SNOW STARVATION
If snow is a
mountain’s winter clothing then Mammoth is near naked right now. I was hoping
to write a post that shouted joyously about how good the snow is. I was hoping
to complain and brag about the tons of snow I shoveled and to suggest places
and times to meet on the hill, but November through early January conditions
this year are not conducive to that kind of experience. Yes, there are a few
smooth carvey turns to be found on the mountain, but only if you start first
thing in the morning with machine-groomed corduroy, which sounds like something
only dentists can appreciate but has its perverse pleasures when nothing else
is available.
Last December it
snowed 13 feet, possibly the most ever for December-in-Mammoth, but then very
little snow came after that, a couple storms, yes, but the mountain closed
earlier than usual in spring 2013. Mammoth has traditionally had the longest
(non-glacier) ski season in North America, often ending on July 4. This season
is shaping up to be something quite bad (pardon my snow-profanity) and a road
trip might be needed. But to where? My associates at Alta/Snowbird say it’s
pretty boney there too. Maybe by middle-late January something will change. Of
course Mammoth is still an absurdly beautiful place and every dusk there’s
alpenglow pink reflecting off what little snow there is. It’s snow as
decoration, a backdrop for parties, not snow sufficient for skiing. The top of
the mountain looks amazing with no snow, all gnarly, craggy rock, very
intimidating.
It’s not like zero
joy exists on the mountain now. I rode a chairlift recently with two different
civilians who were overjoyed to simply be on skis, regardless of the
conditions. A bright-eyed San Diego man asked where I’d been skiing. Where?
There weren’t any secrets. Only a few chairlifts were open with only a few
common trails down, same with the gondola to the top. I didn’t want to bum him
out with my ski enthusiasm hovering near its lowest setting. Simply being
outside in high altitude mountain air is plenty euphoric, yes, but it’s
dangerous to wander off piste when the snow is scant (piste is French for groomed trails, off-piste is the natural
forest with snow untouched by snow cats). The San Diego man said he heard there
was a 20-something inch base. That might be true, but only where snow has been
sprayed onto trails with massive hoses. Snow making goes on all night and into
the morning. You can hear it at night. It sounds like jet planes or
sandblasting. There’s a huge igloo at the base of Canyon Lodge made out of the
fake snow, but it is yellowed and looks more like a gargantuan bio-emission.
There are days when the storms are
fierce and most people are inside marveling at the weather event, waiting for
the dumping to relent, hoping for the sun to come out and the so-called nice
day to begin. Most core skiers like it stormy and want to be in the thick of it
and are suffering tremendously right now, finding new ways to cope with a
snowless Sierra winter. Ski movies help. There’s one new one that’s worth a
connoisseur’s attention, called Into the Mind (also worthy is this, the making ofthe above mentioned movie). And this, JP Auclair’s freestyle street skiing from Sherpa Cinema’s
first movie (my interest in chess began while on an assignment in Whistler a
decade ago after watching JP play chess every night after skiing). Sherpa
Cinema has more of a naturalist’s take on ski videos which makes they tonally
different than all others, gentler, more attention paid to hallucinatory
landscapes and animals, as well as the intricate gnarliness of rock climbing
and mountaineering. Sherpa’s work also features non-macho dude music, like
actually a female vocalist sometimes, plus old Canadian people skiing powder, and
stellar camerawork pushed further than the amazing-usual, and trippy digital
editing. But ski movies can also torture the desperate skier. Skiers pine,
obsessively watch weather reports, and keep hope alive. They go inward,
dredging up all the patience inside themselves, which is only there if we can
go into powder-memory states of mind and drift back to epic days, specific
runs, perfect voluptuous lines, face shot galore. As a life rule, when it snows
I ski as much as I humanly can so when there are days, weeks, and God forbid,
months, with no new snow, I’m not devastated (but I am). And I owe it to the
mountain to not talk disparagingly about it. It’s nearly obscene to speak about
it in any other terms besides curiosity, respect, and awe.
The current Mammoth
drought is long and ominous. The general future of global snow is in jeopardy. The Dweebs, or Howard the Dweeber, Mammoth’s amateur meteorologist, thinks it
could be deep into January or February before real snow falls again, and don’t
hold your breath he also says. I learned about El Nino from the Dweebs, and La
Nina. But the other day Howard wrote that we’re experiencing La Nada.
There’s man-made
snow on most central groomers, but all off-piste skiing is tree stump laden,
rock infested. Chair 22, the steep chair just above Canyon Lodge that accesses
Lincoln Mt., a snow cone of steeps in every direction, featuring the Avie
Chutes, Viva, Grizzly Ridge and everything in between, has not spun this
season. There are rope closures at the top of Gold Rush, prohibiting scavengers
from hiking. It’s truly un-skiable. Even modest little Blue Jay is closed.
Mammoth local John
Wentworth, who appears in several paintings by Yutaka and I, said he’s pulling
out the mountain bike. Exquisite ermine are also telling me that they are
remaining brown. There’s no need to change to white since there’s no snow.
