What an outdoors writer does on vacation

Even though you could make the very convincing argument that my entire occupation is a vacation, I still need to get away once in a while and do something without writing about it:  an activity done for pure pleasure and no justification.

So that's what I've been up to in the middle of this month.  I took a vacation far, far from South Florida that would be suitably outdoorsy for a person who dislikes museums and shopping.  A severe climate change completed the 180-degree detour from work.

So, what did I do?  I went skiing for a week in Colorado. 

Turns out, I couldn't have chosen a better time to go.  Record snowfalls in the Rockies earlier this winter combined with continuing cold temperatures pushed back the usual mid-March onset of what they politely call "spring skiing" but which would more appropriately be dubbed "attempting to break your neck and knees on ice and slush."  Instead, the wide steep slopes around Aspen were covered with a thick base of soft, dry, powdery snow.

Powder, for those who are unfamiliar, is the best type of snow.  Easily navigated by even the most novice skiier, it breaks your falls, does not melt before you can brush it  away from your boot tops, and allows the construction of elaborate snowmen and other sculptures.  One year at Aspen, somebody recreated a full-size BMW.  (Figures in Aspen, right?)

Skiing at Aspen Highlands, Snowmass, and nearby Sunlight in Glenwood Springs, I was delighted by  constant powder  reinforced by a couple of small-scale snowfalls sprinkled throughout the week.  Even the ski instructors and patrol guys said it was the best winter they could remember.

What fun for someone who has spent nearly 30 years in and around the sub-tropical ocean to stand at the top of a snow-covered,10,000-foot peak, gaze at icicle-draped rooftops and evergreens, and then glide for 20 minutes down through a feather-light, diamond-spangled carpet.  And I even managed not to fall.

If you've never tried it, you should.  Lessons help.  There's nothing more terrifying than putting on downhill skis for the first time at the top of a mountain with no idea of how you are going to make it to the bottom.  Once you learn how to snowplow and make rounded, unhurried turns, you'll think you're the next Bode Miller, or something.

But after a week in wintry Wonderland, I'm ready to tackle warm fish once again.  That's what vacations are for.