The day started with this: A text from Keith, my former editor and current photographer, saying, “Carston is out. Got sick puke all night he said.”[sic]. ([sic], by the way, is a journalism term that says, essentially, “I know this isn’t proper English, but that’s how it was spelled, said, written, etc. In Carston’s case, it carries extra meaning). It ended with Carston (aka, Carston Oliver, the most underrated skier in Utah) getting sick in an entirely different way. In between, I had to turn down a seat with Wasatch Powderbird Guides (thanks Spencer, and seriously… if you’re calling to offer someone an empty seat on a helicopter, you probably don’t need to say: “Sorry for calling you so early.”), handled phone calls about a crew allegedly from Powder (probably true) who had allegedly crossed closed avalanche terrain (no comment…) and infringed upon Solitude’s sovereign border (…besides that it wasn’t us), and did a lot of waiting for the grey bird skies to pop blue (they never did).
Let’s rewind a little. The day actually started with Brighton’s website reporting 13 inches. We had an appointment for an early ride up the Milly Express. Carston was out for the morning (he would show up after lunch), but we had Sam Cohen in tow. We were going to Get the Shot.
Here’s a look at how the day went down for us. To read more about the radness that is Solitude and Brighton, subscribe to Powder today (it costs less than two beers at Rio Tinto Stadium).