FOLLOWING HAZEL HER FACE CONTORTED with a mixture of horror and disgust. “But why?” asked the woman interested in taking over my lease, not hiding an ounce of disdain as she wan-dered through our living room. I had just explained that I was moving to Massachusetts, leaving Jackson for a life out east. The audacity! Her response didn’t surprise me; I had heard it countless times during my final month living in Jackson. And it was hard to defend my position. Originally from California and one of the few rare birds migrating east, I knew nothing about the East Coast ski scene other than it was icy as hell, and it produced some of the most fearless skiers that I’d ever met. Berkshire East would become my new home resort, a small mom-and-pop establishment in the rolling Berkshire Mountains. Our move was sparked by my partner becom-ing Berkshire East’s Ski School Director, as well as the fact that it had become near impossible to afford a home in the mountain west. New England was our next best option. I did everything necessary to prepare: I bought slalom race skis, tuned my edges and begged Ullr desperately for snow. In December, the snow finally arrived—about an inch, or a few centimeters if you’re an optimist. Then it rained seven inches. Somehow, utilizing colder temperatures and sorcery, snowmakers still brought two top-to-bottom runs to life on the mountain. The resort announced its opening day for Decem-ber 1st, right as temperatures would swing back into the 40s. I debated whether to ski on opening day. By Jackson standards, it looked dismal. Driving up the mountain, the human-made snow contrasted starkly with glistening dirt and leaves full of organic matter. But pulling into the parking lot, most folks were eager to get there. One of those people was my friend Hazel, who I bumped into after my first chair up. Hazel is in her teens and a quintessential western Mass kid who spends most of her time outside—biking, kayaking and skiing. She and I spent much of the summer riding bikes together, and that day, she was beaming in the lift line, almost shaking from excitement. We stuck together, and I tried to follow her graceful turns through the slushy snow— New England kids seem born with this innate ability to set an edge. As we prepared to drop into a run we’d already skied three times, she looked up and exclaimed, “I’ve been checking the webcams every day at school. I’ve been looking forward to this all week.” Before I could respond, she was already gliding down the hill. That statement caught me off guard. I could hear the woman who sneered at me for leaving Jackson, her con-descending “why” ringing in my ears. I could imagine her looking at the slushy snow tinged with dirt and deeming us mad. But Hazel’s joy spoke the loudest. Suddenly, I wasn’t in Massachusetts anymore, but back in California, a 19-year-old driving up to Donner Pass to ski for the first time since I was four. I remembered how excited I had been to click into skis and pizza my way down low-angle runs—so much so that I made the sport a cornerstone of my life. The reason why skiing has stuck with me ever since is the same reason why Hazel couldn’t wait for opening day to come: sliding down a hill on skis is just plain fun. Of course, it’s fun when you’re floating through feet of untracked powder, but it’s also fun on a groomer, at a tiny hill, with variable snow. If you don’t believe me, try a 75mm underfoot slalom ski. It might become your all-mountain ski—your ticket to enjoying the most bulletproof days. Throughout my first East Coast winter, Hazel and my New England friends taught me how to cherish days spent on all textures of snow; natural, human-made, and studded with grass. When you learn to cherish something at its worst, you will love it, adore it, and savor it when it’s at its best. I can’t wait for Hazel to have her first big powder day out west. YODEL Words and Photos KATIE LOZANCICH Morning greets Berkshire Mountain Resort, a small and proud mom-and-pop resort in the rolling hills of western Massachusetts. You’ll find 14-year-old Hazel Scully-Henry almost every weekend at Berkshire East Mountain Resort with the biggest smile.
The Ski Journal Volume 18, Issue 1: Page 34
