The Ski Journal • Volume 16, Issue 1 • CREATE YOUR LUCK

My first two years in Mammoth Lakes were dry. California sunshine scalded the slopes and it was rarely cold enough to make snow. Our persistent prayers to the Snow Gods went utterly unanswered.

Still, most of my friends were returning for a third winter. We completed our respective pilgrimages and finally had some experience under our boots as seasonal acolytes. This winter was set to be a memorable one, we just needed the snow to back it up.

It wasn’t a normal January. More specifically, it was shaping up to be Mammoth’s snowiest month on record. With the turn of the year, we’d been thrown into an endless cycle of shoveling and skiing. The snow removal became tedious, but the bottomless powder turns were worth every back-breaking shovel-load of Sierra Cement.

We gathered in the kitchen for breakfast. Ryan was blending a bullet coffee, while Monica avocadoed toast and Riley scooped a second round of grounds into Mr. Coffee. Krista opened the freezer to gather bags of fruit for a smoothie.

“Krista,” I said, with a shivered morning yawn. “Would you get the waffles out, please?”

“Sure. By the way,” she said, sorting through the full freezer, “Can we take this trail map out of here? I think it’s done its job.”

The map was Ryan’s idea. Put a folded trail guide in the freezer, then it’ll have to snow, or at least that was his hare-brained rational (read: desperation) that past fall.

Ryan was the one always refreshing radars and checking snowfall predictions. He religiously tracked atmospheric rivers as they formed offshore and praised each Pineapple Express that swept through the Sierra. The weather prophets were forecasting a La Niña winter, which meant a lot of moisture, but it all could’ve been a slushy bust without a proper sacrifice.

We all get a little spiritual when it comes to snowfall. Wipers up in the parking lot. Lucky long johns. Snow-dancing around the campfire. Toasting the Snow Gods before every tip of the shot ski. Silly ceremonies that forge serious bonds. After all, increased participation leads to increased results. It’s science, or something like it.

Sure, most of the time these ridiculous rites are lost in the impossibility of effect. You shake the snow globe the night before a big storm and nothing happens. You wax the powder skis during a dry spell and elicit another heatwave. But all these things fail until they don’t. Sometimes the prayers pay off. Sometimes you receive exactly what you ask for.

That’s what turns little routines into lore. Long after the lifts stop spinning and we’ve scrounged up change for last call, we’ll be talking about how our collective mountain witchery affected the barometer, how we played our part in the best winter of our lives.

That trail map in the freezer bonded our house around the possibility of colder days and a snowy season. We lived together and kept warm by the same stove. We worked together, played together, and prayed for snow under the same roof. We retained belief in a big winter and, thanks to that frozen Ullr offering, that season surpassed our expectations in every way. Shovels were broken, vehicles were buried, but we were forever indebted to the ritual. Hey, it worked once, right?

The Ski Journal - Volume 16, Issue 1

CREATE YOUR LUCK

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