During my first few years of living in Vail, Colorado, life was exciting and new. I was newlywed, and even though I still missed living in the city at times, I was beginning to enjoy the ski mountain town lifestyle. I was with the man I loved more than life itself and by my second and third seasons I could snowboard with some ability so would easily get swept up in the excitement of the coming winter season.

One year, in late November,  Colorado had been blessed with plenty of early-season snow, and the mountain was preparing to open early, this created a buzz amongst the locals, and a thick white blanket of snow covered everything. Businesses were open and people were pouring into town to find work, it was always a good time to catch up with friends you had not seen since the end of the previous ski season, the ones who would return to their hometowns for the summer and work until it was time to head back to the snow. The internationals were not back yet, as they did not usually arrive until the mountain had opened. 

Going to the local bars at this time of the year was a low-key party, it was exciting to run in to run into friends you haven’t seen for months. But only by nursing your drink, as we were all broke because the mountain wasn’t open, and there were no tourist dollars yet. 

 After work one evening, my sister Michelle, husband Jason, and I had headed over to Garfinkels which was a popular bar with a huge outdoor area that faced the mountain, it was a full moon and as we sat outside smoking, the whole scene was breathtaking, the sky was clear and bright, the moon hanging low like a giant beautiful light in the sky, the snow sparkled as if it had a sprinkling of glitter and the white reflected the moon brilliantly. It didn’t matter that it was only 6:30 pm, it felt like midnight, and it was incredible. The evergreens were tall and dark and you could hear the river at the base of the mountain bubbling and gurgling. It was the sort of scene you drank in trying to remember every single detail, it was going to be a good ski season!

As we headed back inside we spotted our friend Pooch, who had just returned from California, he was multi-talented and charming and was a regular long-time employee of Lion Square Lodge. He was older than us, and a charming rogue, as he was often referred to. By everyone. Tall and with blue eyes, and a wicked sense of humor, he regularly had ladies of all ages and their husbands asking for him to be their ski valet. He regularly pulled the most tips at the bell stand followed only by my own charming scallywag of a husband. 

Pooch could be the biggest flirt and regularly got away with saying the craziest, most risque stuff to whoever, and then got tipped for it.

Being able to be a good ski valet or bellman is an underappreciated skill in a ski town, the ability to lug people’s gear because heaven forbid they carry their own while maintaining witty conversation easily translates into generous tips. When Pooch and Jason worked ski valet or the bell stand together they would regularly make a few hundred dollars each in tips alone. 

After a token welcome back to town round of shots, we were back outside, smoking. 

We stood in awe of the bright moonlight and the crisp mountain air. The mountain rose in front of us glowing and sparkling under the moonlight. We started talking about how cool it would be to get into the backcountry on a night like that.

The night was alive, electric. The stark freezing beauty held us all captivated. Then Pooch suggested, “hey why don’t we head out to my buddy’s cabin in Fulford.” It was an old mining town with about 16 cabins that people used as hunting or fishing lodges, they had all been built in the late 1800s. His buddy had bought it the summer before and Pooch had spent time up there with him repairing the old cabin to an inhabitable state, and, seeing as his buddy wasn’t planning on coming back out until March, he told Pooch he could go up and stay whenever to keep an eye on the place. 

This was how it works in the Rocky Mountains, the mega-rich and privileged would own things…cars, homes, apartments, that they seldom used, so usually ended up entrusting the workers that had become their friends over the years of shared skiing or snowboarding and drinking with the “keeping an eye on” of the thing. 

“Sure!” We all agreed, just buzzed enough to agree to an adventure, after all, I didn’t have to work until 1 pm the next day and Michelle started at 3 and Jason was off till 4, yeah This was going to be awesome! Then, “where’s Fulford?”

He told us it was about 45 minutes away and then you had to ride snowmobiles for about another 20 minutes to get to the cabins, as the road was closed for the winter. That sounded awesome. We left the bar immediately, piling into Jason’s honda civic, agreeing to meet Pooch at his place after we went home to get changed into our most hardcore winter gear. He said it would be cold. Well duh.

It wasn’t until I lived in Colorado that I realized the different levels of cold weather gear that were required for living in the snow. Growing up in the north island of New Zealand was very temperate. Your winter clothes were usually your summer clothes but with longer sleeves, or jackets and cardigans buttoned or zipped up. And maybe a beanie or a scarf. In Colorado that was your late summer wear, you generally owned 2 winter jackets, an early season or spring one, and then your mid-winter below feezing gear, and of course, your base layer, which is like long johns and an undershirt that your wore constantly, which were vital. Plus your snow boots, are usually guaranteed to -20F with giant lug no-slip grippy soles.

About an hour and a half later, we were standing in the bright moonlit parking area, way into the woods out the back of Eagle somewhere, pulling covers off snowmobiles. As Pooch and Jason filled up the tanks with gasoline (never have I ever wanted to make sure we did not get stranded anywhere so much in my life) shivering with excitement and cold we climbed on and headed up a steep snow-covered road, the snow glittered and was bright before us, laid out like a sparkling ribbon beneath the giant bright white moon that hung in the sky. I remember wondering if the moon was so much bigger in Colorado because we were 8 or 9,000 feet closer to the sky. The cold was an understatement. By the time we got to the cabin, we were popsicles. Even with my base layer (which btw is worn with everything in the winter in CO), plus my in-between layers and snowboarding pants, jacket, gloves + liners (another pair of gloves worn underneath the bigger gloves) neck gaiter, scarf, and beanie + helmet. I could feel the frozen hairs in my nose, and even my eyelashes felt crispy as we rode down the main road between the cabins and pulled up to one of them. 

There were no other tracks, although there was a light on in a cabin further down the row, or street, but with all the snow, it was more like a collection of cabins and buildings facing each other, laid out in a long line, there was no pavement or clearly defined road or anything, but there was smoke rising from the chimney, you could smell the smoke from their fire, the trees were huge and I felt like I had just pulled up to Santa’s Village. It was so magical, the snow sparkled under the bright full moon and clear sky. I wondered if the lone occupants of the village were curious about who had just roared into town. It wasn’t until we turned the snowmobiles off that the silence fell like a blanket on us. We got off and walked around a little, the deep soft snow crunching under our feet.

We got inside quickly, teeth chattering uncontrollably. Pooch started a fire in the biggest pot belly stove I have ever seen and it took quickly. We all went outside to get more wood, it was freezing! 

You know it is cold when you can see the fire blazing and hear the metal of the stove creaking and popping with the heat, but you can not feel any heat coming off the stove even though you are almost touching it. 

Pooch pulled out some hand and foot warmers, (those wonderful inventions that produce a cozy wee sachet of heat through a chemical reaction that you can stuff in your boots, into your gloves or even your bra, or down the back of your pants), and if you are ever in an area and you see these for sale at the gas station, take it as a hint and buy some!

We regrouped (stuffed hand warmers everywhere) and headed out into the wonderland to ride snowmobiles under the full moon. 

Obviously, this is a longer story….I’m thinking I will break it into two or three parts. 

Stay tuned.