To the Editor:

Ski season ended abruptly last March the same week my dance studio in Norway shut down. 9 months later my studio remains closed while I’ve learned how to study, teach, choreograph, and collaborate online. To say that the thought of not skiing this winter was unnerving is an understatement.  I always ski from my car, but with requisite pre- and post- trips into the lodge restrooms. In order to take care of my granddaughter, whose pregnant mother works at Mercy Hospital, I took an oath to quazi-quarantine for the necessary duration.

An email detailing Shawnee Peak’s enhanced precautions was just the gift to set my mind at ease and my skis and poles into the trunk of my car for the winter. Outdoor restrooms and online ticket purchasing allowed me to wave my iPhone beneath the Outdoor Kiosk scanner and out popped my midweek pass. Conditions have been absolutely perfect and the only crowded area seems to be the pre-loading zone.  People haven’t quite gotten into a groove of where to meet and await their posse before getting onto the lift. Might I suggest ten feet or more back from the ropes?

Getting my own mask, gator, hat & helmet combination for keeping my goggles from fogging and face warm and comfortable took a few days, but now it’s second nature. It turns out extra-long necked wool angora turtlenecks are not only good for dance studios in 150-year old buildings, but also for covering a neck, a mask and tucking nicely beneath goggles.  Cozy.

I miss my Fridays with my friend at Sunday River, and I might not be able to ride the lift when I ski at Mt Abram with a dance student. Will I still be able to buy my dad a beer at the bar after a few runs on his birthday? I hope so. He taught me to ski, instilled a deep respect and love for the mountain and the people who care for it.

Fat and Happy is my favorite trail at Shawnee Peak. Obsession is my favorite at Sunday River.

The list goes on. It’s important that we all support the ski industry as much as we can this year.

All of the extra safety precautions don’t come cheap. But when you glide off the lift onto perfectly groomed snow that sh sh sh sh-es beneath your skis and that cold air slaps your face and you feel as though you might fly right onto Moose Pond, there is no question. Skiing through fresh air is the way it feels to breathe.

Deborah Irons

Norway

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