Deconstruction.

One last run for the season up around Graves Peak, and that's it. There's still plenty of snow out there, but I'm bumping up against the Law of Diminishing Returns. Plus, 'somebody' claims it's time to pursue other activities.

(Trying to find an entrance to Colt Creek Cirque. July 4)

Back home, I emptied a season's worth of pine needles and food wrappers out of the stinking daypack and set my disgusting boot liners up for a long soak. I cleaned and dried the boot shells, shovel, probe, and other odds and ends, and took stock of things: scratches on the skis, worn buckles on the boots, sap on the skins. Backcountry skiing is hard on gear, and patrolling proved to be even harder. I try to have just one piece of everything, so each piece gets used a lot.

For the last 20 or so years I've kept track of my seasonal skiing. This year totaled 69 days -- six more than last year and 18 more than the year before. So good times all around.

We're taking the kid on his first camping trip this weekend.

A season's parting shot: