Winter. It is a season of monochrome landscapes and muscular skies. The tempests rage unchecked, strange energies unleashed. (Yesterday, in Massachusetts, we had rain, snow, thunder, blinding snow squalls, and sun.)
This is not complaint. This is only a recitation of experience, and a recognition of some of the best skiing I could imagine. It always comes encumbered with strings. This is not complaint.
Our plane took off from Denver to Aspen last week. The approach to the airport was through clouds and snow. I understood that it was a missed approach when the plane began to ascend. "Well, folks" our pilot informed, "we got to 1200 feet of the runway, with no visibility, so we are headed back to Denver."
Storms were forecast for the next 36 hours. A rapid and serendipitous alliance with the husband and wife in the seats behind us got all of us a car and driver to Snowmass.
United Airlines was worse than worthless. No voucher for alternative transportation. Empty promises of future flights were voiced. (No flights got into Aspen until 48 hours later.) We asked that our luggage come off the plane. Despite knowing WHERE it was and WHERE it should go (a carousel at the airport like any other flight? No.) United lost our bags forever. We found them after the second trip back to the airport because our seat mates had spotted the bags and called to alert us. The United Airlines website still has no idea where the luggage is.
I never say anything like, "How can this get WORSE?". I do not tempt the gods. This is not complaint.
We had wonderful camaraderie during the drive to the hotel. I was reminded, yet again, of the importance of networks and alliances.
There were powder days. Epic powder, past mid-shin, pushed up over our knees as we whooped down the mountain. I yipped in glee. My howls were echoed by others who understood and joined in voice.
Bluebird days, swooping down exquisite, pillowed surfaces. One recognizes the grace of being alive and surefooted.
The snow changes from cloud to cloud, breeze to wind. Cold, grey, tiny slivers pierce our cheeks on the lift, merciless winds driving them deeper, harder. I bow my chin to protect exposed skin.
Gentle, soft, drifting flakes, eddying on the capricious wind, swirling and laughing along with us. Branches hold heavier loads than are possible, then release the snow with soft *thops* as wind and gravity play amongst them. I tried to capture pictures of this. I could not.
I brought five WIPs. Airplane knitting, conference knitting, apres-ski knitting, and still, I brought too many. I made lots of progress on many things, and have no FOs.
The colorwork required too much dexterity from muscles that had grown weary in other pursuits. The Chevron scarf was on a needle too small, and needs to be frogged.
The Whippletree Yarn Shop in Woodstock, VT had mill-spun llama yarn two years ago. Mr. Etherknitter chose his colors: cafe au lait, and cappuchino. I swatched multiple stitch patterns (five?). They all dealt poorly with switching colors. Ruth suggested mistake rib, and it was magic. I started with 19 rows, and am increasing each band by 2 additional rows. It is a soft, sumptuous bit of knitting.
It is a coincidence that this project also came from the Whippletree Shop. It is Green Mountain Spinnery's Ivy Hat pattern from 1982. Classic Elite Renaissance, two inches of ribbing then folded up for a total of four inches, cable pattern x remaining yarn plus 13 decrease rows. I'm already beginning to sweat the yarn remaining.
The Noro sock is at the heelflap stage. I switched from 1's back to 0's, and can barely see the fluffy stitches on tiny needles. This was not good conference knitting. I opted to not attempt bringing metal dpns onto the plane. It isn't even good car knitting at this point.
The flights home were effortless and smooth.
The ski area is renowned for its customer service. 
