Secret stashes require the type of optimism that the sport of skiing teaches you. You may have to grind your edges over bare rock, or take a sharp stick to the eye or sweet talk the ski patrol. But once you hit those four or five turns it all seems worth it. And I know those of you who claim Highland Bowl as your backyard mountain may laugh at this, but really, it puts a sense of adventure back into things, a sense of brotherhood even, when you and the tribe knock out those few sacred turns on your very own hallowed ground.
And then there are the unexpected days, the times when you pop out into one of those stashes that is well known and hammered and—low and behold!—the arbiters of powder karma have left it wide open and untouched, and it hasn’t even snowed in a few days and suddenly the little resort that your friends who ski Highlands snub their noses at feels like the most blessed spot on Earth. Because it is. Because powder riding is an act of faith and sometimes the penitent actually get what they deserve.
