So I am awoken at seven am by the usual exceptionally loud snow clearing truck that circles the car park under my window. He's out there every morning beeping away with his back gate unlatched so that it clangs repeatedly against the back of the truck. I groan and press my pillow over my head and try to drift back to sleep. One by one I hear my housemates get up for work and add their clattering and rustling to the rhythmic banging outside until the cacophony is too much and I roll over and sit up. The sudden movement jars my head and I groan and grope for the glass of questionable water on my bedside table, downing it in one in the hope that it will clear the fuzziness engulfing my brain. Last nights 'few beers' turned into an overly competitive - and rather lengthy - Flip Cup tournament and now my brain hurts. But since I'm awake before my alarm I throw back the duvet and trudge downstairs for that cure all – a mug of strong tea. I offer up silent thanks to the tea gods for making Tetley available in Canada and feeling a bit more alive I hug my mug to me and survey the damage to the lounge.
Upturned plastic cups everywhere I look, beer cans masquerade as carpet, bags of crisps strewn around and sticky puddles on every surface. I sigh, then brighten slightly I as I see someone's kindly donated a half bottle of gin and the best part of a lime to our house by way of forgetting to claim them when they left. I start half heartedly shifting cans around and picking up beer bottles when I hear the electronic chirrup of my alarm kicking in from upstairs. I drop the bottles and dash upstairs to turn it off. Clean up duty can definitely wait, there was new snow last night and I have fresh tracks to make.
I dress quickly socks, thermals, impact shorts, shirt, snow pants, wrist guards, and jacket. Layer by layer I gear up and head back downstairs rubbing sleep from my eyes. I fill my pockets with cereal bars, grab my helmet and head to the boot room, stepping into my boots I check my pockets for my keys and headphones, grab my board and head out the door, it slams shut behind me dead on eight o'clock.
It takes but five minutes to reach the lift that starts running at eight thirty. If you want to be on the first chair you've got to be there at eight fifteen, if its snowed the night before it's eight am or earlier. I check my watch and curse my groggy head making me move slowly this morning. I trudge down my road up a snow bank and stop to strap on my board for a short ride to the lift, the other footprints in the snow are a bad sign, I'm not the first one out today, and as I come around the corner I spot the small crowd gathered at the lift. I do a quick count, six people ahead of me, that's second chair for me. Not bad I guess, I take my spot in the queue and settle myself on the railing, unwrap a breakfast cereal bar and watch the lifties getting the chairs ready for the day ahead. A whoop goes up as the chairs start moving but dies down quickly we know we won't be allowed through for a while yet. The queue slowly builds behind me and I wave to a few people I know, they wave back but make no move to come forward and join me, the rules of the lift line being what they are.
I finish my second cereal bar and reach down to tighten my boots, the time is eight twenty seven, and we should be moving any minute now. A good natured boo runs through the crowd as a ski patroller cuts down the side of the fence and hops on a chair, he waves at us sympathetically as he is propelled up the hill. Then the gates are opening and the first four early risers are through and on their way then its my turn with my three new chair buddies we take a seat and we're off. We pass the time checking out the snow we can see from the lift and discussing which side of the mountain will be the best powder today, its not a debate, they've just arrived and are still figuring out the map, I've been here all season and I know the lie of the land, I give them some good hints but there's no way I'm letting them in on all my secrets. As the lift nears the top we take our leave of each other and head off our separate ways.
I'm off the lift and strapped in fast and then I'm cruising off making fresh tracks down an untouched run. The powder is deep and it's spraying up behind my board as I shoot along making big wide lazy turns, I stretch my arms out and I feel like I'm flying. The only sound is my board on the snow and I'm convinced I'm the only person on the mountain. I arrive at another lift and am the first one of the day to hop on it. I head up the mountain and cruise off down another perfect run that takes me to the outer edges of the trail map. I get four or five untouched runs in before the rest of the world starts to catch up. Each time I head up a lift I pick another direction and keep one step ahead of the crowd. Alas all good things must end and eventually the groomed runs are covered in my tracks and others. I check the time, nine thirty, and plenty more time before work I hop on a chair lift and head back up, time to head into the trees, an as yet untapped resource of snow.
"The only sound is my board on the snow and I'm convinced I'm the only person on the mountain..."
I'm at the top of the lift when my phone beeps and some late starting friends are coming out to play and want to know where I am. I let them in on my plans and before long they're funnelling off the lift and strapping up next to me. We all agree that some tree runs are the best plan of action and one man; Mark speaks up about a sweet spot he found in the glades yesterday. We're all game for something new and we convoy off through the forest hot on his lime green and purple tail. I switch my music on for this part and my powerhouse seventies playlist kicks in. I'm winding through the trees, ducking and dodging and trying my hardest to keep him in sight, stay on my feet and not collide with any trees to the strains of Def Leppard.
Mark was right about these glades the terrain is steep and the trees are well spaced in places and tight in others keeping us on our toes, and the ground rolls and bumps in endless undulations that have us soaring up and down and speeding along this, natures roller coaster. I will confess to taking a tumble or two when the ground took me by surprise and once when a tree got far too close for comfort, I fall and roll again and again in this endless powder. I'm trying to push myself back up to my feet but my hands find no purchase under the snow and struggling back up with snow down my neck and in my pants and in my helmet and I swear even in my socks, this is the most exhausting part of my day.
