Winter storms don’t glide in gently on puffy white cumulous clouds, they barrel across the mountains like runaway freight trains, full of noise and bluster, prodded by the restless wind. Ski resorts don’t like to talk about wind–or storms in general—because it scares away the tourists, who somehow forget that winter is messy, cold, and wild, as if snow were laid down softly each night like a blanket over a sleeping baby. But wind is a fact of life in the mountains, as much a part of the weather as snow itself, and those who grumble about it or say it does nothing but blow overlook the fact that the wind gives as much as it takes. It can seem malevolent, yes, but there’s a benevolent side, too: Think of wind as a merry prankster whose tricks can bring a smile as much as a sting.

All right, the sting is real, no overlooking it. A long, cold, windy chair ride can be miserable. Windslab is frightening. Too much wind destroys the delicate crystalline structure of snowflakes, turning what might have been a powder day into a fruitless hunt for light and dry. Pockets of wind-transported and wind-loaded snow–avalanches waiting to happen–are one of the biggest risks to the backcountry skier. Cornices, so beautifully sculpted by the wind slicing over a ridge, are often fragile and waiting for the unwary to venture too close to the edge before breaking off. And, though not life-threatening, is there anything more aggravating than a blow-down day, when gale-force gusts close the trams and chairs and your only access to the mountain is through the lodge window or maybe, if you’re lucky, some sheltered, low-angle beginner run?

And yet, is there a better feeling than to be at home in the storm, hatches battened down, hard shell snugged tight, every chink in the armor plugged? Or to gain the knowledge that lets you travel safely in the backcountry, away from hair-trigger pockets and hanging cornices? Wind’s crankiness is easily subverted, circumvented, its advantage turned against it. Sure, wind sweeps away fresh snow, but it has to go somewhere; the savvy skier can find it, in the trees, the next gully over, on some hidden subpeak that doesn’t get much traffic. A wind-loaded pillow within the nice, safe, avalanche-controlled boundaries of a ski resort is a far different cry from one in the backcountry—hitting one at speed is one of the most joyous things you can do on skis. Windslab, much as it turns your beautiful form into St. Vitus’s dance, is manageable—and it makes you a lot better skier. And while powder is almost always preferable, snow that’s been honed by the wind is one of the true treasures of winter. From fast and edgable Styrofoam to soft and gentle chalk, the many varieties of windbuff are as subtly distinct as any Wasatch powder.

So, let it huff and puff. It can blow all day, and it still doesn’t suck.

Coming tomorrow…The Elements of Skiing: Shade

Tagged as: environment, essay, skiing, snowboarding, weather