Days 46, 47, and 48.

Day 46.

It's up early to Lolo Pass. Four wheel drive to get into the lot; and a bit of trailbreaking on the way up. About 9 I can hear people below -- mostly snowmobilers on the slope they call Nascar, but then at 10 I meet two young girls on rented AT gear. They ask if they should descend north or south?



Day 47.

We take a mini-break to Helena, stay in a decent hotel, watch too much TV, and round up to Great Divide, another of Montana's lovably taped-together ski areas with lots of terrain, scrappy facilities, and dirt cheap prices: we got a single ticket for $28, put it on one jacket, and took turns skiing and watching the gordito.







Meanwhile, the plott hound's had a limp getting worse for the past few weeks. I took her to the vet after work. Bad news. She won't be around much longer.



Day 48.

Despite the dwindling pack down low, conditions at Marshall are improving. The pack below 5000 feet has gone isothermal and even when its slushy it's supportable underneath. Monday's clear evening revealed northward swing of the sun: twilight now lasts until 8.45 pm.





Last year's season clocked 63 days on skis, but then again it did last until mid-July. I strongly doubt this season will go as far into summer as last did, but I'm still on track for a big year. Let's hope spring slows down.

So on I swept with threshing oar.

So, winter comes to an end, if that sorry season we just had can truly be called winter. A few warm days and the snow melts back to piles by the mailbox and a few patches safe in the shadows. A few warm days and boys play soccer in the street in t-shirts and everyone goes to get their bikes tuned and already Snowbowl has stopped spinning the lifts on Tuesdays. 48 degrees, 50, 53. I call about a lawn fertilizer service. Someone comes and chops down the pathetic ash in the front yard. The cars get washed.



We gain light at the rate of 4 minutes a day. Everywhere in the world south of us still has a longer day at this point, but still we get civil twilight at just after 6 in the morning and until after 7 at night. So there's enough time now to make work of the mountains after work. I called the owner of old Marshall Mountain and get permission to tresspass past the no tresspassing signs.



Like many mountains, Marshall is often beguiling on the ascent and a horror on the way down. On Tuesday I make good time up but of course what I think is the top is not the top. An hour later I turn in and start down, and on the way down falling, face planting, losing skis, and generally getting quite worked. I made it down in complete darkness and was quite happy to retreat to the sale aisle at Albertson's to hunt for dinner.



Mountains = good = things I like = climbing = climbing up the mountain = hiking to the point and back = hiking up the mountain + pain + cramped thighs + sun swinging around the southern horizon = swing around the ponderosa = snow lying light in the shadows = snow light in the shadows + crust in the sun = up too early in the morning + one more cup cup cup of coffee and the truck idling = all part of the experience, or whatever.



So on I swept with threshing oar. I head up to the snowbowl to practice being a patroller. I like being on the mountain a full day without actually having to climb it. We sweep open, patrol, drink coffee in the hut, argue over bullshit, and sweep to close. Sometimes it's a nice day, sometimes you may as well be on Everest. Pictures don't really capture the feeling.





And sometimes we meet in the bar.





Yes, he's typing already.