My Dad and I trekked up to Bear Creak (about 40 minutes northeast of my house) to snag our freshly-tuned skis. We’re organizing our annual pilgrimage to Killington, Vermont; usually my dad’s birthday in March is when we would visit, but because of my California move, we’re planning on Christmas week. The air was crisp yesterday, and although the mountain was naked, I can sense snow is imminent.
We hiked up the 1000-foot mountain, testing our physical condition for the upcoming ski-season. At one point, a pack of white-tail deer, about fifty feet ahead of us, bolted to the opposite side and down into the vast woods. We came in peace, but they were taking no chance.
After a few pit-stops for breathers and poorly-taken photos, we stood at the top overlooking the Lehigh Valley. We hunkered down at a picnic table on the right edge of the main slope, predicting the date of the first snow-fall. Last year was a dry winter for the east coast, in addition, my hectic job prevented me from hauling up to ski-mountains on the weekends. I’m hoping to catch a few more days this year, but unfortunately, skiing is an expensive sport, and my funds are limited.
We glided down a lot faster than we came came up and eventually stumbled into the bar at the base. We munched on some wings and fries in the empty bar, as we peered up at the mountain. The greasy food was a treat for our exercise of the day. I mean, typically you only ski down, not climb up.