As temperatures decline on their way to winter’s lows, my mind can’t help but look forward to the snow that is to come and back on the season that went before. Unlike some of Utah’s recent winters, our last deserves a little reflection.

The snow last season was just what snow should be, plenteous and frequent. However, those adjectives could also be applied to the crowds up the Cottonwood Canyons. Why so many resort patrons? Well, since you asked so nicely. In a word, Ikon. The resorts are turning snow sports into commodities like massive mountain Costcos. I get that profits must be made, but I’m not sure this is the answer. Still, as St. Flake 3:8 states, “No earthly impediment shall halt the hallowed quest for powder.”

We first hit the slopes on a Sunday in the early part of January. We headed up to Brighton shortly after 8:00, and the line to turn into the canyon was already longer than a hotdog on a Smartie. It took us two hours to get to the resort, and, after all that, the parking lot filled up a car or two before us. Hence, we had to hike about a mile with our boards to reach the lifts. Yet, despite all the vehicles, the runs and lifts weren’t crowded. Maybe eating burgers in a lodge is the new thing you go to the resorts for? The powder was high with 12 inches in 24 hours and 17 more accumulating while we were there. Runs that are usually groomed were not, so we experienced plenty of the unrivalled joy of dipping into unplowed flakes. However, our ride home did not bring us joy. It extended to just over two hours due to a couple accidents in the canyon. I would have been bitter about spending more time on the road than the mountain that day, but we’d had too much fun to complain.

A couple weeks later, we convinced four of our friends to skip work and join us at Brighton. Why anyone would need convincing with 13 inches overnight, 24 inches in 24 hours, and a storm total of 45 inches is beyond me. Owing to accidents and plowing in Big Cottonwood, it took us about four hours to reach the resort, a new longest-drive record. This isn’t golf, so no need to clap politely about that. We took one of the last spots in the parking lot and didn’t get on the lift until after 1:00. The weather was surprisingly pleasant as eight more inches fell during the day. We focused on Rachel’s Run for most of the afternoon. Did I ever tell you that a specific route at Brighton is named after me? Well, at least five or six people on this planet know it by that name. My favorite moment of the day wasn’t on my run though. During a lift ride, a girl exclaimed to our friend J.R., a man who is always in the middle of chaos, “So much disfunction!” This was regarding his clumsy tactics trying to get on the lift and put his board on the rest bar. Even after her bantering, he somehow trapped his board beneath mine as we were exiting, which nearly caused a pileup. This dude is a snowboarding veteran of over 20 years, which makes his disfunction all the funnier and more confounding.

By the beginning of February, Brighton’s base depth was around 100 inches. Eight inches overnight convinced us to come up for a half day on a Tuesday. The storm total was nearly 40 inches following the additional seven that drifted on us throughout that morning. We got first tracks on part of Rachel’s Run, but after just hours, we were frozen… kind of literally. I developed “ice butt,” a sheet of ice that solidified on the seat of my pants. Yup, I became a pants popsicle.

On a Monday near the end of March, we visited Brighton again. The base depth was 130 inches. There wasn’t much powder, but we were there for the sunshine. We got it. Temperatures in the high 30s prompted us to shed jackets halfway through the day. Sunshine doesn’t bring in the crowds like powder, so we didn’t have to fight swarms off with our less-layered elbows. Although I’ve been to Brighton probably 50 times, I had never gone on the Milly Express until this day. Shocking! We spent about half of our time there on runs like Backdoor, Backbone, and Main Street.

A couple of weeks later, Brighton returned to winter. A storm left 17 inches in 24 hours and 24 inches in 48. We braved temperatures between the mid-teens and mid-twenties along with a vicious wind that sent bursts of frigid air under our coats and up our icicled nostrils. The nastiness must have made some less disposed to strap on skis or boards because we didn’t have to wrestle with any alligators that day. We were on the lift 15 minutes after the resort opened, and we got first tracks through all my favorite powder places on Rachel’s Run. (Okay, I’ll confess one part had one track through it already.) Awesome!

On July 4^th, we slid down the slopes again. That’s right, I said July 4^th baby! Snowbird was able to hang onto its snow just long enough to be open on the fourth this year. The pack was considerably more questionable than the last time Snowbird was open on the 4^th eight years ago. Only the Little Cloud lift and the tram were operating. Evidentially, virtually no one was dissuaded by this. We arrived around 9:30, just half an hour after the resort opened. Yet, it took over 45 minutes to get tickets and over an hour to wind through the tram line. Others waiting decided to utilize this time to consume a beer breakfast. As the tram rose to Hidden Peak, patriotic ditties were belted out by skiers and boarders who were already quite drunk. After all that, we savored our hard-earned ride down a slushy run that was missing snow in numerous places. It was a memorable experience though, rocks and lines and all.

And that concludes my comments about the previous season on Utah’s slopes. Please join me in preparing for the season ahead with a prayer:

May the flurries drift endlessly from heaven’s great snowbank.
May the throngs be ever hungry for burgers and beers at the lodge.
May the fluffy bliss of powder stay with me forever.
Amen