The Mirage, Las Vegas

There are still a few days left in this rainy month, yet it seems like events at its beginning occurred ages ago.  This is the common result of a schedule so incredibly jammed packed that the passage of time takes on strange dimensions.  Let’s see… the beginning of the month found me in California, skiing for a couple of days and chillaxing on the beach.  The next weekend I was in New Hampshire, busy with all the best man stuff for my friend’s wedding.  The following Monday I flew to Las Vegas for the NAB show.  The only money I lost in Vegas was to some overpriced meals at the hotel; it’s great not being a gambler!  Then just this past weekend, I jetted out to (more…)

I’ve been on some fairly hairy hikes in my life. Sometimes the adventure is in the company: coming face-to-face with Cassowaries in Australia or Black Bears in Yosemite. Sometimes it’s the weather: frigid autumn snow in New Hampshire’s Presidentials or stifling heat in Volcanos National Park.  Sometimes it’s in getting lost: trying to find Seiguera della Dei on the Amalfi Coast, or foolishly cutting switchbacks until I ended up bushwhacking through the dark in Yosemite.

But sometimes, it’s the path itself.  Half Dome in Yosemite and Stairway to Heaven in Hawaii are probably at the top for coolest and scariest experiences. The payoff is always the setting and the scenery.  But as you can see in the video below, I need to return to Spain to check out this part of Andalucia.  Agoraphobes beware!

My friend, Ben Hall, loving life at Bretton Woods

Hello, poor, neglected blog! Here’s a nifty little video I created from my mini ski trip up to New Hampshire and Vermont last week.  The timing for this trip couldn’t have been better.  Snow fell across much of the region for the 3 or 4 days prior to my trip, granting the rare New England treat of fresh powder.  Killington, as usual, claimed the most with 59 inches of fresh white fluffies!  As you can see in the video, I took advantage of the new snow by heading into the woods… a most enchanting experience when the world is made of white.  All told, I enjoyed three days of glorious skiing with some terrific friends.  Monday was Killington, VT.  Tuesday was Bretton Woods, NH.  Wednesday was Waterville Valley, NH.

Back here in CT, I found that by Friday it was already T-shirt weather! My crocuses are peeking out from the cadaverous ground of early spring. It’s amazing how quickly the context changes from spectacular winter wonderland to thoughts of golf… But I’ve got at least a couple of more skiing days left this year.  Mammoth Mountain, California still has two days with my name on it later this month. And I’m in talks with Catamount Ski Area in Massachusetts for a big web site project; and I see at least a few comp runs after a visit there perhaps next week.

Quintessential Squam

One of my favorite spots on planet earth is Squam Lake, New Hampshire.  Our family had a beautiful spot in Squaw Cove, way out in the quietest end of this already marvelously untouched lake.  Many of my childhood summer days were spent up at the lake.  Far from the drum beat of the rat race life, there were only three types of days at Squam: lake days (if it was hot and muggy), mountain days (if it was cooler and clear), and cabin days (if it was raining).  We cooked on a large, wood-fired, cast iron stove, played games around the huge dining table, read books in the alcoves by the fireplace, made “forts” in the loft, slept safely from the “wood bumpies” in our individual cabins, always swam before breakfast, sat wrapped in our towels in the warmth of the morning sun while Grandma brought wild blueberry pancakes down the path for breakfast on the dock, paddled the canoe out to Yard Islands, sailed out to the main lake, jumped off the diving rock in Rattlesnake Cove, played with cousins and friends in the woods, bicycled on the dirt roads, played on the deck til our hair turned blonde and our backs turned brown, earned our right to shed our life vests by swimming unaided across the cove, engaged in forever fascinating conversations with well-traveled, well-read family, listened to the hauntingly beautiful cries of the loon, and found ourselves all-too-quickly passing from childhood through adolescence and into adulthood.

You could hardly ask for a better setting to romp as a child, yet I found my appreciation for this magical place only matured as I saw it slip away. (more…)