The moon is still heavy in the sky when a snowmachines racket breaks the silence.
One last pounce, the ermine scampers into the trees, holing up for the short daylight hours.
Frozen pulleys protest and overnight snow billows off the chairs as the lift squeals into motion.
On the other side of the mountain, the rest of the resort is waking up.
Families on vacation stretch sore limbs and head out in search of coffee.
A few explosions punctuate the soundtrack.
Patrol is out busting wind lips.
As they unload the chairs all the way down the line sway a little, and the bullwheel turns.
The next rider chuckles, grabs it to return at the top.
Fog is starting to roll in.
At the summit, you’re able to barely see two lift poles up.
And the bullwheel turns.
The young couple is just above the mid-station when the chairlift grinds to a halt.
A few lackadaisical liftys saunter over to extract him.
The couple on the chair isnt dating exactly.
Not yet, just skiing together a lot.
Now hes confused, and shes wishing she hadnt brought it up.
Mental calculations: this chair takes 17 minutes top to bottom, how long will we be sitting here?
The phone at the mid-station beeps, the chairs grind into motion again.
Theyll ride to the top silently.
She wont wait for him this run, or the next, or ever again actually.
And the bullwheel turns.
A few chairs down a group of young rippers occupies a cluster of chairs.
He slides back, giggling in nervous relief.
Three of them will ski this mountain every winter for the next two decades.
For another two, divorces and parental job changes will drag them away.
They dont know it yet, but this is their last day on this hill.
Still, the bullwheel turns.
Two chairs behind, an old man back on skis for the first time in a decade.
Hes never ridden these shaped skis before, but theyre easy to turn, and the snow is light.
Why did he stop skiing in the first place?
About to unload; a local legend in the making.
His GoPro is charged, and hes got every turn, every hit planned for his next run.
Behind him, two men who met in the singles line.
For now, theyre talking about the weather.
The whole time, the bullwheel turns.
76 seats filled, 76 lives spinning up the mountain, swaying in a light breeze.
152 feet times however many turns each makes in a run.
76 snowy grins at the bottom.
Back onto the chair, singles load the inside, keep your tips up, enjoy the ride.
Someday this lift will be replaced.
Soon more skiers per hour will be able to access these lines, make turns on this terrain.
But for now, its good enough.
The ermine naps in its den in a dead stump.
The mice snooze under the floorboards of the mid-station, and through it all, the bullwheel turns.
