Saddleback

It has been over a dozen years since my last visit to Saddleback, which is a dozen years too many. Given it was closed for almost half that time, I have some sort of excuse. But Saddleback reopened two years ago, and I finally got my ass back up to Rangeley to punch an Indy Pass ticket at Saddleback.

I was amazed at how much the new high speed quad changed the mountain, and equally impressed at how little it changed the mountain. Saddleback was certainly exponentially busier than my last visit. But there was still ample space to spread skiers out and minimal lines at all lifts. Cars were parked a mile down the access road, but I never waited more than ten minutes for the Kennebago Quad.

Speaking of the Kennebago, I spent most of my day up there picking off most trails and glades. No other ski area in the northeast has a terrain pod with quite as much quality ungroomed expert terrain. That includes two of my favorite on map glades, Dark Wizard and Upper Nightmare. Both are tight and have interesting entrances and lines.

Hopefully, it won’t be another dozen years before I get back to Saddleback. But the place is a haul from just about everywhere, and that drive from locations due west involves roads that can only be described as weather war-torn. The mountain is bustling and, with the new ownership and new high speed lift, should be viable for the foreseeable future.

Remarkably Unremarkable

Sunday Punch
Sunday Punch

I was not planning to write about my latest early season outing. My journey is continuing in a positive direction. The veil is slowly being lifted; my tale continues to be recast. But there was nothing remarkable about this day.

Yet, that is a remarkable thing to acknowledge: things are getting back to normal. It is normal to go skiing twice during a weekend. It is normal to do that two weekends in a row. It is normal to get a lot of ski days during November. It is normal to look forward to those days.

It is normal to want to write a new post about the journey.

It is remarkable how far things had gone the wrong way. During the past few years, I tried to come to terms with the new normal. It didn’t seem possible to feel any other way. It didn’t seem possible to feel anything. It didn’t seem possible to do anything about it. It didn’t seem possible to do anything.

What changed? I found small pieces of inspiration in interesting places. I realized that I couldn’t do it by myself. I got help. And I encourage anyone who has stared down that abyss to do so as well. If for no other reason than this: reaching out for help cannot make things worse, but it could make things better.

I look forward to getting on with it and continuing to set things right.

Time Changes. I Resist.

Upper Sunday Punch
Upper Sunday Punch

The plan was simple: when Daylight Saving Time ended, time would change but my daily routine would not. Instead of gaining a one-time extra hour of sleep, I would wake up and go to bed “an hour earlier”. The time would change but I would not change with it.

The only challenge was not lapsing forward into “new time”. That entails waking up everyday at 5:30am, even on weekends. Especially on weekends (a good habit during ski season). Equally important is maintaining a 9:00pm bedtime to ensure I do not push my internal clock forward into “new time”.

Lately, YouTube has taken too many hours away from my life without providing much positive benefit. Endless video recommendations auto-play until I get tired and go to bed; sometimes when I should have, often far later. Which would be fine if it was improving my life and the behavior was intentional. It wasn’t.

You do not magically gain an extra hour when you wake up an hour earlier. Not literally, anyways. You just move a block of awake time from the evening to the morning. But if that hour changes from passive screen time to active intentional time, then I have gained much more than an hour. I’ve gained part of my life back.

Canvas

Locke Triple

This past week, I was not thinking about skiing. At all. I was too busy trying to keep my head on straight at work prior to a much needed vacation. We were flying to the Caribbean on Sunday and I still needed to pack. Skiing on Saturday wasn’t even on my mind.

I saw the snow making and opening day posts. And I shrugged. October skiing is great. But a few hundred feet of man made frozen sludge wasn’t inspiring. Why add stress to an already busy day? What was the rush for first turns? No big deal.

T2

No big deal, my ass. What the heck was I thinking? Have I really lost my edge by that much? Has it really come to this? Flying someplace tropical occupied my mind more than making October turns? Of course I was going skiing at the earliest possible opportunity!

And that is how this season is probably going to be: much like last season, a constant grind against ennui. Hopefully today is a sign of future success against the listlessness that has defined my life for the past two years. An inspirational smattering of color on a bleak canvas.

Sunday River: Beginnings

T2

Every ski season* has an ending and a beginning with purgatory in between. And much like the mountains, our seasons have peaks and valleys, highs and lows. Those who want for consistency and regularity in their lives need not apply. Skiing is an activity better suited to those who enjoy extremes, people who can not only accept but revel in and embrace the worst of conditions**.

Beginnings are powerful. More than just a do over or a redo, beginnings suggest that something even better is coming. We sweep away the hardships of the past and get on with things. And even following a season of many epic days, skiers are still ever hopeful that this season might be the big one.

T2

Dad once commented on my tendency towards extremes. He saw the potential danger rather than the beauty in extremes. But for me, even in the depths of despair, I would suddenly cackle with delight at how wonderful if felt to be alive, to be able to feel, even if to feel terrible. It was still joyous in a way. Amor fati was a way of life for me long before I read Nietzsche.

While a new ski season began for me this weekend, I continue on in purgatory: long having sought a new beginning that remains elusive. There are no highs nor lows, just a constant grind. One might think that burn out would make someone negative. But rather, burn out leaves you hollow and uninspired. The ski season may have begun but I still seek a new beginning.

Locke Mountain Triple

*Ski season here is connoted as a localized season rather than an individual’s personal season.

**Not a reflection or implication of the skiing at Sunday River, far from it.