We floated along Upper Royal Flush, enjoying the fresh, all-natural snow beneath our feet. It feels so good, this marvelous gift of nature. Soft, rotary turns as we kept our skis flat on the snow. Using lateral ankle flexion, we can adjust our edge angle to the terrain, letting our bases float over the snow. This way, we can go as slow as humanly possible and make sure we get every little inch of the fresh, soft stuff. It’s so much easier on green terrain; you can just enjoy the moment.
As we come down to Great Northern, we can see a friend of ours standing by the small opening in the rope. Simultaneously, we look at each other and smile. There was no need to ask the question, and our grins got bigger as we rolled over the transition without pause. You need to float down those first couple of turns — the rocks there can be brutal, even on a big powder day. So you take a deep breath as your tips hit the lip and make yourself as light as possible. Maybe the shoulders and elbows come up, lifting yourself away from the surface.
But oh, how I’ve missed you, Royal Flush. As I find my spots and bring my speed under control, I can get the maximum amount of float and get the deepest. I love feeling the snow up by my knees. If I can do anything to make that happen, I will ski weirdly to get that feeling. I take a deep breath and adjust my approach for Racer’s Edge. It’s another rhythm change followed by a rocky, thin cover section. I like to take the middle, cut diagonally through the rocky section, and take skiers to the right. And I suck it up every time. The skier’s right is not my friend. But I get stuck there, I can never figure out the damn treeline, and the next line over is usually all wonky.
What I want to do is go left, take the high side, and ride out the top of the wave while looking at the mess down below. That bottom left side just rolls over so nicely, controlling the speed through the terrain change as it rises up to the top of the wave. And then, instead of being at the bottom of the slight diagonal fall line, you can cut straight across the trail following the line. It’s glorious when you hit it just right.
I like to think that it’s like swirling down a toilet bowl. You have to constantly switch sides of the trail, first left, then right, then left again, in a spiral motion that resembles the act of flushing. It’s a spectacularly named trail. The name is actually directions for how to approach the trail, at least for me. A bunch of diagonal fall lines coming into the canyon. I love it.
And then you can look up to your right, and you’re in what can be the most peaceful place on earth. I love sitting at the bottom of the canyon after dropping a great line down Double Dipper and chatting away near the chair tower. I am angry that I cannot remember the tower number right now. But you know the spot. The spot where you spot, because you realize that holding a flat ski on the runout might be more exhausting than pulling deep compression short radius, turns down Dipper. That’s when the shaky shakies begin.
To be reunited with an old friend. My favorite moments of this time of year. Every new trail is a trip down memory lane, remembering every nuance of each trail. Where the bend goes, how it rolls into the next section, making adjustments for fall line and snow quality. Because you’ve skied these trails so many times, your body automatically makes the adjustments. You don’t have to think. I know how North Star turns to the left, and then you always forget that the bike trail crossings are then, and then you come up to them and growl, making your adjustments accordingly as my body still follows the old pattern.
We came down Chute to Great Bear, skating back up to middle Chute. It’s annoying, but I prefer that minor skate to taking the bottom of Great Northern. Those few steps are worth the effort for Middle and Lower Chute. But there’s also this beautiful pause as you slow down and really notice your surroundings. I love this intersection, the Chute/Great Northern intersection. I sighed to myself today, caught in the moment, decided I was a weirdo, and went back to skiing. That left line, where all the snow gets pushed, because there is nothing like that skier’s left line of Middle Chute, it rides just right.
Merisa Sherman is a full-time Killington resident, global real estate advisor, Coach PomPom, and town official. Have a Killington moment you’d like to share? Reach out to Merisa.Sherman@SothebysRealty.com.