We ride through these trees again and again picking new lines each time and just as my friends are starting to think of stopping for breakfast I check the time and sigh, some of us have to go to work. I take my leave and returning to the groomed runs (now tracked and messily unrecognisable from the smooth serenity I rode not long ago) I take my last run homeward.
I get to my door at eleven am and I'm in work at twelve. I ditch my board, boots, jacket, gloves and jog upstairs throwing my snow pants over the banister to dry, I grab my towel. I'm in and out of the shower in fifteen minutes and searching for my uniform, a brief glance at which tells me I need to do some laundry, a theory soon proved by an unsuccessful hunt for clean socks. Eleven thirty and I'm downstairs throwing kitchen implements around as I make beans on toast and brew my second tea of the day. I eat surrounded by last night's mess and I add my breakfast dishes to it as I grab my pre-made lunch from the fridge, pick up my bag and the door bangs behind me dead on eleven forty five. A five-minute walk the opposite way to the ski lift sees me to the gondola that will drop me at the retail store that is my work. I saunter in the door at 11.55 because you know “if you're on time, you're late!” drop my bag, gab my vest and I'm on the clock.
I work in a ski apparel retail store. We sell skis, boards, jackets, pants, helmets, goggles, gloves and everything you need that you forgot for your day on the hill. The majority of my day however is generally spent selling souvenir t-shirts and Advil. I also talk to people about the weather a lot. In fact a vast amount, I read somewhere that the average British person talks about the weather for a total of fourteen years of their life. In a ski resort this for sure must be doubled. With each customer I discuss the depth of the snow base, what snow fell yesterday, what snow is falling today, what snow may fall tomorrow. We compare the temperatures, conditions, powder of this year and last and every year before. We comment on other resorts, nearby and half a world away, how their season's going, what their snow base is looking like, whether it has snowed/is snowing/will snow there. It gets old fast but occasionally someone will tell you something you haven't heard before, or have a good tip on when and where to ride a certain area, some of these people have been at this resort since it opened and are a wealth of local information.
My day ticks by, I spend the first hour or so deconstructing my mornings riding for the people who had to start at eight or nine. They sigh wistfully, but will happily clock off at five for night skiing whilst I'm working till eight. At around two I go for a coffee run, its not strictly my turn but Kayleigh hasn't been near the coffee stand in two weeks due to some lingering awkwardness between her and the head barrister following a rather eventful toga party. I don't mind taking her turn, but I do take the opportunity to crack a few jokes about her and her Roman until she fires a well-aimed elastic band at me and I raise my hands in submission and head out of the store.
We gossip between customers and t-shirt folding, discussing the events of last night and our plans for later. Most people are heading to the pub as its Wings Night and that always draws a good crowd. I say I'm probably going to have a quiet one since I can still feel last night throbbing at the back of my brain, but as the day draws on I feel more and more inclined to go for a beer, just one though and then I'll head home.
When eight o'clock rolls around the last few staff members and myself shut up shop and get ready to head out. I'm unprepared but find a spare snowboard logo t-shirt in the cloakroom and throw it on in place of my work shirt and leaving my bag in the office I take my keys, phone and wallet and head to the pub. The five o'clokers are already there having come straight in from night riding. They have several large pitchers of beer on the table and are all intent upon cheering on a guy from the rental shop who is attempting The Wing Challenge. Every Wednesday if you can eat one hundred wings in one hundred minutes your wings are free! Also you get pride and minor legend status around the mountain. This guy is up to the seventies but looking pretty sick about it. Sure enough, round about the eighty fourth wing, he gags, drops the wing he's holding and pushes the plate away, giving up on his shot at immortality (in the wings world). The pub erupts into good-natured booing and catcalls and we laughingly turn back to the matter in hand, beer drinking. My 'just one drink' concept has been shot down instantly and I'm plied with beer from all sides, then some bright spark orders tequila, shortly after, Jager bombs and I give up the fight, I'm clearly here for the long haul I may as well get in the spirit.
Apparently in my mind this equates to hitting the dance floor and I'm soon up there busting out my best (remarkably awkward) moves to the live band that's taken the stage. My crowd takes over the dance floor and with a few more rounds of shots and a lot of photos that I know I won't want to see in the morning, the night passes quickly. Soon the lights are coming up and we're being corralled out of the door with a quick stop to buy a slightly dodgy meat pie from the doorman, we're out into the night.
With much giggling and some falling over we make our way down the slippery snow banks towards home. The gondola closed several hours ago but thankfully it's all down hill from here. We drop off several members of the crowd at various houses along the way, some going to their own homes some heading to after parties elsewhere, they invite me along but I am intent upon my bed. I fall over just once on a tricky patch of ice and am hauled back upright by several hands and still laughing I am deposited at my door. I wave to my friends shouting that I'll see them bright and early for work, yep I have the eight thirty shift tomorrow, boo, but its not snowing tonight so I wont be missing fresh powder. I let myself in and the door closes behind me for the last time at one thirty. I survey the chaos that still engulfs the kitchen and resolve to do something about it tomorrow. I stumble upstairs, strip off my work trousers and borrowed t-shirt and flop down on my bed, just about remembering to set my alarm before I drift off to sleep. My last though as I slip away is that I still haven't managed to do any laundry, I really must make time for that soon.
"My 'just one drink' concept has been shot down instantly and I'm plied with beer from all sides..."
Written by Anita Gait who worked a season in Big White with The Working Holiday Club.