hello and welcome to An Altitude problem, the blog that's wondering why mothers are so easy to shop for, but we never know what to get our fathers. Of course, mother's day comes first, so we set ourselves up by giving her flowers and gifts and cards, and a month later, we are expected to do the same for our fathers, but how? Oh, I know exactly what I want to surprise my mother with when we go out there next week. That one's easy. Now just to find it by next Sunday... not so easy, but doable. I already have a lead. But for father's day... power tools? Already has em. cliche besides. I draw the line at toiletry items. something practical. Something he'll use. Something we can afford that's practical and he will use. Flashlight, boring. Gloves, already did that several times. And boring. Ah! I got.... nothing.

We are trying to scramble to leave the county on Saturday, to spend the week in Kansas working on our house there, to get it ready to sell. We are even willing to take a loss on it, we want to sell it so badly. While we are there, we are hoping to be able to spend a night camping at the Scott lake State Park. In all of our years living there, we never once camped at the park, but after we moved away, we try to make it a priority at least once a trip. We just found it so pleasant when we finally tried it.

Here in the County, winter still lingers. We still build fires in the evening to chase away the chill. I am still doing deep-cleans, closing down the program for the summer, but with flexible hours, so I can get away and take the dog for long walks or skis. Last Sunday, I skied up Peru Creek, a four-wheel-drive road that used to service several of the now-abandoned gold mines scattered around the town of Montezuma, a hearty, wind-blown village clinging to the mountainside just below treeline. I was with two other couples and our three dogs. About three miles in, blisters began to form on the backs of my heels. I toughed it out, and turned around about ten minutes before the rest of the group, so I could ski down a bit slower with Andy. I am trying my best not to run him too hard until his skeletal system is mature.

A few days later, we walked over to Raisin's house, on the other side of the Cove, and spent a long time doing basic obedience exercises. Andy was mentally and physically exhausted after that, a welcome event in our lives. And barely had he perked back up the next morning, but I set out to climb Dercum Mountain, the front mountain at Keystone. I skied up, and he padded along, eating bits of trash melting out of the snow, chasing snowballs and squirrels, scampering up hills to glissade down. We made the top of the Peru lift in just over an hour, where we stopped in a snow-free spot under some trees and I fed him his lunch, we both drank the water I had been carrying on my back, and we watched snowflakes drift out of clouds that looked less like snowclouds and more like rainclouds by the minute. At last, I eased my worsening heel-blisters back onto my skis, and we headed down hill. The whole point of the climb had been to provide me with a long, sustained downhill so I could teach myself to telemark ski, the secret to controlled turns with one's heels free. Andy thought it was all a big game, and tried to nip at my skis with each turn, causing me a bit of panic. The last thing I wanted was yet another lecture from the vet about metal-edged skis and horror stories about cut leg tendons. By the time I made my last curtsying turn into the base area where I was parked (there is something almost dance-like about telemark skiing- dipping low, swooping turns, it is as much a form of art as a sport) I was exhausted, but so was Andy. I left him in the car for the next five hours while I cleaned, and as far as I know, he never moved from the passenger's seat. The pictures near this paragraph are of that day, the first one being the view from the cockpit just before heading back down from the top (the road you see, 1,500 feet below, is where I climbed from) and the second being, well, my puppy and me.

The next day, we met Raisin and her people at Vail Pass, and Mel and I, Raisin and Andy skied for two hours while our boys rode their snowmobiles in the softening, rotting snow. The heel blisters finally filled with fluid, and became enormous and painful. When we stopped for happy hour specials on the way back through Frisco, I managed to hobble to my chair, where I stayed for the next hour and a half, then hobbled back to the truck, then hobbled into the house, settled in the armchair, and stayed there until bedtime. By the way, can you believe there is only eight weeks age difference between Raisin and Andy? They really do love each other, in spite of all the teeth.

And then, yesterday night, it snowed. Heels blistered, I didnt care. I slid them into my snowboard boots and hit the steeps at the Basin with Mel, and got third chair (only because two people cut in front of us) and some surprising soft powder turns, exchanging banter with the lifties unlucky enough to have to grab chairs on what might be the last powder day of the season. In spite of scribbled queries on the message boards -"have you huged a liftie lately?"- we did not go quite that far to make them feel better. Besides, we were not quite sure how to huge a liftie.

We took several runs down the Pali face, A-Basin's double-black runs, a few through North Glades, a screaming fast, soft tree run, then took the East Wall Traverse several times before calling it a day at 11:00. And even then, after the lifts had been running several hours, we were still making first tracks, getting face-shots on our turns. The Basin was fairly deserted. Our last run down, we dropped in off of King's Cornice and landed in the steep and deep, completely untracked. It was the best powder day ever, not necessarily because of the snow, which was a bit heavy, but since it was so unexpected. We went back home, ate veggie and humus pitas and waxed our equipment with spring wax before both going to work.

That evening, after work, I picked up Marci and took her and Andy hiking on Dercum Mountain. We got back to the car soaked but energized.

And today, I dont want to do anything. Everything hurts. My back, from twisting and gyrating, forcing my snowboard through the heavy pow yesterday. My feet, from days of unrelenting blistering in my new, mack-daddy, unbroken-in ski boots. My head, when I think about cleaning yet again. I don't want any more peanut butter, bananas, apples, or sliced bread- the staples I have lived on for the last week. I want to stay in my armchair just as I am for at least another three hours. But, unfortunately, it is already noon. I have a six hour clean ahead of me yet today.