Ode To My Old Skis

Kind of a sad day as I retired my Black Dimond Drift skis which served me well over the last seasons of my guiding life.  Our monogamous relationship is rare in these times,  but we over came all sorts of difficulties, from weather to sastrugi. But nothing was better than the skin track we set which at times were frankly brutal.  Remember those pesky AT bindings clicking and clacking at us some of the time? You were much more patient than I.

This morning I shared a last Thompson Pass sunrise with both of you and hope you don’t mind me sharing.

While you did ” Ski Rack Plank Pose”, you were also watching me waver into a “Tele Tree-Pose”. Together we welcomed a Chugach sunrise on Thompson Pass one last time with the many poles we walked past coming and going from trailheads.

“Chair-Pose” just for you, a reminder of our evenings together at home. I soooo..  wanted to join you both snuggled, hanging, strapped on the living room gear rack, chatting up tales with orange skins, while I spread the word by keyboard.

I enjoyed our ski today, sharing the Little Odessey Trail much as we did on our first date. It was good wasn’t it? One last fling and I didn’t fall! And neither did you.

Sorry we never saw the fox. Even my past skis had the same experience, ….elusive today as ever. We did see a goshawk searching for ptarmigan and these fresh tracks we cross indicated he was close.

Beautiful day to share with you.  I though you might dig a summit, our first this season.  I barely felt you alongside.  You were so quiet on the way up. Perhaps it was the inch or so of soft, light, powder.. newly fallen over old snows.  After the first run, it was funny how you rallied for another lap, anxious to set track again.  You barely let me gorp up, when my skins fell out of the pack.  Always rushing, but you talked me into one more lap.  Gonna miss you both and thanks for the memories.   I will tell the new BD Converts all about you as you go stay with the rest of my skis in a wooded hollow deep in the mountains to the north.

Our last dance.

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