the ski bum arc

when i was a student at castleton, i got a discounted season pass to the largest ski mountain on the east coast. i took this and ran with it; when i picked out my spring semester classes i deliberately planned them so i would only have to go to campus on tuesdays and thursdays. for five days a week, i practically lived at killington, got as close to the ski bum life i'd always dreamed of as my circumstances would allow.

and so help me god, i was getting my money’s worth out of that season pass.

someone’s breakfast-cooking rig i came across one morning.

i'd been skiing long enough to make a few not-quite-enemies, but they all stuck to the terrain parks over on ramshead mountain, and i stayed over at bear mountain, as far away as i could get. every morning, i'd make the forty-minute drive up the mountain as the sun rose. i'd occasionally stop at the market on the access road, buy a breakfast sandwich and say hi to a cashier i had a bit of a crush on, and then i'd make my way up or down steep, winding east mountain road to the driveway out to bear.

racing the sunrise to the mountain.

nine times out of ten, i'd be the very first person pulling into the lot, and that was just how i liked it. i'd park in the very first row, usually an hour or more before the lifts were running, and i'd just get to be alone with the mountains. i'd watch the clouds of snow flying from the guns, see the lifties and ski patrollers going about their business, and just enjoy my blissful solitude and typical "breakfast": a white or orange monster and maybe a sandwich from the market.

the bear mountain parking lot.

eventually, when other cars pulled in, i'd go loiter in the lodge until the lifts started running.

i've never had a consistent ski buddy, and that was a blessing during that time. i'd hung out with a gang of park skiers for a while, but that was well in the past, thankfully. instead, i learned to befriend complete strangers on the lift, to recognize the people who came to the mountain as often as i did.

sunrise on the mountain.

i also developed a great mental map of killington's 155 trails during that time. after a while, i started carrying trail maps and a sharpie in the pockets of my oversized armada jacket, doing what the killington ambassadors got paid to do, but better. oftentimes, once people learned i was a local, they'd ask me for directions. however, i fucking suck at giving clear verbal directions, and i know those are easy to forget, so when someone asked, i'd whip out a map and my sharpie, draw out directions, and give that to people along with any useful tips i could think of. 

i came to enjoy this easy coming-and-going, the impermanence of these connections. i dealt with some intense bouts of social anxiety back then, but it was eased by the knowledge that i was unlikely to ever see these people again.

looking out of a killington gondola

i loved starting every chairlift conversation the same way: "so, where are you from?" and seeing where it went from there. sometimes it ended in awkward silence by the end of the lift ride, but most of the time it turned into a longer conversation and once or twice i even ended up skiing a few runs with complete strangers. then i'd go off on my own again, and they'd do the same. i'd get to the bottom of the lift, hop back in the singles line and, if i didn't get a chair to myself, i'd get placed with a new group of strangers and repeat the cycle.

the drive up the mountain.

it was freeing, that life. i was beholden to almost nothing besides my own morals, basic decency, and the rules on my pass, and even the third only when i was within sight of a ski patroller. thanks to my raynaud's, my feet would freeze within a few runs almost every day, and then i would feel no pain until i got back in my car and turned on the heat.

an early iteration of my hanging-out setup in my car.

i met people from all over- india, california, texas, connecticut, maine, new jersey, wisconsin, scotland, japan, vermont. one time i spent an entire morning hanging out with two news anchors from a station in boston and briefly made an appearance on their instagram live. i'd routinely cross paths with a retired ex-ski bum named tom, who became a sort of skiing grandfather to me, happy to offer life advice if we ended up on the same chair. 

skiers at killington peak.

i learned how to code-switch within seconds of getting on the lift with someone- getting a read on what kind of skier they were and changing my demeanor like a chameleon to match. with younger, usually drunk people, i could channel some of the mannerisms i'd picked up from the park rats, do away with most of my "filter", be friendly and laid-back and personable. sometimes i'd score a free beer or blinker or puff of a joint if i really turned up the charm. with the older folks, i could be a little more restrained and mature, old-school polite and courteous- play into the maturity i learned from being an only child in the nscc and wandering around at dog shows. with families, i could be bubbly and kind and helpful (it helped that this was when i still looked very femme and didn't have my septum piercing). 

skiing in june!

the only age group i never developed a good "persona" for was my own. the only teenagers at the mountain on weekdays tended to be aloof, often arrogant ski school kids, or alternatively park rats that i could recognize as being connected to the group i'd broken off from. oftentimes, i'd just keep my mouth shut during those lift rides. 

my dearly beloved purple salomons, without which i wouldn’t be writing this post.

i remember that time with deep fondness. i watched a documentary about warren miller when i was younger and it stayed in my mind ever since. not that i hadn’t wanted to be a ski bum before watching that, but i was hypnotized by the shots of him and his friends living in their cars and vans, a life that wouldn’t permit the keeping of many unnecessary things. it was gritty and authentic and raw and all the people living it seemed so free. 

even today, that film hasn’t entirely left my mind. at the time it only doubled my yearning to experience the ski bum lifestyle of decades past. in these days on the mountain, i was as close to that as i think i’ll ever get. 

i still crave a return to that life sometimes- one where my class schedule and financial situation would allow it. i crave the freedom and solace i knew then, and i have no doubt that i will for years to come. maybe i’ll always chase the high of mountain air and days spent in solitude.