Long time no blog!
Hello everyone. My name is Lucy Welch, and I continue to be your Saturday-Tuesday, Sugarbush Snow Reporter. Last year, I wrote up a darling little introduction blog at the beginning of the season, in an attempt to humanize myself before delivering 100 days worth of bad puns, and sometimes, as is the nature of the job, rather undesirable trail/lift conditions and updates. Hopefully I was successful, and your homes lack dartboards with my face taped on them, for informing you of windholds or power outages or any other not-so-fun snow report content (don’t shoot the messenger!).
It feels unnecessary to reintroduce myself in the same vein as last year, given that we are already somewhat acquainted, so instead I’ll just catch you up on my whereabouts and whatsabouts of the last calendar year. And if you’re feeling so inclined, you can always scroll back in the SugarBlog to study up on the more basic details of my life, such as my birth and what I studied in college.
The first thing I did after my snow reporting season drew to a slushy close on April 21st, was sleep for about three days straight. An 8:30 PM bedtime is required to get a healthy 8 hours of shut-eye for this job, and I think that literally never happened last season. Oops. Once awake, I immediately drove down to the great state of New Jersey to visit my grandmother. Not only was she in the hospital (she is fine now! Love you Toby<3), but she was also the Snow Phone’s #1 caller (and probably oldest, at an impressive 95). Sometimes she would call on a Wednesday or Thursday or Friday (my days off), and would later tell me, quite discouraged, “Lucy, I called your ski telephone today, and it was a man’s voice”. She has so much love in her heart, but sadly, not enough for Cory or John Murphy:(
Although I could provide you with every detail of my life between Sugarbush seasons, I will not (this is me stopping myself). I paid the bills by slinging wine at Snow Farm Vineyard, and nannying for the sweetest little baby in the whole wide world. Freshly one year old, he didn’t say much, or walk, but we had the best of times together playing in the summer sunshine and going on all kinds of adventures. The not-walking was solved by strapping him into the highly efficient Baby Backpack, where he had great views of the scenery around us, adorably pointing and saying “dah!” at every squirrel and dragonfly that went by. While the sweetest baby in the whole world got a first-class, luxuriously comfortable tour of the Vermont countryside, I was sweating bullets as I trudged around in the wet heat with a human on my back.
At the end of the summer, sweet baby got a spot in daycare and I was out of a job. But I just couldn’t stand the thought of walking around in relative comfort without a cumbersome load on my back, so I decided to hike the Long Trail.
The Long Trail was lovely and life changing and spiritual and all the wonderful things a thru-hike should be. It was also horrible and painful and challenging in every aspect of the word challenging, and while I would never ever ever do it again, I also would absolutely 1000% do it again. I completed the trail in 22 days, without a single shower, just 8 shy from the “Dirty Thirty” which, apparently, is a claim-to-fame on the AT, albeit a pretty gross one.
I vividly remember, after dissociatively hiking under tree cover for a very long and unknown amount of time (as went every day on the trail), emerging from the woods atop the summit of Lincoln Peak. Well, I wasn’t sure it was Lincoln Peak at first. It was September, I had been in the wilderness for 11 days, and a fun part of thru-hiking is that everything kind of just feels disorienting all the time because you are both so exerted and disconnected from civilization. Plus, I’d only ever known this summit in the dead of winter. But once I made the connection and realized I was getting a front-row view of the Heaven’s Gate Quad construction, I thought to myself, “Ha. I walked to work!”
After Lincoln Peak, where the Long Trail spits you out right above Organgrinder, it’s a short meander on the ridgeline before popping out at the top of Castlerock. You would know this, if you are one of the dedicated souls who takes advantage of the whole “Castlerock is open for hiking from 10:00 AM- 3:00 PM via the Long Trail” thing. Despite spending 100ish days here last season, and more in years prior, I embarrassingly had never hiked to Castlerock from Paradise until a few weeks ago. I know…big yikes for someone who claims to work here. It felt a lot longer in ski boots and in the plethora of layers I had on, but was nostalgic and soul filling to be “back on the trail” nonetheless (even if only for a third of a mile). Oh, and the skiing was fabulous. It doesn’t get much better than an untouched foot of powder on Castlerock Run.
Once back in civilization, I relished in the bounty of food and drink at my disposal. My first meal back? Domino’s Pizza and a Fiddlehead. I don’t think anything has ever tasted so good. But after readjusting to the thrills (and horrors) of real-life, including but not limited to, putting milk in my coffee, using a real toilet, and catching up on the news, it was time to face the harsh reality of: now what the !@#$ am I doing with my life?
Fast forward to now: I have made no progress finding a solution, but hey, I can’t complain, Snow Reporting is a pretty sweet gig, and I hear the whole not-knowing-what’s-next is a quintessential experience of being in your 20s. I expected to have some career-oriented revelation whilst in one Vermont National Forest or another, but alas, here I am, quarter-life crisis and all. But that is a-okay, because at least I can ski and write and pun the existential anxiety away in the meantime (ha ha…”punning” away from the stress as fast as I can…ha ha…).
One day, I am going to be a crotchety old lady, hobbling down The Mall on my doubly-replaced knees and decades-old skis, and I will look back oh-so-fondly on my time as the Sugarbush Snow Reporter. Maybe I’ll even pop into the office and bribe the new snow reporter to let me cameo on the Snow Phone with a couple of Werther’s caramels, or maybe an IPA, because I’ll be a cool grandma. Who’s to say what will happen between now and then…hopefully it still snows here in the year 2080. But the point is…I am back. I’ve been back. I hope you have enjoyed reading some stuff about me. I hope you enjoy reading your morning snow reports, because I enjoy writing them. I’m also enjoying writing this, but in the interest of the greater good, I am now, once again, stopping myself.
Don’t forget to call the snow phone every morning at (802)-583-7669 😉