The Toboggan Blues

November is a tough time of year. A month of transition. Just a few weeks ago we were basking in the glow of a classic Kootenay Indian summer. Then rain, and cold, some snow up high, some snow down low. But not that much. Sometimes winter likes to take its sweet time. Still, we rush to get our new skis mounted. We crowd Kal-Tire to get our tires switched to winters. For us adults, those who have seen both early winters and late ones, who know the consequences of getting too stoked too early, we are a little better equipped to deal with the hump months. So we distract ourselves with work and family. Waiting for skiable conditions is (somewhat) easy.

Then there's the kids. For the shredlings among us, those who have lost the freedoms of summer--the soccer tournaments and the boat rides, the mountain bike adventures and the squirrel hunting--November is tough. Really tough. School sucks. And they ache for the hill to open. Many can't tour, lacking the adequate gear and knowledge, so they beg and plead their parents to drive them to the hill where they can build shady jumps into shallow landings, race all kinds of sliding contraptions down through sapling tops, and otherwise get as close as they can to skiing without ever really coming that close. I like to call it the Toboggan Blues. And I feel for the little guys. They're going crazy, looking to the sky, dreaming, imagining, hoping, wishing, longing. Letting their frustrations getting the better of them. Counting the sleeps until the hill opens. Trying with all their might to influence one of the most fickle and powerful forces on our planet--the weather. And there's nothing we can do to help them, save to say, soon keen shredling, soon.