Conditions Report
Report from Sunday, December 8, 2024
Buongiorno.
What day is it? I don’t know; the jet lag has had its way with me the past few nights since I arrived in Italy. I awake in a confusion each morning, the night sky still dark as the bottom of a well.
The budget flight to get here cost me three days of my life.
When I slid open the window on the plane into Turin, 12,602-foot Monviso poked far above the surrounding Alps like a scepter, glowing bright, as the sun stooped and tore the evening sky apart in flames.
That was an experience.
Not far from there was Mont Blanc—or “Monte Bianco,” as the Italians say— and it would be at the base of this blonde bitch of a mountain, beautiful and vicious, that I would spend the next six months of my life, Lord willing.
I took the bus from Torino the following morning, weaseling my way from fertile farmlands into the Alps.
As the bus ventured deeper into the mountains the peaks grew bigger, taller, fiercer.
The snowline casually crept lower.
I made into Courmayeur by dusk, at the western edge of the Aosta Valley, near the base of Monte Bianco.
Chamonix is only a 30-minute drive away.
I was too tired to unpack so I went into town to drink.
I stumbled into the friendliest bar I saw, which just so happened to be called the American Bar.
The folks in there were friendly.
After a birrra (beer) and an aperol spritz, I grabbed a crepe to-go and went home only to fall into a deep sleep.
4 a.m. rolled around and as did the dreaded Jet Lag.
I unpacked and set up my apartment, and by 8:30 a.m. and I was walking the 20 minute walk to the chair.
It wasn’t a bad commute. Sure beats the drive to Alta from Salt Lake.
I got on the gondola from the base with some young guns who we’re eager to ski.
It had snowed approximately 10-15 centimeters the night before (four-to-six inches).
I guess they call that a Powder Day out here.
From the top of the gondola I took another chair and at the top I saw her:
Monte Bianco in all her intensity.
I’ll never forget that moment. My heart stopped, my mind silenced, and I just sat there and stared for a while, mouth agape.
We’re not in Kansas anymore.
My Italian contact, Marco, messaged me about the tree skiing at Courmayeur, so I went on the prowl.
From the top of the mountain, I found orange-brown, pine-less pine trees that held the “beautiful tree skiing” that he was talking about.
And beautiful it was.
The snow was mostly skiing like dust on crust, but in some protected zones in the trees, or wind-blown areas, you could actually float for about four-to-five turns without hitting bottom.
The trees were steep, perfectly spaced, and long runs from the chair—10 out of 10 in my book.
To top it off, no one was skiing in them, either.
Strange. But I wasn’t complaining.
I stayed in the trees, finding new, better, more untouched tracks every run until it was time to get an espresso and a cornetto (croissant) at about 11 a.m.
That was the best pastry I ever had, let alone getting to eat it with a view of Valle’d Aosta, Monte Bianco, and the surrounding Alps.
The caffeine re-upped my energy reserves and I skied the trees for about two hours more.
I skied a few more untracked lines and even got a couple of face shots in the deeper, wind-drifted areas.
Then it was time to call it a day.
I took the chair back down because there still wasn’t enough snow down low to ski back to town.
At the base, I had the most delightful walk back to my apartment, strolling in solitude in the shadow of Monte Bianco the whole way home.
Is this really real?
I got lost on the way home. It took me about 35 minutes to make it back.
The whole way I barely saw anyone.
It was just me, the cobblestone streets, the lonesome river I was walking alongside, and the intimidatingly tall peaks besides me.
I was completely alone yet totally surrounded.
I finally made it back to my apartment, the sun now hanging low in the sky, plump and swollen.
The light was feeble and lonely yet still managed to provide the mountains their brilliant winter glow.
Here at the bottom of this sunken valley, giants were all around me.
I sat and drank a glass of white wine and reflected on a day well spent in the elements.
Nightfall was crawling in.
Time for a pizza.
Weather
Photos
