Here in Woodstock, a group of people, mainly teachers and students, meet on Friday mornings in the winter to climb to the top of Suicide Six. Some carry snowboards, some use climbing skins attached to their skis, some use snowshoes or crampons and lug their stuff. They reach the top, hopefully watch the sun rise, and ski down—once. Go to work or school until the next week, when they do it all over again.
Sadie likes to make the trek. The child who won’t get out of bed in the mornings without repeated calls (threats) gets herself up at six to climb to the top of an icy mountain and ski down with the sun. My husband, never wanting to be left out, likes it, too. Parker, the dog, goes along.
This morning, the mountain was icy. It was warm yesterday so the snow had gotten soft. (That is when I like to ski—when the sun is out and the snow is soft.) But last night, the temperature dropped and the mountain was a sheet of ice. Instead of risking life and limb, the group skied down the mile long trail instead of the face. Parker usually stays with my husband. But, this morning she took off running like a banshee answering some call from the wild. The group had to chase her. For more than half the run, they couldn’t catch her —they are fast skiers!
So picture this, a little brown dog streaking down an icy ski trail being chased by a bunch of crazies who have gotten out of their warm beds to climb a mountain to see the sun rise.
Makes a nice picture doesn’t it?