Pre-Thanksgiving Powder Day at Shawnee Peak from Sven Cole on Vimeo.
Thanksgiving Day 2011 from Sven Cole on Vimeo.
Monday, November 28, 2011
Happy Thanksgiving
The mountain had plenty of snow to enjoy if you were willing to work for it. Sort of like when the mountain opened back in 1938!
Thursday, September 15, 2011
The Stories Will Return
The apple orchards are a busy place right now, meaning winter is just a short couple of months away. With that knowledge my mind starts to think about snow and skiing, and of course the mountain of LOV.
I've had a number of people share with me great stories about the mountain, and I look forward to bringing those to you- soon!
Until then, know that fall will be here soon, then the first flakes of snow, then the first turns down Jack Spratt. I for one can't wait!
Sven
I've had a number of people share with me great stories about the mountain, and I look forward to bringing those to you- soon!
Until then, know that fall will be here soon, then the first flakes of snow, then the first turns down Jack Spratt. I for one can't wait!
Sven
Monday, April 18, 2011
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Friday, March 25, 2011
A Different Type of LOV
On a wonderfully blue March day I headed out with a few friends for a tour of the ridge that makes up Pleasant Mountain. The trip took us from the top of the triple chair, down to the fire tower, down the Denmark and Fryeburg sides of the mountain, back the other side and up and over Little Mountain before making it back to the base. Just over 9 miles and just over 6 hours. A great tour.
Monday, March 21, 2011
More Love for LOV
Story provide by Nick Lebel.
So, I didn't wind up with skis on my feet until I was about 11 years
old, but that didn't stop me from quickly turning into a rabid,
frothing grom. Even if I was a bit old to be considered a "grom" by
then, but that's besides the point. Even though I was a chubby kid, I
found some freedom I'd never known on just two feet. And I could be
fast! Skiing, as Professor Stump has told us through his movies, is
freedom, and I'd discovered that.
My first experience on skis was at Pleasant Mountain - and I never
forgot that fact, even as my family began skiing Sunday River instead.
And as Pleasant Mountain transitioned into Shawnee Peak, I also
transitioned. I moved from the Big City to something my parents'
Realtor told them was a "Bedroom Community", but I could bring my skis
with me, which was cool...
Where we moved to had an after-school ski program on Wednesdays (early
release Wednesdays, what a great idea!), and a whole group of
sixth-graders would pile onto the school bus and make the trek from
Cumberland to Bridgton, which felt like driving to the moon for me at
the time. And on the bus, we would talk incredible amounts of smack
about how hard we were going to ski... The Boneyard. The Boneyard; it
gives you chills just saying it... go ahead. Here's the thing, though:
I'd talk smack about it, then find convenient ways to avoid having to
ski it, because it would chew me up and spit me out, no questions
asked.
You know The Boneyard - that last promenade of rock under the
chairlift right before the last tower - the formation that, as you
approach it, is virtually nothing more than a horizon line that drops
directly into Moose Pond. It was wide, rocky and tree-strewn, and had
almost mandatory little drops... and to a 12-year-old kid from the
suburbs, that thing is the equivalent of Squaw's Palisades, Jackson's
Corbett's and Tuckerman Ravine all rolled into one. You'd never see
the name of it on the trail map, but everyone knew where it was - it
was out there, and it was hungry. And it scared the hell out of me,
because I was nowhere near good enough to ski it.
But here's the thing about The Boneyard - it was such a unique
formation in the East - with its wide open exposure, bare rock and
trees - it was something you just didn't see at Sunday River, and
Sugarloaf was so damned far away that if Shawnee was the moon, then
the 'Loaf was Alpha Centauri. But anyway, 20 kids would gather in
their Starter Jackets and CB pants at the top of the Boneyard and goad
each other into falling off it, where they'd pick up their skis,
poles, goggles, jacket, hats and socks and proclaim that they just
"shredded it." I, on the other hand, would ski down to the bottom of
it via Jack Spratt and tell everyone how awesome it was, and how
didn't they see me ripping it behind then?
This pinpoints a major Boneyard factor: its location - there it was,
right under the chair, right at the end of your chairlift ride, so you
were primed and ready to ski it, and God forbid if you saw someone eat
it under there. There was a lot of pressure for a little kid trying to
ski that, thinking to himself, "Don't fall, they're all going to laugh
at you. Don't fall, they're all going to laugh at you. Don't
fall---OOOFFFF!" and you were picking out a ski pole from your butt.
