Don’t judge a mountain by its cloud cover

I finally got in my first two ski runs of the year, and the conditions for each couldn’t have been more different. And yet, that’s sort of the point. No matter the weather report, good skiers find a way to carve out a quality experience.

Lookout below ...

Starting at 9 a.m. at Lookout Pass ski area Saturday you could hear the younger snowboarders chanting it from the ski lift, almost like a ‘dahoo-doris’ of winter recreation:

Pow-pow … POW-POW

I soon realized the refrain was a diminutive of ‘powder’ and the kids were celebrating a relatively rare deluge of snow.

It all started to make sense; after all, Lookout was an absolute dumping ground for Mother Nature last week. It started Wednesday (Jan. 5) with 13 inches, ratcheted up to 16 on Thursday, then got downright silly with it Friday to the tune of 18 inches. For those of us who ogle moguls (you might even call us mogul moguls!) with the best of ‘em, a snow report such as this is enough to keep us up at night.

From the second I arrived at the crack of 9 a.m., it was an embarrassment of riches. And many skiers, frankly, didn’t seem to know how to spend their portion. It was a watch-what-you-wish-for moment of sorts, because when you ski over powder so deep it’s like trying to walk on a giant waterbed, your skis sliding around searching for purchase as your legs beg for a reprieve that doesn’t arrive until you’re safely back on the chairlift.

Luckily, there were stripes of groomed snow snaking through, so if you wanted to switch back and forth between deep-powder and slightly more packed areas, you could do so. With the sun poking out from behind the clouds every so often and nary a wisp of wind, it was a near-perfect day despite the crowds and long weekend lift lines.

Silver mining …

On Tuesday I took a morning trip to Silver Mountain in Kellogg and jumped on the gondola. Everything seemed fine until my unit started rocking back and forth under the weight of extreme winds. Then the entire gondola ground to a halt, leaving me to swing in place like Tweety Bird waiting for Sylvester to show up.

It didn’t seem much better when I got to the top. To the amusement of a group of snowboarders (ain’t that always the case?), when I tried to open the door to get outside the wind knocked me back into the room like a 300-pound offensive lineman. A fog also hung over the mountain like a misty curse, daring me to attempt to find my way around.

I’ll admit it: I briefly considered turning back. But that’s the thing about skiing; there’s so much planning, driving and schlepping involved it’s like an investment. Turning back now would liquidate all the potential profits.

So I bucked up, busted open the stubborn door and got going. What I found was surprising: Once I reached the actual mountain (as opposed to the lodge area) the wind, so torrential at the lodge, had little-to-no effect on the experience. In fact it had mostly dissipated, but while it was blowing it dispensed a thin sheen of powder across the top of the snow crust.

With a slow trickle of flakes coming down and a soft base pack, the conditions were just right for a magical early to mid-day run. And with barely a soul on the mountain, the runs were undisturbed, the snow untouched by the sticks of weekend crowds.

It’s like I always say: Don’t judge a mountain by its cloud cover.