Last powder day of the season one for the books

The fat rockers are hungry for some sick pow.

As my ski buddies know, E Dub likes him some powder. This morning, I woke up around 5:30 and checked my phone for the early ski report. Five inches of new snow sounded good enough. I texted a retired friend, who I knew wouldn't get up early enough, and went back to bed. But I was at Snowy Range Ski Area before the lifts opened, riding up the chair behind one ski patrolman.
I followed his tracks to the backside, where I got first tracks on my favorite slopes - Crazy Horse and Shoshone. I skied a couple other runs then returned to Crazy Horse to lay down second and third tracks on it. After more runs on other slopes, I checked The Horse and there were still just three tracks on it. So I added a fourth. A few more runs elsewhere, and Crazy Horse still hadn't seen another skier, so I added a fifth track.

Four sets of tracks on Crazy Horse - all mine.

About a half hour later, I again skied over to The Horse to find that a snowboarder had defiled my tracks. But it was tough to get upset about the intrusion on the run that has been renamed Crazy E Dub.
As a bonus, headed back to the frontside around noon, I noticed nobody had hit the 5-meter ski jump, a relic of the days when the university had a ski team. The 5-meter is probably the narrowest, steepest powder shot at Snowy Range, and usually one skier is all it takes to track it out. Today, that one skier was me.

The fat rockers size up the 5-meter ski jump.

Judging by the weather forecast, this will be the last powder day of the season. It was one for the books. #powderquest2019

April 1 not for fools

April 1 used to be opening day of trout season, and I still like to fish that day even though only a fool would be wading in frigid, icy water surrounded by snowbanks.
When I was a little kid, April 1 would often find me and my grandfather on Spring Brook or the Trout Pond, which was stocked with brookies. Equipped with a can of worms, bologna sandwich and orange pop, I'd fish for hours in hopes of a 6-inch trout impaling itself on my hook, which rarely happened.
When I was around 12, my dad would wake me up in the dark on opening day and we'd drive a few hours to fish for rainbow trout running out of the Finger Lakes to spawn. Fishermen would be lined up along Catherine Creek or Naples Brook, and we'd have to search for a place with some elbow room. I never caught anything on those trips, but I remember dad catching the biggest trout I'd ever seen. I also remember drinking bitter, hot coffee out of his Thermos, and stopping at a diner on the way home for a hamburger and milkshake.
Once I started driving, my opportunities on April 1 expanded to a 10-20 mile radius around my hometown. Usually, a friend and I would drive to bridges on local creeks and see if other cars were there - a sure sign that the hatchery truck had just been there. A fish fry of stocker rainbows and browns often followed those outings.
I fished a couple local lakes today that were partly melted off.  As on most April 1 opening days in my life, my hands and feet got cold and I didn't catch anything - except memories of opening days past.