That's when you were vulnerable to the hoots,catcalls and heckles from
the chairs above, so you'd better have your A-game if you really
intended to ski it well. And that's why I'd slowly pick my way around
Spratt, avoiding the catcalls and keeping both skis firmly attached to
my feet.
Eventually, once I'd graduated from Wedge-Christie-ing my way down
Jack Spratt to semi-parallel-ing my way down, I did tackle The
Boneyard, and I spent my early-teenage years re-living the same
blown-up-yard-sale dreams that all my friends learned, until my skiing
became stronger, and one day The Boneyard actually became something to
attack, rather than survive. And then I learned how to play with
terrain, how to use rocks as ramps, and how to find a line through
chaos - it became a teacher, and a damned good one.
For every Shawnee skier who's ever tackled the steep, exposed faces on
Mt. Washington, or proved themselves out west, each and every one of
them owes The Boneyard a debt of gratitude. It was the short, sharp
training ground for generations of skiers, and continues to be - it
even looks like they opened it up more with the advent of the gladed
areas off the top. This sounds trite, but I still love to ski it, and
don't even mind going a little extra hard on days where each chair is
full. Instead of a voice telling me "Don't fall, they're going to
laugh," today my voice says, "Enjoy this one - it's an awesome day."
So, I didn't wind up with skis on my feet until I was about 11 years
old, but that didn't stop me from quickly turning into a rabid,
frothing grom. Even if I was a bit old to be considered a "grom" by
then, but that's besides the point. Even though I was a chubby kid, I
found some freedom I'd never known on just two feet. And I could be
fast! Skiing, as Professor Stump has told us through his movies, is
freedom, and I'd discovered that.
My first experience on skis was at Pleasant Mountain - and I never
forgot that fact, even as my family began skiing Sunday River instead.
And as Pleasant Mountain transitioned into Shawnee Peak, I also
transitioned. I moved from the Big City to something my parents'
Realtor told them was a "Bedroom Community", but I could bring my skis
with me, which was cool...
Where we moved to had an after-school ski program on Wednesdays (early
release Wednesdays, what a great idea!), and a whole group of
sixth-graders would pile onto the school bus and make the trek from
Cumberland to Bridgton, which felt like driving to the moon for me at
the time. And on the bus, we would talk incredible amounts of smack
about how hard we were going to ski... The Boneyard. The Boneyard; it
gives you chills just saying it... go ahead. Here's the thing, though:
I'd talk smack about it, then find convenient ways to avoid having to
ski it, because it would chew me up and spit me out, no questions
asked.
You know The Boneyard - that last promenade of rock under the
chairlift right before the last tower - the formation that, as you
approach it, is virtually nothing more than a horizon line that drops
directly into Moose Pond. It was wide, rocky and tree-strewn, and had
almost mandatory little drops... and to a 12-year-old kid from the
suburbs, that thing is the equivalent of Squaw's Palisades, Jackson's
Corbett's and Tuckerman Ravine all rolled into one. You'd never see
the name of it on the trail map, but everyone knew where it was - it
was out there, and it was hungry. And it scared the hell out of me,
because I was nowhere near good enough to ski it.
But here's the thing about The Boneyard - it was such a unique
formation in the East - with its wide open exposure, bare rock and
trees - it was something you just didn't see at Sunday River, and
Sugarloaf was so damned far away that if Shawnee was the moon, then
the 'Loaf was Alpha Centauri. But anyway, 20 kids would gather in
their Starter Jackets and CB pants at the top of the Boneyard and goad
each other into falling off it, where they'd pick up their skis,
poles, goggles, jacket, hats and socks and proclaim that they just
"shredded it." I, on the other hand, would ski down to the bottom of
it via Jack Spratt and tell everyone how awesome it was, and how
didn't they see me ripping it behind then?
This pinpoints a major Boneyard factor: its location - there it was,
right under the chair, right at the end of your chairlift ride, so you
were primed and ready to ski it, and God forbid if you saw someone eat
it under there. There was a lot of pressure for a little kid trying to
ski that, thinking to himself, "Don't fall, they're all going to laugh
at you. Don't fall, they're all going to laugh at you. Don't
fall---OOOFFFF!" and you were picking out a ski pole from your butt.
That's when you were vulnerable to the hoots,catcalls and heckles from
the chairs above, so you'd better have your A-game if you really
intended to ski it well. And that's why I'd slowly pick my way around
Spratt, avoiding the catcalls and keeping both skis firmly attached to
my feet.
