The Surface Tension of Snow

Back in the 80s, my college clique would go to the Rocky Mountains on Spring Break in order to ski and drink. We liked to stay in Summit County, Colorado, home of the highest freshwater lake in North America, Lake Dillon, and also the Dam Brewery. But this story is not about lakes and alcohol consumption but actually the puddles that result.

I was skiing on Copper Mountain with the aforementioned Nutty. It was the first run of the morning and we were slowly making our way up the mountain via a series of lifts. We finally reached the top of the mountain. Nutty wanted to ski a rather flat trail that went across the side of the mountain so as to reach some "tree skiing". Tree skiing is where you go off the nice, wide groomed trails and ski through the woods where the snow is very deep and powdery and there are obstacles, like trees, that make things a little more exciting. It's not for the faint of heart but the snow is usually untouched and you can choose certain areas that make things a little less dangerous. For example, we were skiing on this rather flat cross trail. About a quarter mile below us was a medium difficulty groomed trail. Separating trail from trail was a rather sparse copse of Aspens and evergreens of some sort. We were about 10,000 feet above sea level and just slightly below the treeline.

We reached a good spot to make a sharp left and see if we could ski down to the lower trail without a)falling down or b)hitting an immovable object. Nutty jumped off first and I followed. Now, what makes tree skiing such fun is that you have two diametrically opposed goals that you try to balance. First, you need to keep up a good bit of speed so that you can actually ski in the deep snow which makes it much more difficult to achieve the second goal: don't run into a tree. So I was somewhat surprised to see Nutty pull up short next to a 6' pine tree and stop. I stopped, too, but on a bit steeper spot and just uphill from an aspen tree so that I had something to support me. I asked Nutty why in the hell he had stopped but he did not answer just started pulling off his gloves. When I asked in a little louder and more perturbed tone, he mumbled something about having to pee.

I heard the unmistakable click of ski bindings coming undone and just had time to scream "DON'T" when Nutty stepped off of his skis and disappeared. When you are standing on 5 feet of ski, it is easy to forget that the surface tension of snow is rather low and may not support you when you are standing on 12" of ski boot. Especially if you have been stepping off of your skis onto groomed and packed snow all week with no ill effects. Unfortunately, Nutty had just stepped off his skis into approximately 15 feet of powdery snowy goodness. And fallen straight down. I couldn't even see the top of his head. I began to chuckle as Nutty's notoriously shy bladder had now got him into a world of hurt on top of a mountain. I was also wondering, if he couldn't pee standing on his skis, how he was going to manage at the bottom of a snow hole. It was also going to be quite impossible for me to assist, since there was no chance in hell that I could make a turn in snow this deep and manage to come up next to this snow hole without falling in as well.

"It appears that the snow is deeper than it looks!" I yelled at Nutty. "No shit, Sherlock," came the reply, "Come down here and help me." "Not a chance," said I, "you dug yourself into that hole, now dig yourself out." After a couple more questions from me and some harsh language eminating from the snow hole, I also determined that Nutty no longer felt the urge to empty his bladder. "What the hell am I supposed to do?" Nutty wondered. I suggested that he use the not 6 foot but actually more like 20 foot pine tree and climb out of the hole. Which I suppose is quite easily said from your perch atop skis 20 feet uphill but more difficult in practice when one is at the bottom of a snow hole and wearing ski boots. Now that I mention it, I don't think I have ever climbed a tree in ski boots. It seems that would be almost impossible but after about 30 minutes Nutty managed to accomplish the task.

When Nutty had managed to climb to the top of the tree, I began to laugh uproariously as the tree began to bend over and look for all the world as if it would deposit Nutty right back into the snow hole. Fortunately, the surface tension of snow is great enough to support a Nutty if he has the spreading boughs of an evergreen under him. Also, he had managed to come to a stop within reaching distance of his skis and poles. After another 30 minutes of mucking about at the top of a pine tree in 20 foot snow, Nutty managed to reattach himself to his kit and off we went.

More valuable lessons learned from the Nutty clan: think before you step and as Mom always said, "Everybody pee before we go!"

P.S. Midnight to 8:3o AM sleepfest!!!