Originally Posted by Rdy2ski
Ok I have to ask....how does one ski 90 consecutive months?
Well, in my case you start out by deciding one year that you would like to be able to say you've skied every month of the year. It helps a lot if you were living in Salt Lake City at the time, and it was even better that Utah had experienced a massive snow year.
Skiing Jan/Feb/Mar/Apr was just business as usual.
May was no problem because Snowbird was still operating.
June was no problem because the Mirror Lake highway in the Uinta Mountains had just been plowed and there was snow *everywhere* at the top of the pass. We would just skin anywhere we felt like it and ski back to the car.
July was no problem because we were able to skin and hike all the way from the Alta parking lot to nearly the top of Baldy on the morning of July 4th and ski all the way back down to the car.
That was so much fun that we went back on the first of August and were still able to get some pretty long turns in the Ballroom area under the main Baldy Chute.
For September, I had been keeping an eye on a large north-facing snowfield underneath the American Fork Twin Peaks above the Gad II chair at Snowbird. Two and a half hours of hiking and heinous boulder-hopping got me to that snowfield and some "interesting" turns, but that ticked September off the list.
October was a bit of a problem because it never snowed at all that month. It was very cold and clear, however, and Park City started making snow on the World Cup race course toward the end of October. So, we hiked up through brown, dry weeds and strung turns together on the big white whales downhill of the snow guns.
By November, Brighton and Park City had opened for business and be December everyone was going full blast.
So, that meant I had skied at least one day every month for the year of 1998 (as well as the last three months of '97). By the time summer of '99 came along, I had over 20 months logged and it just got harder and harder to stop.
We've had so much fun doing this that I really don't want to stop. I've skied way up high in the Tetons, at 13,500 feet on Castle Peak outside Aspen, on near-permanent snowfields on Beartooth Pass in Montana, and on pathetic little snow-gun droppings in some of those meager fall months. I've dodged whistling rocks falling off overhanging cliff bands and I've rattled across some of the most obnoxious sun-cupped runnels you could imagine. I've even watched a slurry-like stream of wet snow come sluicing by me after shaving all that snow off a particularly steep, sun-facing chute in June.
My all-time favorite photo of me skiing was taken by my wife in late June about four years ago up high in Big Cottonwood Canyon. Another one of my consecutive-month forays:
The miserable climbs through brush and over boulders have kind of faded into distant memory. The rattling around on junky snow has just become part of the cost of doing business.
I've had a broken shoulder, a knee surgery, and a totally blown-up elbow during these seven and a half years and have still managed to get my turns made. Half of my friends think I'm indescribably insane and the other half always want to hear where the last stupid destination was.
But during those years, we've had some incredibly fun experiences in places almost no one goes at those times of year. It's really been a blast and I hope to be able to continue for a few more years.