Eventually, once I'd graduated from Wedge-Christie-ing my way down
Jack Spratt to semi-parallel-ing my way down, I did tackle The
Boneyard, and I spent my early-teenage years re-living the same
blown-up-yard-sale dreams that all my friends learned, until my skiing
became stronger, and one day The Boneyard actually became something to
attack, rather than survive. And then I learned how to play with
terrain, how to use rocks as ramps, and how to find a line through
chaos - it became a teacher, and a damned good one.
For every Shawnee skier who's ever tackled the steep, exposed faces on
Mt. Washington, or proved themselves out west, each and every one of
them owes The Boneyard a debt of gratitude. It was the short, sharp
training ground for generations of skiers, and continues to be - it
even looks like they opened it up more with the advent of the gladed
areas off the top. This sounds trite, but I still love to ski it, and
don't even mind going a little extra hard on days where each chair is
full. Instead of a voice telling me "Don't fall, they're going to
laugh," today my voice says, "Enjoy this one - it's an awesome day."
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Tower Thirteen
We'd line up, sometimes as many at twenty of us, about a hundred yards up the slope from the jump. We'd wait to see who would go first. We'd wait to see if Patrol was looking (this was the 80's and the era of the NO JUMPING sign). We'd wait to see if Wheeler was going to go off and do something we'd never seen. We'd wait to see if the yellow pants of Dougie Rand would come screaming by, blond hair blowing in the air with his mirrored sunglasses masking where he was looking, and he'd snake all of us and launch huge air that just looked so smooth.
We'd stand there until it was our turn or until our nerve had built up enough. While we stood there we'd talk about doing a helicopter, a double daffy, a mule kick, a back scratcher, or a spread eagle. We'd then push off and try to perform up to the hype we'd just laid down, and we'd often come up short on the trick, but we'd still get plenty of air. The second to two seconds that we were in the air was a moment of pure freedom. In our minds we were getting dozens of feet off the ground and landing at the top of the Pine slope- at least that is what it felt like. The reality is we usually landed in the sweet spot and skied out and stood over at the mid station tower. Every once in awhile someone would pop a good one and land of the flats. It hurt like hell but it was bragging rights.
I've seen some amazing skiers hit that kicker, from national freestyle stars like Lee Lee Morrison, Frank Howell, Greg Stump, Kim Stump, Geoff Stump, Dougie Rand, Hank Donlon, to ski racers I grew up with like Dave Gyger, Scott Davis, Henry Hudson, Colin Riley, to current freeskiing standout Ben Wheeler, to early snowboarders Jay Diran and Mike (who I can't remember his last name but used to throw front flips off the jump), to the guy who introduced me to Tower Thirteen- my Dad. There are hundreds of others that I've seen launch off Tower Thirteen, the images are etched in my mind.
As I sit here on a March day where I know the temps will head into the 40's I can almost smell the grill from Mid Station and see people clad in neon launching into the stratosphere.
These days the knoll is buried, the in-run has been tamed, and the jumping takes place in the terrain park. But for those who remember Tower Thirteen, I'm guessing you can't help but look over to that knoll as you pass mid station on the new lift and think back to days gone by- and smile. I know I do.
We'd stand there until it was our turn or until our nerve had built up enough. While we stood there we'd talk about doing a helicopter, a double daffy, a mule kick, a back scratcher, or a spread eagle. We'd then push off and try to perform up to the hype we'd just laid down, and we'd often come up short on the trick, but we'd still get plenty of air. The second to two seconds that we were in the air was a moment of pure freedom. In our minds we were getting dozens of feet off the ground and landing at the top of the Pine slope- at least that is what it felt like. The reality is we usually landed in the sweet spot and skied out and stood over at the mid station tower. Every once in awhile someone would pop a good one and land of the flats. It hurt like hell but it was bragging rights.
I've seen some amazing skiers hit that kicker, from national freestyle stars like Lee Lee Morrison, Frank Howell, Greg Stump, Kim Stump, Geoff Stump, Dougie Rand, Hank Donlon, to ski racers I grew up with like Dave Gyger, Scott Davis, Henry Hudson, Colin Riley, to current freeskiing standout Ben Wheeler, to early snowboarders Jay Diran and Mike (who I can't remember his last name but used to throw front flips off the jump), to the guy who introduced me to Tower Thirteen- my Dad. There are hundreds of others that I've seen launch off Tower Thirteen, the images are etched in my mind.
As I sit here on a March day where I know the temps will head into the 40's I can almost smell the grill from Mid Station and see people clad in neon launching into the stratosphere.
These days the knoll is buried, the in-run has been tamed, and the jumping takes place in the terrain park. But for those who remember Tower Thirteen, I'm guessing you can't help but look over to that knoll as you pass mid station on the new lift and think back to days gone by- and smile. I know I do.
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