Love You Fur Ever
Riding the gondola with Sam is a gas.
By MATHIEU ROS

Sam finally may not drive me nuts.

He sits in the middle of the gondola, stuck between our backpacks, helmets, poles, and legs. The sky is that kind of blue, the sun drowns us; it draws large white patches on the black fur of Sam's back.

We just left P2, heading to the Ruillans in a small orange gondola. Colin produces his Thermos of hot special tea and passes around a steaming goblet. It's what you'd dully call a "moment of happiness," the kind you usually don't notice because it just happens. But here and now, being aware of it almost spoils my pleasure.

We speak of photography, of the swallowtail snowboard dangling outside the Plexiglas, and of Colin's Norwegian cheese cooked for three days in a copper pan. We stare frequently outside, looking at the great void beneath us; at the magnificent blue glacier; at the Vallon's wall where the night wind has swept the lightest, softest snow, erasing yesterday's tracks. Our smiles shine for miles and it's only our second run of the day.

It's debatable who breaks the silence first—Sam for farting, or Colin for teasing him. Sam really has no savoir vivre. The confined space stinks for a moment far worse than Colin's Norwegian cheese, until fresh air enters by the open windows. The dog seems unaffected by our frowns of indignation.

Since we boarded the gondola Sam moved twice—once to find a comfortable position, and again now, ostensibly to snatch a rind of cheese from Colin's hand. I suspect this last move is not wholly disconnected to his farting. So much for enjoying your own smell.

I saw Sam earlier this morning waiting outside the operator's room at P2. He was very still then, as still as he is again now waiting for the gondola to make the final few meters to the station. Colin tells us how fast he is on the snow; he recounts the time that he and Sam descended the Pan de Rideau together.

Sam is a powder-addict disciple of the Zen, one of those dharma bums. He doesn't wear a backpack, has no rescue system. He goes out last off the cabin to ensure his sheep are safe and nicely packed. He vanishes with Colin on Chancel, while we head to Daniel's refuge. I look at them fading below the windy crest. I wonder. Usually I keep away from dogs. But, heck, the Pan de Rideau...

Raunchy odors aside, this dog rules.


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