They say there are no friends on a powder day. But when Beaver Creek reported 13 inches of fresh snow on January 31st, the boys and I had a lot of them. Shawn and Spencer, Chance, and Ben; Dave and Jen with Connor and Boden; and lone-ranger Tyler all met us on the mountain. Which is cool, because I’d always rather ski with friends than alone (unless you’re keeping me from cashing in on all that powder).

The challenge with that many people, of course, is that on the hill, like in life, there’s no damn way everybody wants to do the same thing. An exception to this basic rule of humanity is if somebody in the group is in the middle of a quest to ski every Colorado resort during a single season. If you run into that group with that guy, he’s automatically the default guide and everybody will ski wherever he damn well pleases. Mainly because it’s his party, and he’ll ski where we wants to.

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There’s a scene in every Warren Miller movie (every Warren Miller movie I’ve watched at least) when the cameras capture rookie snow-sporters struggling a bit with their gear and the conditions. It’s mom and dad trying to carry an entire family’s worth of boots, skis, and poles up to the ticket counter while little Jimmy and Janey wander aimlessly in their overstuffed winter attire. Or Aunt Shirley trying to negotiate an icy walkway in boots while cradling skis and poles in the crooks of her elbows. Or Cousin Frank fully clicked in to his bindings 10 yards too early and slipping helplessly backward from the lift.

Needless to say, disaster ensues. As does laughter.

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