Flagstaff Mountain, Boulder. 11:52 p.m. New Year's Eve.
The forecast was for five below. I came wrapped in my subzero gear and used my trekking poles to reach the star. It was a vigorous climb. I took this photo next to a tree, then walked out to enjoy the view. I couldn't believe that no one else was there.
Only a few minutes before midnight a group of jolly college kids piled out of a car on the road below. I could hear their voices and they stumbled up the mountain in the snow, their feet slipping. I knew they'd never get where I was, without poles. They stopped at the lowest metal pole of the star, and huddled around it drinking champagne. Most of them didn't see me standing on the slope above them.
A few minutes after midnight, I started to descend. I slipped in my boots and slid about fifty feet in perfect powder down to a tree (the where I took this picture) which gently stopped me, just on the level where the kids were huddled.
They were blown away by the spectacle of me gliding right into their midst. They dubbed me an "extreme skier" and invited me to share their champagne. I made a traverse to them and drank right out of the bottle with them, toasting the new year with them.
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