Arnaldo Musati (1916-1988) captured the exuberance of this mittened Italian beauty in his 1953 ski poster. The spirit of spring skiing hasn’t changed much since then.
It’s been a few years since I skied the Haute Route and straddled the snowy mountainous border between Italy and Switzerland and passed under Monte Cervino (Matterhorn). We had unbelievably good weather during that April tour and I can still feel the warmth of the sun and the texture of corn snow under my skis!
Unlike in this snowy picture, our ski season in Vermont is screeching to a halt. This weekend, if Mother Nature cooperates and turns on her bright lights, will be the last hurrah at the mountain. We’ll ski and ride in tank tops, skirts and goofy get-ups, slathered with sunscreen. Spontaneous tailgate parties will bloom in the base lodge parking lot complete with lawn chairs, gas grills, beer coolers and tunes while kids and dogs chase Frisbees.
We’ll reminisce about those cold days when the lifts were on wind hold, and the epic powder ones. We’ll say good-bye to friends we won’t see again until next winter – those who follow the snow to the southern hemisphere, and others who migrate to the ocean. Such is the community of skiers and riders.
Arnaldo Musati (1916-1988) captured the exuberance of this mittened Italian beauty in his 1953 ski poster. The spirit of spring skiing hasn’t changed much since then.
It’s been a few years since I skied the Haute Route and straddled the snowy mountainous border between Italy and Switzerland and passed under Monte Cervino (Matterhorn). We had unbelievably good weather during that April tour and I can still feel the warmth of the sun and the texture of corn snow under my skis!
Unlike in this snowy poster, our ski season in Vermont is screeching to a halt. This weekend, if Mother Nature cooperates and turns on her bright lights, will be the last hurrah at the mountain. We’ll ski and ride in tank tops, skirts and goofy get-ups, slathered with sunscreen. Spontaneous tailgate parties will bloom in the parking lot complete with lawn chairs, gas grills, beer coolers and tunes while kids and dogs chase Frisbees.
We’ll reminisce about those cold days when the lifts were on wind hold, and the epic powder ones. We’ll say good-bye to friends we won’t see again until next winter – those who follow the snow to the southern hemisphere, and others who migrate to the ocean. Such is the community of skiers and riders.
