Seany B has has rented a large log cabin, with Matt, in Hope for this winter. I had the opportunity to check it out for the first time this weekend.  Sean was in town getting groceries, and his brother Kyle, so they picked me up while I was playing PES with Kim on their way to back last thursday.  The cabin is in a large open yard, with a huge front porch, a lofted second story and an open main floor.  The place is decorated with trophies, a small black bear above the staircase, a couple of Dahl sheep, and an upstairs closet full of caribou antlers.

  We spent the first day talking to the neighbors (a subaru mechanic with chickens, a hunting guide with tales of their landlord) before gathering and splitting fire wood. We skied for the following 3 days.  Our nights were pleasantly slow, we spent them in front of the wood stove eating large cabin worthy feasts, or catching up on some much needed reading. I finished Speak, Memory and loved how the book’s memory enhanced tales of rural aristocratic living in northern russia, along with my thoughts and love for Sawkaw (that lasagna and sap smell), complimented the nightly Hope cabin surroundings; among other things.  Tuesday morning, with the peaks along the highway glowing in a predawn heliotrope color, I was sad to be leaving, despite feeling content with the past 3 days of skiing and knowing I’d get some more later that day (video of that soon).

Seany Bs tele turns

Seany B's tele-turns

Outside of marveling at the suns slow slides across the souther horizon that cast deep blue shadows across the souther faces and setting the rapidly glowing surface whore aglitter, or at stupid stuff like the way snow clings to my skis, the theme of the days was seeing people we know. The first day we saw Graham and his friend’s on Corn Biscuit before bumping in to Max and Hunter while making a couple runs in the clouds on fast easy surfing snow.  Saturday Kyle and I were shocked, initially by the crowds skiing Magnum’s south aspect, and then by the fact that we knew 75 percent of the people responsible for the tracks.  Despite the crowd we bagged a great lap on gold pan just before dusk (colored in winter’s arctic sepia I read Nabokov yearn for).  Sunday we saw Sean’s friend Megan with Scott – the kid that once described my roommate as a small jawed scruffy kid in a U of U class ski class trip – while on our way to Super bowl.

Monday we had a flawless day for skiing Super bowl, it was cold,  both cloudless and crowd-less, which allowed us to take our time while enjoying the sun on the way up.  The rocky ridge walk before the top was worse then I remember, the snow was sugary and unsupportive,  I was gasping for rocks the entire way.  Sean was a good sport and went first.

After taking a couple minutes up top to figure out exactly what was and was not a cornice, Sean let me go first.  After a quick ski cut I skied and obvious chute and found silky powder with no sign of a bottom.  Matt followed, and Sean, going last, took the ridge.  Towards the bottom he tried to take a similar line through the rocks as he did last year, except this time he got a little confused and went over a 15 foot band of rocks he didn’t see coming.  Other then scrapping his poles on the way down, nothing came of it and he rode away clean.  A quick skin from there put us on top of Corn Biscuit, which allowed us to take another steep shadowy north facing line on the way back to the car.  More to come, with some cheesy and excessively long video at some point in the next couple of days, until then I highly suggest this tale of rural bootlegging.