With two quick cuts, Mike plunged into the narrow chute which opened up into a steep double fall line stash. Checking my six to ensure we were not being watching or followed, I charged in after him. After the initial steep pitch, we found ourselves balls deep in the trees skiing the lightest fluff of the season. Mike has never sampled this line before and I was feeling generous with the untracked. Perhaps the old adage doesn’t always hold true, there really are friends on powder days.
Blurry eyed from hours of research and starring at our computer monitors, we made our decision the night before. Pouring over dozens of forecasts and weather models, the decision was made via Instant Messenger to meet at Cannon’s Tram Station promptly at 7:45 A.M. First Tram at Cannon leaves the Station at 8:15 A.M. and is often crowded. But if your ass isn’t in line by 8 A.M. on a powder day, you might as well be grabbing first chair at Peabody Lodge cause you’re in for a long wait.
Restless energy finally gave way to slumber. However, I would not entertain dreams of deep powder and blue bird skies. Dreams are meant to be lived and skiers who dream of such things while sleeping usually aren’t getting any. Real dreams begin when you wake up.
The alarm clock was poised to spring a rude awakening upon me, but such emergency back up devices are hardly ever needed on days like these. Lunch was already packed and the ski clothes laid out. I ran through the morning routine and found my gear and skis in the ready position by the door.
Usually the drive to the mountain is the least memorable part of the day, but not when the sun dawns bright red as the last remnants of storm clouds flow eastward towards the sea. Lingering flakes from the previous night’s storm fly past my vehicle which performs admirably on the barely plowed snow covered roads.
Driving South into the notch, the sun hits Cannon Mountain in a Crown of Fire lighting up it’s fully exposed hourglass shape. Thin tendrils of Mittersill’s remnant ski trails tease and entice with their promises of untracked fresh. Bypassing the Peabody Slopes exit, the Front Five are already heavily tracked up by those that refuse to let lifts dictate and limit their access to untracked powder. The Dawn Patrol is alive and well in New England.
Mike greets me at the Tram Station with a shit eating grin. It doesn’t take me long to connect the dots as I realize he already claimed First Tracks. As I booted up, Mike gloated about reaching the top of Avalanche just as the sun crested over the Franconia Ridge to bath the mountain in it’s red morning glow. For his efforts, Mike took knee deep untracked on one of Cannon’s steepest open slopes.
By eight, the line for First Tram was already wrapping around twice at the precarious cut off area dreaded by those who enjoy racing their own Tram Car round trip. The line began moving and we plodded along in silence hoping we would make the cut off. I passed by the bearded Cannon employee taking the count and checking tickets who promptly cut Mike off with the rope upon reaching the 70 count. Stunned, I turned around and looked pleadingly towards St. Peter of the Tram, but the limit had been reached. Mike waved me on explaining he already got his First Tracks. I started to protest when he reminded me that there were no friends on powder days.
The doors slammed shut in my face before I could fully grasp the situation. While I contemplated my friend’s last words, everyone else in the car could hardly contain their excitement. Greedy eyes gazed upon Tramline which was just opened last week. As the Ketchup Car made its way towards Tower One, deep powder could be seen within Kinsman Glade begging for lines. The gleam in the eyes and grins on the faces of everyone in the car said it all: Powder Day Cannon Style.
Arriving at the Summit Station, the sound of the doors opening could hardly be heard over the collective cheer of 70 skiers and riders about to get first tracks in some of the deepest powder of the season. Mount Lafayette and the Franconia Ridge ominously poked through the clouds that had gathered since the morning’s bright sunshine. Old Man Cannon was in a grumpy mood and promised more snow before the day’s end. I knew I could not go alone and waited eight minutes for the Mustard Car to ascend to the Summit Station with my partner aboard.
When the doors slid open, Mike was the first guy off the car, practically running for the stairs. Our eyes locked as he approached the stair well and we both knew nothing more needed to be said, what really mattered at this point was beating everyone else to the goods.
We clicked in and took off down a groomer knowing that a few quick warm up turns would be essential. Soon after taking off, I checked my speed and came to a stop with Mike coming in below me. I nodded into the woods where a two foot wide slot through the trees dropped off quick into whatever secrets were held below. Remembering with fondness my first time experiencing this shot untracked, I turned to Mike and said “You were wrong about friends on a powder day” and I waved my hand towards the shot with a knowing grin played out on my face.
The chute entering the stash was a few feet wide allowing only a few quick cuts to check one’s speed. Opening up into a small glade, the “trail” cuts steeply to the left then again to the right before opening up into another small glade with a nasty double fall line. Under normal packed powder conditions, this stash requires quick instincts and even quicker turns. But when you are balls deep in fluff, you can savor every turn for all its worth.
After the steep double fall glade, the trail opens up slightly and relents in pitch. I hear Mike below exclaiming much joy utilizing hoots and hollers and the occasional “HECK YEA!”
You only get one first run on a new line, the memory of each usually stays with you forever. Especially when that first run happens on a powder day. You can spend the rest of your life returning to that line trying to relive that moment. But even on the deepest and lightest of powder days, subsequent runs are rarely as good as that first eye opening experience diving into the unknown. Try as we may, there is no way we can ever truly relive that first experience… except by watching someone else experience it. You can almost see it again for the first time through their eyes.