I am always reflective on the last day of the ski season. Seasons begin and end and begin again in one big blur. Some ski days are epic, others not so much. One day becomes the next until all of a sudden you’ve stopped appreciating the magic that can be found whenever you are on the snow.
But I always appreciate the last day of every season. I always remind myself not to take it for granted, after doing just that for every other day during the season. It is hard to be reflective when you are engaged in the madness, desperate for that next powder day.
The madness subsides and things slow down a bit by May. My health prohibited me from hiking to Tuckerman Ravine for end of season turns in June or July. But it doesn’t matter where or when the last day of the season happens, the feelings are still always the same.
Superstar was amazingly wide and deep for the last week of May. Excepting a short portage down the headwall and walking to the lift, the skiing was continuous top to bottom without any breaks. Management opted to groom overnight, pushing around the snow and patching things up. But the bumps formed soon enough and by early afternoon, the skiing was sublime.
It was “one more run” after “one more run” after “one more run” until my legs couldn’t take it anymore. And then it was “one more run” all over again. Until the runs all started to become one big blur. But I wasn’t obsessed with the next fix; there was no madness. Because the last day of the season always reminds me that any one single run could be my last. And that is something I can appreciate more and more at the end of each season.