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Finding New in the Old

I had been counting on the soft glow of an almost-full moon to illuminate the snowscape in front of me. But it’s nowhere to be found. Instead, the dark cloak of night is pierced by Orion’s Belt and a hundred other constellations I don’t know the name of. Skins slap and breaths hiss as we twist our way up a familiar skintrack.

In a meadow, we stop to regroup. Headlamp still off, trees melt away, and the daytime’s tracked slopes fade, giving a pretense of untouched snow. Down the ridgeline, little dots of two or three lights slowly make their ascents as well. It’s the first really good ski day in the Wasatch, and no one wants to miss out. We keep moving to stave off the cold, stretching legs up the skintrack before snapping back together as we reach the top.

When I switch my light on, it becomes apparent everyone has already been to this summit. No surprise, really. Avy danger is high, and this is quick access, low-angle skiing. I position myself toward the left. The puny beam of light from my headlamp doesn’t illuminate much beyond the tips of my skis. Even so, the skiing seems better this way. Without much in the way of sight, I ski by feel. Utah’s finest champagne powder billows with every turn, exacerbating my lack of vision, but it doesn’t hinder the skiing. If anything, it’s better because I can’t see. I’ve probably skied this run 50 times, but in the dark it feels new all over again.

—Liam

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