I have an extremely jaded view of Magic Mountain. Prior to today, I had
skied it twice in the last 10 years - two bluebird powder days after close
to 30" of new snow. I'm not really sure what the mountain skis like on a
normal day. Today would shed little light.

We awoke at 6am in Ludlow, a ragtag crew of Queen City's phinest disgusted
with the northern VT donut-hole of Winter 04-05. In the car and off at
6:45am, careful to add some extra time since things can and do go wrong on a
powder day. The snow, which had fallen hard over night in Lud-blow, was
finished completely by sunrise. I haven't checked Okemo's report, but 10" of
cold smoke was my guess for in town. It was so unbelievably light that I was
able to clear my entire car and all the cars in the lot simply by slamming
my trunk. OK, just kidding.

Anticipation en route to a real powder day is so seismic that it could
probably be read on a geiger counter. Awake is so unbelievably awake, sleep
is so restless all night. I know, they are all tired cliches, but the truth
is that few things on earth cause such an overwhelming takeover of mental
energy. Powder just doesnt get old, so to speak.

Arrived as the #3 car in the Magic lot at around 7:30. #1 had been there
overnight, and #2 was an employee, so in a sense, we were #1. Kinda like the
Patriots, I suppose. The snow was certainly deeper in these here parts than
20 miles north.

Ben and I asked if we could buy a ticket - not quite yet. We asked when the
lift would open - whenever the attendant arrives. On with the skins, and
heading up Video Boulevard on the one groomed track. The small gathering of
8 people now present looked confused at our equipment and eagerness.

We made it to the top of Lower Redline before the lift started turning, so
quickly deskinned, straightlined through the low angle pow pow, and made a
beeline for the ticket counter, grabbing chair #7.

My first trail decision of the day may have been a poor one. Redline is
Magic's premiere east coast bad ssa run. Its like MRG's Liftline and
Sugarbush's Liftline morphed into a southern VT landscape, with
significantly less snow. We ducked a rope without blinking an eye, and
charged down the pitch. First lesson of the day - expect no base. 16-20" of
fluffity fluff fluff on top of NOTHING. Not a problem at MRG's meticulously
weeded pastures - quite a problem in the rock-ridden flanks of Glebe.

But where there was base, or where there was pasture, the snow was so good
it hurt. Literally. Continuous face shots through thigh deep drifts,
stinging cold cheeks and caking the entire head in white. Then... bump bump
bump, through a rock mine field. The steep rock faces on Redline slid as
soon as they were touched. Snow patterns emerged that were quite uncommon in
these parts - wind slab which then fractured over cue-ball pitches, creating
an appearance quite similar to exposed avi areas on other coasts.

Off to Slide of Hans, beating a traverse out. Scary stuff under there. Point
em straight, take the continuous face blasting, stay back on the skis to
keep the tips above any snow rhinos. I'm willing to bet there are mine
fields with fewer rocks than some of the trails on this mountain - perhaps
someone who has skied both this and Asbestosvere can compare.

The sun came out, and we hit the snowmaking trails. Nothing was groomed, and
nobody was skiing, so it made little difference except that the rocks were a
little further down. More epic, superlative pitches, mostly free of debris
and still bollowy and uncannily deep.

Explorations continued on far skiers right, finding new trails that time and
people appear to have forgotten. Traversing over to a carcass of a ski lift,
another Magic project that needs some serious magic at this point, became
the sketchiest moment of the day. A terrific, steep pitch beneath it,
totally nigriv, but with debris that was downright scary. The three of us
ended up walking down the bottom of it since that was really the only thing
to do.

In the afternoon, after powder appetites were nearly satiated, we headed out
to Timberside on an exploratory mission. Poling across the traverse, Greg
and I both noticed it at the same time - a glade not like other glades.
Nothing beats stumbling across someone else's illegal line, especially when
it is unskied and perfectly maintained. Bottomless and light, with a sizable
drop on the way out. Perfect pasture. There is no tree skiing at Magic,
there are no locals at Magic.

Another foray out towards Timberside, this time passing up another
human-assisted gem to check out NELSAP's favorite Windham County resort.
'Bile tracks (pronounced 'Beeeel' or 'bile', either way) and a corduroy
track to make skinning muy facil. The terrain proved worse than even my
lowliest expectations - a pod of ski trails so ill-conceived that they make
make many other ill-conceived pods of trails seem great by comparison. No
wonder this place is closed.

****************************

My impressions of Magic, before I pass out:

- No sense of rules, or authority, or goals, anywhere. Even worse off than
when I was here two years ago. The trail map still shows Timberside, and a
T2B triple chairlift that doesnt run. Debris, broken parc, smashed parc
everywhere. Abandoned huts, skeleton chairlifts, retro snowguns. Layers of
attempts at development and progression, both on the mountain and off,
embedded with an air of total futility at each level.

- Lift served backcountry. I dont care what the snow report says, there were
no closed trails, no open trails, almost no ski patrollers, and nobody
telling anybody what to do. I would be surprised to find out there is a
sweep at the end of each day.

- I absolutely love this place. It is simultaneously quintessential,
throwback, laidback and beautiful, while still being depressing, lonely, and
overwhelmingly sublime. It reminds me at times of the deserted amusement
park surf spot featured in Dogtown Z-Boys - an exhibit of man's failed
attempts at taming a mountain, a heaven created out of neglect and disuse.
But like I said, I have a jaded view of Magic Mountain. Deep snow is a lens
through which everything is different.

-Evan

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