Like wet cats

Joel Stonington

The base of the gondola was a lost paradise Saturday morning, a deserted wasteland with only the foolish and stupid arriving to take a few wet runs.I was among the foolish and stupid. Yes, rain arrived at Aspen Saturday, in case any wussies sitting inside watching TV didn’t notice. Outside, in the wilds of Ajax, it was by far the best ski day of the year.The snow was like cement at the top and like the most viscous liquid known to humankind toward the bottom. The groomers had big, wet snowballs on them and the flat light made the steeper moguls about as fun as running through chest-deep water. The other unlucky souls I saw out there with soaked jackets and slow skis looked like cats in the rain. Until now I’ve been having major depression regarding the end of the ski season. For the most part, I’ve been on the mountain every day, and now it’s almost over. Sadness has gripped my soul.For a while, I’ve felt cocky when I walked off the mountain after a nice day of spring skiing only to see someone cruising around on a longboard or bike. Ha! I would laugh. Winter is not gone; look at the mountain. What do you see? Snow. That’s right, so get up there and enjoy it before it’s gone. What’s more fun: breathing exhaust on Highway 82 or doing laps on Ruthie’s?Saturday was a blessing though. Nature pretty much just kicked my butt. I had water on my goggles, soaked underwear, wet hair, wet everything and not much speed to make up for it because my skis were bonded to the snow like superglue.OK, OK, I said, I’m done.