Serenity - Part One

It was cold that New Year's Eve of 1984. Jackson, Wyoming had a week of sub-zero temperatures, and all of us teenagers scurried from our hotel to the town's restaurant and back with the buzz of the bus engines that stayed on all night, for they would not start in the morning otherwise. The frigid night set the stage for two feet of heavenly white the next day.

Jackson Hole was the epitome of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. The right half was nicely groomed, with carefully placed chairlifts and just the right elevation and grading to create a world-class ski resort for most. The left half was a untouched beast, serviced by a one-at-a-time red tram.

My body ached from being squeezed inside the miserable, humid, cramped gondola that made 12 minute trips from the base to four-thousand feet into the sky. I was alone which suited me just fine. At a young age, I was fortunate enough to recognize White Carpe Diem, while my colleagues trotted away to comfort. The ride up must of been spectacular to see, but the early morning sunshine made a sauna in the gondola, to which the windows fogged.

I exited the gondola to a frigid cold. If you have never experienced it, nothing is colder than the top of mountain in the dead of winter on a beautifully sun shining day. Perhaps it is in the mind, but it is much colder than a cloudy, snowy day. The goal is to leave the top as quickly as possible.

I did not know until I planted my boots into my skis and looked down that I was fortunate to be on the first gondola of the morning. There were NO tracks. This is so rare. As a former ski instructor, I can attest that just about any other day during the winter, the ski patrol, ski instructors, ski personnel, whomever associated with the resort, would get first crack as such a wonderful field of snow. Not today! They must of gotten up slowly this morning after staying up all night.

I fell many times, laughing and carrying on like a little boy. It was glorious! Halfway down the run, I soared over a drift and sank to my chin to which I tumbled over and over until I stopped in a squatting position, skis still in tact. I unbuckled my boots and pulled out a granola bar. I could see for miles from the south-facing rocky mountain top. The scene was beautiful, a cloudless sky, and not a sound from anywhere. Nothing. I imagined that this is what heaven would feel and sound like.

I peered down at the vast valley below and spotted movement in the perfectly smooth white surface that was probably a 40-acre field. For 20 minutes I watched a snow cat tractor write Happy New Year in the snow, as if it was written just for me. To this day, I have not experienced anything more serene.