Smile and Wink
By JACK MORRIS

Thick fog rakes the trees above me as my skins slip in a rocky stream crossing. I can't take my mind off last night's downpour. Or the fleeting powder I should be skiing. I'm a day late.

It's the fresh bear tracks to my left that break my concentration. I told her I'd be careful, that I'd check the avalanche report and would turn around if conditions deteriorated. A bear attack? That never occurred to me, and with skins on, the possibility of out-skiing a bear seems unlikely.

Two weeks ago, this trail was mostly dirt thanks to alternating rain and too-cold-to-snow temperatures. Now, just a few days before spring, it's a slushy mess. But it doesn't really matter. I'm satisfied. This is the year she learned to charge.

How often had I looked across an empty chairlift, dreaming about who might turn her head, smile, and wink at me as I moved in closer to keep warm. We had skied together plenty of times in seasons past, enough to make me understand that she really wanted to be a better skier but... Was it fear, or something worse?

This year, in the middle of early morning laps under bright blue skies, I'd turn back to steal looks at her. I'd see a red blur in a low stance arcing wide, deep turns across the trail, with a look on her face like she owned it.

Maybe it was the new gear, or the new job, or the free tickets we scored. Maybe it was the ring and knowing that in just a few months we'd make it official. Whatever it was, it didn't take much to see that this was the year she learned to let her boards fly. This was the year she winked at me on the chairlift.

Pole plant, lean forward, lift the foot, move the leg, glide.

As I approach timberline, downed trees and scattered brush signal old slides. Just around a clearing the fog lifts and the treeless snowfields open up above me. Rain-fluted snake lines weave in the face high above. The bear tracks are gone, as is the wind. All is silent. Just blue skies and snow as beads of sweat trickle down my face.

She may not have wanted to come up here with me this year, but soon she will. Maybe even next year.

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