Month 35: Saint Mary’s Alice, CO
During the first summer of my ski streak in 2017,
I had traveled to Saint Mary’s Alice. It is a semi-permanent snowfield located in the Arapahoe National Forest, only about an hour and fifteen minutes from my house. Most people refer to Mary’s as a glacier, but technically it is not a mass of snow that is altering the landscape. It simply a field of snow that retreats during the summer and returns in the winter.
Depending on your pace, the hike from the parking lot to the lake at the base of the snowfield takes about 20 minutes. Once you get to the lake, you walk around the base of the snow and hike up and around the bend for about another mile to get to the top of the snow. This fluctuates depending on the snowfall and conditions that year.
Each summer month in 2017, I set it up to Mary’s with my dog Rudy to get some turns. As the summer progressed, the conditions typically got worse and worse as the snow became more uneven as rocks and debris became exposed. I remember September of 2017 was gnarly. It was not a fun time. Yes, I did just say that. That skiing wasn’t a fun time. But it was true! It was a lot of work to descend conditions like that.
I digress.
As my 2019 summer on the East Coast had moved along, I became nervous about the month of August. Am I going to have to drive to Canada? Should I fly to Whistler? Is it worth it? Even some of my friends and relatives had begun to ask me if the streak was going to end.
My best friend had called me one day and told me that she had finally chosen the dates for her to move out to Colorado. Excitedly, she asked if I would join her for a road trip from the Northeast to Boulder, CO. I could get to see my home, hang out with my best friend, AND MAYBE GET TO SKI? HECK YES. I’M IN!
I told her yes and luckily got the time off of work. Since she was moving all of her belongings across the country, there was no space in her vehicle for my gear. There’s gotta be a way.
Of course, there’s a way.
I reached out to one of my friends in Colorado and asked to borrow skis and boots for a day. She supports and understands my streak, passions, and full-blown love affair with skiing. She agreed and dropped the gear off at my friend’s new apartment so it would be waiting there for me when we arrived after our 30+ hour drive across the United States.
I had been living in New Hampshire away from Colorado for 97 days. My heart was heavy. I missed the open skies, the grand mountains, the smiling people. I missed the alignment of values and beliefs. I craved for clean organic food and compost bins. But most importantly, I longed for a deeper connection with myself, I hadn’t felt it in what seemed like f o r e v e r.
I needed to venture out to find myself. I wanted so badly to reconnect with my light and remember what it felt like to be full.
After moving my friend into her place and filling it with furniture, it was time for me to go visit good ol’ Mary.
I borrowed my other friend’s pieca and set off for the mountains. If you haven’t heard of a pieca allow me to enlighten you. A “pieca” is short for a “piece of shit”, another term for a beater car. I jumped it twice, gassed it up, put the skis in the back, and putted on up the pass towards Mary’s.
I was so excited to see her. I wondered how much snow was left, how big the bumps and ridges were. I wondered how the skis and boots would ride and if there would be anyone else up on the slope with me riding. I wondered if people would ask me if I was really going to ski, like they usually do.
There were a lot of people on the trail that day. St. Mary’s is a tourist hot spot in the summer because of the short leisure hike to an alpine lake. It was a gorgeous day to be outside. Surprisingly enough, yet not surprising at the same time, I was the only skier that I saw that day. It was kind of nice in a way because I would have the whole slope to myself.
After I began the hike it hit me.
All of these people in my life had shown up to support me. To help me make this day come to fruition. To give me what they could to allow me to have a day in the mountains. Not only to experience the big sky and the grand mountains but also to get some turns and fill my heart.
During a difficult summer of isolation and healing, I now began to feel supported and loved. It’s one thing for people to say they are there for you, but it’s another to show you that they are there for you. I am eternally grateful for each of you. I think my internal gas tank was fueled by love on this beautiful August day. I’m not sure if I hiked up the trail or floated.
What was different about this month than the previous months were that I knew the slope, the approach and that there for sure was going to be snow. This brought a sense of ease to me, it felt relieving.
Once I got to the lake, I was so impressed by how much snow was left!
Last year, there was not as much snow remaining. With the 2018-19 season being El Niño, we had been blessed with lots of pow. Thanks for hanging on to some, Mary.
When I got to the top I took my time. I sat on a rock and overlooked her curves. I watched birds feed on the debris that had surfaced as she melted. Little chipmunks saw me and came over curious. Sitting under the bright strong Colorado sun, I myself, was beaming.
I opened my journal and began to write.
She feels alive outside
She feels alive in the snow
She feels alive when in mountains
She lights up
She leans in
She had forgotten for a while
what light really felt like.
When it shines from within your being and soul
When you can’t help but hum to yourself or grin
She’s remembering the light
She doesn’t think she’ll forget this time
it feels too important
I look up from my journal and gaze across the glacier and blink hard a few times to make sure this is real and not a dream. I continue writing…
When she’s in the mountains she feels the pulse of Mother Earth
She feels the support of her essence
When she is in nature she feels spacious and bright
When she ventures out, she finds herself
She returns to her true nature
I close my journal and put on the ski boots. Drop the skis onto the soft snow. I lean down to pick up my poles, look up and grin at the sun, then click into the skis. With a huge smile on my face and a full heart, I begin my way down St. Mary’s Alice, making more turns than I could count.