The gusty east wind breaks just before dawn, and the clouds pop for a few moments just after.
The peak is illuminated in golden hour light for a brief glimpse, but no one really notices.
But today there are no backcountry skiers to pause and comment on the bombing as they toil upward.
The faces off either side of the ridge look like some kind of manufactured paradise for skiers.
The south side sweeps off smoothly in a series of mellow bowls punctuated by trees.
A few thousand feet of fun, playful fall lines and mini-pillows.
The north-facing aspect is steeper, with sections jutting almost vertical from the valley below.
And below them are complicated little cliff zones, spines, and airs with steep, deep landings.
Today the top is firm, nearly impenetrable, burnished hard by the nights winds.
But underneath, maybe three feet below, its soft and easy for him to travel.
Today the mountains are fragile.
Theyre quiet, not with peace but with pent-up danger.
And usually, it doesnt matter how loudly the mountains are screaming Dont touch me today!
The locals are prepared for it, banking on it.
But today no one climbs the ridge.
No skiers swing through switchbacks, trying to listen to the warnings the mountains drop.
The mountains are calling, but its a warning, Stay Home!
Drink hot chocolate, ski the resort and let us heal!
And today, somehow, every skier in the valley hears their call and listens to it.
The runs off that ridge lie perfect without tracks, a ski movie set without actors or crew.
But for now, the ridge is quiet.
No one will die on it today.
No helicopter will circle, dropping tired-eyed men and women onto the debris field.
Today at least, the mountains will rest.
This has been a hard avalanche season.
I dont hold any judgment or second-guessing or insight, just a profound sorrow.
Hug your people, do your best to come home to them.
