Every strand of sunlight that inches over the mountain makes the thick blanket of snow a bit warmer. We turn off our flashlights and put them in my camouflage backpack. The crunching of my boots on the harder snow is muffled through the soft snow that goes up to my knees. The trees are dim white lumps that twist and turn up the mountain. Shadows of branches and the chairlifts lurk above us as Carter and I stride up in silence. He coughs and the air sticks around us for a few seconds before evaporating into the fading darkness.
Snow is the only moving thing on the mountain other than us. The wind brushes it off trees. It’s tossed around by the movement of our legs and impacted by our boots and the bottom edge of my brother’s snowboard being dragged through it all. To our backs, the rest of the world is completely frozen. The dim ponds sit among hillsides, the farms stay fast asleep, and the resorts are untouched, for at least an hour anyway.
A hefty wave of wind takes us by surprise and brushes some snow from the trees right into our faces. Carter hides his face deep in his Gore-Tex black hood. His deep breaths hit the collar of the coat and that soft hum is all that’s in the air. I take each step with it as we turn onto a narrower, flatter trail that marks the final ascent to the top by wrapping around to the rear end of the mountain.
This final stretch sits on the very edge of the mountain resort, falling off into a messy forest that eventually leads to Stratton Pond and the Appalachian Trail. Here Carter and I are enclosed in a wall of trees in almost complete isolation from light. Instead of stopping and taking our flashlights back out, we walk faster. The crunch beneath our boots fills the air, along with the gentle swish of our pants against the snow. I grunt loudly as we press on. The hum of Carter’s breath gets faster with our pace.
Once we get to the top, we stand there for no more than thirty seconds. The moon is still brighter than the sun. A few lights shine quietly in the landscape now in front of us. The ponds glow a little. Snow blowers on the resort across cover the atmosphere around that mountain with a dusty white. Trees around us become bolder in the incoming light, smelling of pine and cold.
But then the wind howls against us, into my nose and my eyes. I pull my goggles down and my neck warmer up. We change into our snowboard boots and buckle on the boards. The metal bindings of both our boards clank loudly and the Velcro of my backpack straps whistle as I tighten them. The snow on the ground is carved and swept as we lean forward and turn down the mountain, starting new tracks of our boards where our footprints ended.
We glide down and enter the woods with a swift, airborne plunge. Carter lands smoothly and starts to rapidly twist through the trees, hacking through layers of snow with his edges. But I’m tumbling as soon as my board touches the ground. Throbbing thumps hit me all over my body. Branches snap and rocks scratch the sacred bottom of my board. My head pounds as I hop out of the thick sea of snow without completely stopping. I feel mild twinges of pain everywhere, but I race down to catch up as fast as I can, dodging trees. I swing past Carter, flashing him a quick grin before diving deep into the woods of untouched powder. We fly through the trees the whole way down, sailing past private properties and streams hidden by the snow. By the time we pop out of the forest at the bottom, we find that a line of dedicated skiers and riders in front of the gondola has already formed. They wait to be taken up the mountain, where Carter and my footprints are soon to be skied over to a pulp in the bright morning sun.