Snow

    Waking up dreading the coming classes, open the curtains to look through the snow covered window.  The shock and joy of a new discovery, all the green replaced with white.  The blanket of snow at least a foot thick, making everything look like its been frosted.

    My mind wakes up and realises I shouldn't be still standing here.  Food, gear, and a "Morning!" to mom as I run out the door.  The truck is cold, the snow is deep, and the roads are treacherous.  The lifts frozen and covered with a foot of snow stand still waiting for Eaglecrest to open.  There are others here but we all have the same goal, to get to the top as quickly as possible.  

    The foot of powder slows down my skinning, but that's not a problem because the fun is worth the work.  The top comes into view as the hike comes to an end.  The work is done, and the fun has begun.  The skins go into my pack, the helmet goes onto my head, and the goggles come down.  The turns are soft and so are the landings.  The minutes down go by like seconds after the hour skin up.

    My day is complete, my work here is done, and it's all thanks to the snow.

Remember

This poem is one that I have loved my whole life, ever since my mom showed it to me.  To me it represents the bond between a father and son, the knowledge and skills that are passed down through time spent together.  Living here in Alaska, my dad has taught me almost every activity that I am involved in.  From skiing to hockey to fishing he has always been there to help and push me to be my best.  For this he will always have my respect and love, and this poem is a great description of that bond and the connection between the father and son.    If

If you can keep your head when all about you             Are losing theirs and blaming it on you; If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, But make allowance for their doubting too: If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies, Or being hated don't give way to hating, And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise; If you can dream---and not make dreams your master; If you can think---and not make thoughts your aim, If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster And treat those two impostors just the same:. If you can  bear to hear the truth you've spoken Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken, And stoop and build'em up with worn-out tools; If you can make one heap of all your winnings And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss, And lose, and start again at your beginnings, And never breathe a word about your loss: If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew To serve your turn long after they are gone, And so hold on when there is nothing in you Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!" If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, Or walk with Kings---nor lose the common touch, If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you, If all men count with you, but none too much: If you can fill the unforgiving minute With sixty seconds' worth of distance run, Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it, And---which is more---you'll be a Man, my son! Poem by Rudyard Kipling Picture:http://www.trailspace.com/assets/0/7/6/57462/TRIP-121-423.jpg