There are perfect ski trails for guys like me. Guys whose orthopod has used phrases such as “Only cruise the blues” based on that inevitable blending of age and knees.
Now, Dr. Thornhill did not say runs had to be boring, and to insouciant youth, blue skiing equates with boring. I agree that straight, wide white carpets with predictably pitched fall lines get pretty old in a hurry. They neither challenge the body nor fire the soul.
But in my 60-plus years skiing, I have found a number of delightful blue square runs, and a recent visit to Wildcat confirmed that. I’m not sure whether my fondness for Wildcat was that it was my introduction to skiing with a high school ski trip, or whether it’s the immense grandeur of the place, nestled in the embrace of Mount Washington, giving skiers a view of the scooped glacial cirques of Tuckerman and Huntington ravines descending from that iconic summit, the “crown of New England.”
At least once a visit to Wildcat, I stop to concentrate on Tuckerman and imagine Toni Matt’s breathless (and somewhat errant) descent of the headwall and ravine in the 1939 Inferno race. And I guess I’m looking for the ghosts of Walter Praeger, Joe Dodge., Harold Hillman and other founding fathers of our sport who made the steeps of Washington their playground.