The tram was crowded this morning as it climbed rapidly in the clear blue French sky. The 22 inches of new powder snow had gotten everyone in town up early. Waiting in line took longer than normal because of the early birds with inside connections.
Cannon's not for wimps. Got it? If you need pampering, posh slopeside dining and lodging or tony boutiques, this state-run mountain ain't for you, honey. But if you thrive on challenge, demand variety of terrain and know how to dress warm, then one of New England's oldest, toughest mountains awaits.
On a recent flight, I sat next to a young woman who was headed to Aspen for her first "Learn to Ski" week. After being served the standard miniature airline meal, she pulled out an issue of SKI Magazine from the seat pocket in front of her.
A year ago this Father's Day, I skied a mountain that held no prior meaning for me, paying tribute, not to my father, but to the father of alpine touring in America. Actually, that may be too grand an accolade even for Paul Ramer's considerable ego.