Good Thing

I've heard the adage about getting too much of a good thing... but I'm not sure I ever bought into it – until I had to drive busloads of tourists and locals up and down blizzard roads in a white out this week with the fatiguing knowledge that this storm was just the tip of the iceberg.

“I can't see the road at all. It's total white out,” I stressfully whispered to my Mountain Express supervisor. On the way up I passed several large southern tour buses projecting sideways from towering snowbanks and multitudes of cars ejected into the vast tundra of uniform white. Steely-faced and serious he offered, “Use the Force,” then turned and headed to help yet another who was snow blind and stranded. I knew I was in for a long night as the skies slammed us relentlessly in answer to the collective prayers for deep powder.

Judging from the zombie pallor on the faces of Crested Butte's labor force, who hadn't been able to catch their breath since early December, after the lifts opened and the big snow first flew, the exhilaration of finally having work after the drought of off-season was beginning to wear off. Most working the normal 2 to 3 jobs to financially exist in paradise were already taxed to the max. More snow meant more work, more tourists, more Butte Bashers.... double-time shoveling for all and less time to hit the slopes. The anticipation of the ropes dropping on the deep steeps was sustaining the hopes, but many of the lifts were sporadically closed from high winds for a few days. The Masters of Explosion, the ski patrol, were busy contemplating control – overloaded with the white stuff, it could be awhile before some of the favorites would be safely opened.

Cozy in front of the fire, my first real day off, the snow mounting well above the upper sashes of my windows, I stare at my new ski gear wondering when I'll actually be able to use it between the work load, my lacking ski ability level, zero visibility and the force 4 gale winds. A thunderous snow slide from the 3-story roof sends the cat jumping in one long jolt into the closet. As the windows rattle and the foundation shakes I'm reminded that I live in an outdoor-oriented community for a reason – for the extreme of it all. I bundle up, tunnel out from my home, load up the kicksled and head off to the cafe for a visionary espresso to assist in redefining how much is too much. In Crested Butte, when it comes to fluffy, endorphin inducing crystalline snow, it’s a lot like eating too much chocolate… overwhelmed with too much of a good thing, you addictively have to have more.