Skiing Big Indian

 Big Indian (winter 12/33)

We passed so much carnage this morning on the way to the trailhead. On 296, three cars were in ditches all within 20 feet of each other. We notified the police for them.

When we arrived at Biscuit Brook around 10, there were three cars in the lot. A group of women were headed to Fir and then we didn’t see a single soul for the remainder of the time on Big Indian—just the way I like it. From the turn off to Fir, I broke trail to the summit.

While the coverage visually appeared to be good, the scratches I heard under my feet reinforced that looks can be deceiving. Since the snow wasn’t as dense as the last storm, the rocks weren’t coated as well.

The trek up to Big Indian was long, but mellow. The last half mile to the summit was so incredibly beautiful that I couldn’t stop raving about it.

I sounded just like the neighbor in American Beauty, “Sometimes there's so much beauty in the world, I feel like I can't take it, and my heart is just going to cave in.” Except I wasn’t watching a stupid plastic bag blow in the in the wind for fifteen minutes.

I’m pretty sure Deborah spent the entirety of the 10 miles cold, exhausted, and debating if she really wants to spend her life following me around on skis. But I think she was proud of herself once it was over, and I turned on the heated seats in the car.

Today’s beer was @voodooranger IPA. It’s a solid IPA with an ABV, that helps make a long tour much more enjoyable.