This was an interesting skiing season. I got to Seven Springs just four times, and none of those visits came during the snowiest month the Pittsburgh region has ever seen. But I was able to steal two exceptional days out of those four.
I had two very good Eastern skiing days — cold, gray, with crisp, solid snow. Go fast, ski hard and finish up happy at the end of the afternoon. Can’t complain about either one.
But then I had two Colorado days, which probably count for extra. I don’t get an honest-to-god powder day out here very often, but there it was, on my first trip in January — eight inches, light, dry, clouds shooting up over your shoulder as you floated through turn after turn down North Face or Gunner or Yodeler.
And then there was Friday, when the only thing that would have kept you from mistaking Seven Springs from Snowmass was the size of the hill. Cool in the morning, warming to the mid-30s by noon, all under impossibly blue skies. I couldn’t stop smiling. I didn’t want to stop skiing.
I was perhaps being a little optimistic last week when I predicted perfection. But that’s what I got on Friday.
I’d love to go one more time this season, but if it turns out that Friday was my last skiing day of the winter, I’ll be OK with that. Because I won’t have a better day than that.