsessed and it seemed the best way to support him on his birthday was to indulge more obsession. We planned the trip, got tickets, and it all felt normal until I started sweating in my gear room from the heat and humidity of a near 90-degree NH day when packing my winter gear. I’m not a stranger to making the opposite travel/life/outfit choice compared to others around me, but when I hauled my ski bag through the airport terminal surrounded in flip flop clad fellow travellers I felt like a superior idiot—as in like my ego wanted to feel superior but reality showed me I was an idiot.