An Excellent Adventure

Part One:
A Late Start

You might not know this but I am a skiing fanatic. (I cannot be classified as a ski bum because I have a steady job.) Even though I started skiing with my family when I was very young, six years old or so, my addiction began when my son expressed an interest in skiing. He was nine. After a career change and a series of low paying jobs, I finally had a job and income that would allow me to buy used equipment for myself and my son. We skied for two years before that, renting our skies, boots and poles. We could only go up to the mountain a few times a year because of the cost. Then our local ski resort, White Pass, started selling adult season passes for $200.00. The stars were aligned! We bought equipment and passes and started skiing like there was no tomorrow. Every weekend, rain or shine, between Thanksgiving and April 30. It was a wonderful time for father and son and we created many lasting memories. I watched him develop into a strong young man and we honed our mountain skills together. Along the way we skied in Oregon, British Columbia, Idaho and other resorts in Washington. We also picked up a skiing buddy in my cousin Chris. She is about my age and also a skiing addict. More recently, after my son went off to college in the flat lands of the Midwest, Chris and I would drive up the mountain together sharing the gas expense and many childhood memories.

Last weekend I stayed home and did yard work. It was the first time I had missed a Saturday skiing in a long time. All this week I had been watching the mountain weather on the Internet. It snowed almost every day at the higher elevations of the Cascades and the temperatures were dropping. The poor fruit growers in the Yakima Valley were keeping watch on their thermometers by night but I was filled with anticipation. The forecast was for four inches of new snow on Friday and another six on Saturday with the high temp not expected above 30. I called Chris on Thursday. No go; she had Easter preparations. The forecast held and I was set.

A little explanation is in order here. This time of year the snow conditions and weather can be dicey in the Cascades. Snow conditions and weather are two separate things, not always related. Without boring you with the details, spring skiing can bring beautiful sunny weather but unskiable snow conditions. On the other hand a storm can bring foul weather but fantastic snow conditions. There are lots of variables. I much prefer the latter and will take good snow over good weather any day. Three weeks before, I was skiing in 45 degree weather so I was more than a little excited at the prospect of this spring storm and low temps.

I rolled out of bed at 8:30. Mrs. Yak likes her rest on Saturday mornings, besides when one has a season pass one can afford to be leisurely. I went to the computer to check the blogs. I was burning up the time and I would regret it later but I had to publish a few comments and read a few emails. I looked out the window to the west; the foothills were socked-in stormy, the balsam root was in bloom on the nearby hillsides and an American Goldfinch was singing his three-variant song in a tree next to the house. I watched and listened for a minute. I knew this was going to be a great day! The doorbell rang. Ciro (possibly the subject of a future post) had stopped by to check on the new valve box he had installed for me. We chatted and he left. I needed to get moving.

I threw my gear and clothes into the venerable Nissan, brought Mrs. Yak the paper and was off…to the gas station and the latte stand. After a fill-up and a hazelnut latte from Miss Pippi Longstocking, the cute redhead at my favorite drive-through, I set out west on Highway 12. The Mariners were on the radio, playing the Red Socks at Fenway. It was the first inning and Joel Pinero was in a jam. I accelerated to 60 miles an hour.

“Here’s the payoff pitch. Its high and outside! He walked him!”

I crossed the Naches-Tieton River at Painted Rocks. Two more stop lights to go. (Between my house and White Pass there are exactly two stop lights unless I get a latte from Pippi. Then there are five.)

The Valley’s stone fruits are in
bloom: apricots, nectarines and peaches. So are the ornamentals: pears, cherries and plums. It’s a kaleidoscope of pinks and whites and purples as I rocket by. Up here in the northern end of the Valley, the cherries, apples and pears are not out yet. Maybe another week or two. The roadside fruit stands are shuttered after the close of the fall season but their signs still call out to passing motorists:

FRUIT 1000 FEET
WALLA WALLA SWEETS
PEACH SMOOTHIES
FRESH CHERRIES

I glance at the thermometer. It’s 45 degrees. A week ago it was that warm at the top of the pass and I haven’t even left the valley floor! I knew I should have left earlier but I tell myself that every Saturday.

David Ortiz singles to the gap in right.

I just went though the last stop light, (it was green). I’ll soon be out of cell range so I call Mrs. Yak to tell her goodbye. I grumble about paying $2.79 a gallon for gas. I’ll call her again at 4:30, on the same stretch of road, on my way back. This too is a Saturday ritual.

I’ve gone ten miles. In a few minutes I’ll see my little friends again and travel the Milky Way.

(To be continued.)