Had never headed to the summit of Saddleback on anything other than the AT. I did not have a 12 mile hike in me today (nor did I have the time) so I opted for the straight up the ski mountain version. It is two miles and pretty much, up you go. Jim was at a volleyball tournament all day today so it was all me and the dogs in the snow-making. Gotta love Gore-Tex (and man do I).
As I was hiking up a cat track, right beside all the guns, I saw the lights of snowmobiles. I pulled the dogs and I way off the cat track and waved as a few passed me by. After about 5 of them (all snow makers) one, the foreman, stopped and turned off his machine. He told me he wanted to stay right there to be sure the dogs and I were alright through the few that were left to pass by. And as I watched them tentatively slide by on the sleds, I understood that those were the real newbies, the babies who might just become men after a long, cold winter on the hill blowing snow. We talked for a minute and then he took off down the hill. I kept heading up - hood up - head down with the guns raining down (they are surprisingly quieter than I remember). The dogs were stoked. After about 20 minutes or so, I heard a machine behind me. Again, I pulled off. It was the foreman again. This time he had come up to tell me all the goings on of the mountain crew. He told me that the winch cat (Did I know what that was? Yes, I told him, I know what that is.) was down fueling and in about 45 minutes he would be anchoring on a cable up by the warming hut that was marked with bamboo. If I was coming down when he was on the trail, please choose another to head down. He told me when the boys would be shutting down and out on the trail pulling hose. He spoke my language.
The nostalgia and longing I experience every late November now that I work in a cinder block school as opposed to the Maine (or Idaho for a short time) winter, takes over my whole body. I long for training, for getting to know the newbies, for seeing those who work every year, for being outside more than I am inside. I would not wholly go back, but my love for winter and the many many years I worked at ski areas or competed on the trails and on the hill is strong. (Grade 6 was when I started racing - grade 8 I started working at Black Mountain of Maine for Black Mountain Bucks - and I worked at Sugarloaf all through college, then moved out west.) I have been a part of winter for enough years (learned to ski at age three) that it is in my blood and my heart the blood pumps through. So today, as I was able to compliment the snow maker and pump my fist and give him the thumbs up and tell him how good it looked up there, while he smiled at me, I was truly happy to be where I was, speaking a language I know so well.
I felt as though this foreman snow maker essentially escorted me up the mountain. I did not feel imposed upon, I felt understood and cared about. A girl and her two dogs bearing down among the snow making guns. He got it. He understood.
I met the winch cat coming up as I was running and sliding down. Again, I pulled way off the cat track and again was saluted by this groomer in a way that made me feel a part of the mountain. 60 minutes up, 30 minutes running, giggling and sliding down with a big fat smile on my face. Straight to my car where I had a Gritty's brown waiting for me - plenty cold and plenty full of what I was looking for. From there to downtown Strangeley for a little Christmas shopping. I found one little something for my MT niece and was happily roused by a mellow, "Hi Karolyn." My friend Nini, a Rangeley local whom I met during all the AT professional development (she is an Ed Tech in the Rangeley school system). She is a really down to earth, hearty, strong, adept in the woods woman I value. So pleased to see her and meet her husband.
What a day. Thank you Saddleback - I will see YOU soon. Right after this lame-ass 50 degree stretch of suck. For now though, it is snowing.
Just near the summit.
Rime face.
This was Phoenix's first real snow experience. All of a sudden this dog became a husky. He loved it. He is going to be just fine here in Maine.
Infinitely lucky and happy, I am.
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