Thoughts as I skied today at Mad River Glen

 

A diary entry for my last day as a landowner of General Stark’s Mountain.  February 23, 2026.

First run, wait, back up. Rent the skis-boots-polls. Say Hi to Bethany (she knows me). Buy the ticket that is good from 2 pm on – then get to the ticket booth at 1:55 but it’s Stevie, he says “Hi Amanda”. He knows me. I’m still a Princess on the Mountain, for the moment. I can break rules a little. 

This is what it’s like to be Betsy’s daughter at Mad River Glen, even today. Today yes, but not tomorrow. So, today, as the last day when we own the 1100 acres next to the ski area, first run is a Cat Canyon. Boots tightened, I’m on the Catamount. It’s usually not open in December, and I know it wasn’t open last March when I visited in the ice storm, so it’s been a minute. Maybe as long as 10 years. I don’t remember how to ski but that’s OK, it’s not under the lift. Hardly anyone sees me. I’ll get my feet back under me at some point. The turns will start coming together.

Then down to Canyon. Mom loved the Canyon. I went around by the upper Bunny, skipped upper Canyon because, well, just because. It’s a steep bear. I get to the first ridge of middle Canyon, a usual place to stop, and, well, I embarrass myself. Not by my skiing. I yell “Mom!”, as if she could hear me. Day like today, if she’s anywhere, she’s on the Canyon. I don’t need eye drops to keep my eyes lubricated. No one else is coming down Canyon right now, so I probably didn’t embarrass myself too much. I thought about chasing Mom all over the ski area. Or letting her rest, maybe she doesn’t want to be chased.

Time for a double. Has to be Gazelle. My favorite trail on the Double and like Catamount, never open in December. Last time I skied it well, they hadn’t planted those trees at the second lip. OK maybe they had, but they were scrawny back then, not the 10 feet tall behemoths they are now. I don’t like them, they’re not traditional. I like them, it enables an easier way down. To paraphrase Robert Pirsig, one should ski using the least energy possible. I like them. As always, I think about how some people make a lot of turns on Gazelle going fast, and some people make wide sweeping turns going fast and claim that’s as good as making lots of turns going fast (it’s not). I go kind of slow and I make a lot of turns, but they’re not really in a line. If you watched the Olympics moguls skiers, I don’t look like that. But it’s really great. I love the Gazelle. I head over to Snail. Can’t miss Snail, love a good Snail to Periwinkle Bowl. I know that the Bowl was open in December, but it was very sketch. Now it’s all February skiing. You could call it firm. The Bowl always corns up first, and it always gets icy the next day. I choose to call it “osteogenic”. My bones are all getting rattled as I start to pick up a little speed on the bumps. Yep, that’s my ankles. My wrists. My back. Maybe I took that a little too hard. I bomb the bottom of course, who do you think I am. I need the speed to get to the single without poling. I pass a skier heading from Rockefeller’s to the double without poling. We look at each other as if to say, “I’m not crashing into you, I’m not an idiot”. What run comes next on the last day I own the land next to the ski area?

Life’s short: skip Birdland. I head up the single to the Chute. My reasoning is, I’m not chasing Mom down her favorite trails, I’m going for mine. Who knows? Next year I may be dead – or, far more likely, my endocrinologist will have told me “No More Skiing Bumps”. I take the Chute. I am surprised it is relatively soft, softer than Canyon. I think the warm weather yesterday (up to 35F) didn’t soften/then harden the upper half of the mountain. Softer than Periwinkle Bowl for sure. And nobody’s really been on it. It’s skiing very nicely. People see me, and they think “Look! Chute is not that hard! Even that old lady is coming down it fairly well”. I think that’s what they’re thinking, because first I was the only one on it, but by the time I got to midstation, half a dozen people had joined me. The first ones even catching up with me. Now what? Chute Glade? Lets. Be. Reasonable. Lower Gazelle. Give me a little breather. Down that damn middle Gazelle. The place I took that jump, crashed, and some ski patroller laughed his head off. So embarrassing (I was like 17). The snow is nice, hasn’t been too skied off. Of course I take the right side, like I always did skiing behind Drew. I end the run with S-turns, thinking about that gorgeous arc the skis make as you pull gees – first one way then the other (it’s an S after all).

I contemplate my next selection as I ride up the double. Slalom Hill or another Canyon? Mom did love the Slalom hill, the last of her ashes are buried at the base. It’s a kind of a horcrux or hallows moment, and I think, this is for me, not Mom. She had her day. I don’t have to pay homage with a slalom hill, that trail is a pain in the ass to get to. I take a Fox to Full Canyon. I feel like she’s joining me this run on the Canyon. She’s not in the wind so I don’t call out for her this time. She’s not in the trees, she didn’t tree ski. She’s the soft snow in the valleys between the moguls that helps you get down. She’s the unexpected line. I try Rockefeller’s, but it is icy with no moguls. Typical Rockefeller's in February, I should have known it wasn't worth it.

In a Business Meeting

Last run, maybe, it's 3:30 or so. My phone starts ringing near the top tower on the Single. Who the hell has their phone ringing on the chairlift? Oh, it's me. I’m not going to answer that. I’m thinking of leaving a message, “Sorry I couldn’t take your call, I was in a business meeting” as I side step up to Fall Line. The thing I have to say about Fall Line is it’s a damn sight easier in 156 cm skis. When I turned 60, I kind of decreed to myself, short is beautiful and you don’t need to struggle with 165 cm. You don’t have the muscle mass. And the shorter the ski, the easier it is to get through those tight alleys of turns. Another maxim to help me down: Ski as if you’re renting (always!). The pedant in me explains that line: always go for broke, don’t worry if your edge hits a rock. I wouldn’t say I exactly flew down Fall Line. I stop and take a few pictures. Yeah, OK, I’m also catching my breath. But I don’t skip the Creamery. I finish with a Porcupine. I’ve earned an easy cruiser.

3:56. I could get on again. But discretion etc etc Live to ski another day etc etc. For sure. Tomorrow, I won’t own the land next to the ski area any more. If I ski tomorrow, no asking for favors from Stevie. I’ll still be my mother’s daughter, but I won’t be Betsy the Steward of the Mountain’s daughter. It’s time to move on.