Aspen Peak - Niche Media - Aspen living at its peak
Issue link: http://www.ifoldsflip.com/i/205356
Skiing on full-moon nights is a tradition handed down through generations. ONE NIGHT, ON THE EVE OF A FULL MOON, two local women meet two visiting Texans at an Aspen bar. It's clear the men are genuine; the conversation over cocktails is authentic—sans pickup lines or sleazy jests. "So what do you girls do around here for fun other than hang out at Eric's?" one of the guys asks in a Texan twang. The local women look at each other and shrug. "Well, tomorrow night is a full moon, and we're skinning up Buttermilk Mountain for the full-moon party. That's always fun." "What's skinning?" asks the other Texan. Explaining that you can glue skins on the base of your skis to hike uphill, an invitation for the next night's full-moon party is extended. Exchanging phone numbers, the locals and Texans part ways. The next afternoon the women receive a phone call: "Hey, we rented skis and skins. We want to join you. But, we don't know how to set up the skins…." Everyone meets at dusk in the Tiehack parking lot. The women give the men a quick debrief on how to ski uphill, while locals load sleds with firewood and Fireball, and, once locked and loaded, the crew starts skinning toward the top of Buttermilk. The Texans are aghast as the huge moon crests over the mountains to the east. "I can't believe you do this," they say to no one in particular. Their excitement is contagious; their stoke warms the assembly line of skiers. The locals reaffirm what they already know: A full moon over the mountains is worth celebrating. On this particularly bright night, I'm fortunate to be part of a long-standing Aspen rite of passage. I reach up and turn my small Black Diamond headlamp off with the press of my finger. The tips of my skis disappear for a second, my eyes adjusting to the natural light. A massive moon looms overhead. The snow underfoot glows. The slip and slide of friends' skins on cold December snow is audible, as I opt to forgo earbuds during tonight's ascent. The sky is clear, the wind nonexistent. A group of us, about 25 in all, are ascending toward the dark summit of Buttermilk Mountain beneath the bright moon and encompassing night skies. Laughter erupts behind me as we slog uphill on the skin track. Old friends talk shoulder to shoulder as they hike up. Conversations bounce between stories of travels to far-off places, reminiscing about days gone by, upcoming plans for the winter months, and family. 174 aspenpeak-magazine.com 172-177_AP_F_Moonlight_WIN13_SPR_14.indd 174 10/29/13 1:27 PM