So this last week we had the ghost of the "Blizzard of '78" re-visit New England, or so said the news services that amp'd up the anticipation.  Of course, as a skier, how could I not get excited.

The morning of the big day dawned with just a few errant flakes drifting down and with 6 hours before the snow was to dump in earnest I set about readying my gear, gassing the car, preparing lunch and laying in supplies for the "storm bunker."

Around 3-4 pm Libby rolled in to the bunker with her stuff and an enthusiastic attitude about the storm to come.  In fact, she did a little snow dance as I recall.  Later that evening we tucked into some DVD's as the snow began to blanket the yard, my neighborhood and the rest of New England.  When it was over Concord, NH would have over 2 ft and in spots in southern New England the snow totals exceeded 3 ft.

By 5 am I was wide awake as the sound of snow plows tore at piles of cold white gold to a guy like me.  Coffee made, breakfast burritos in hand and the car packed we pulled out into streets quickly refilling with more snow but not a car to be seen. Cruising north on the interstate we encountered only snowplows and the occasional car likely loaded with other skiers.  Wind would slap the car and briefly cause it to shudder while frozen grains of snow obscured my vision and clung to the windshield.  It promised a great day of skiing to be had.

Bypassing Waterville Valley, Loon Mtn, and Cannon we wound up Rt 302 to Bretton Woods.  The air stung my skin and on the chair rides up we would freeze only to feel our muscles burn as we slid through refilling shots of light fluffy powder.  All day long mother nature shook the snow globe and we poked around each nook and cranny to find stashes of soft snowy goodness.  It was only after we got south of Franconia Notch did we see blue sky and a faint setting orange orb to the west.

The next afternoon I drove first to Sunapee Mtn but finding that over-run with more people than I could handle I continued north to my old stomping grounds of Ragged Mtn.  Even at Ragged Mtn I found cars stacked up along the road long before the parking lots.  Grabbing my gear I hiked up the hill and found the chair lifts packed with skiers and boarders but the sloped surprisingly empty for the most part.  The snow was soft and buttery for the most part though scratchy patches of man made "snice"  (a snow ice hybrid compacted by machines) shown through.  I hit one of these patches as I dove into Birches and found my skis almost instantly going out from under me as as icy spray shot into my face. 

As I finished up my day picking my way through Pels Pass to Sweepstakes I took a moment to take in what might be my last trip down this trail of tight, twisting turns and a double fall line with bits of dirt and whippets showing in between the bumps.  It is a trail of classic New England lore.  However, in just a few short weeks I would be resigning my position at work, boarding a plane to Utah and spending the next 6 weeks shredding soft western snow before my permanent relocation to the Pacific Northwest.  I can't say I will miss the fickle weather on New England, though it has made me the skier I am with the ability to basically confront any condition on any terrain.