Pigs get fed, hogs get slaughtered

Rachel is about as tolerant as a wife can be of my habit of getting up at 4:30 to go skiing. But since I’d gone the last two days in a row, she wasn’t too keen on letting me go a third, especially since we’ve got plans for this evening, and she doesn’t want me to be a zombie.

But the lure of powder day number 30 was just too strong, and in the end she was just too nice. I should have listened to her. Like I’ve never said that before.

Snow on the South-facing aspects was crusty. On the skin track up, we got passed by the Samurai who commented, “this snow sucks.”

Nevertheless, we had high hopes that the North-facing stuff on the other side of the ridge would have been protected. What was spared from the sun got nuked by the wind. Even in the trees it was wind-jacked.

But any skiing is better than not skiing. And since we were hiking, at least I got my workout for the day.