Throughout my 20s (and early 30s), I skied drunk. I wouldn’t get on the first chair unless I had 4 beers on me. Any jacket or pants pocket with a zipper became a receptacle for as many cans as you could stuff in there. I remember it being really important not to litter. We’d finish a can, squish it down flat and stick it back in our jackets. We put everyone on the mountain in harm’s way by skiing under the influence, but litter bugs we were not. By the end of the day, all of the little drips and drabs and backwash from the squished cans would seep into the lining of your goretex. You’d marinate in a concoction of sweat and last sips of bud light all day. We must have stunk like a bottle and can redemption center. I apologize to any skiers from the singles lift line who joined us on the Summit Triple in those days.
T, lots of info and I wish we still had the pictures to confirm this but do you remember we found a clipboard sign in sheet and feeling like we were on punkd because the last guys name was Jeff Sullivan
Last Day of the Season
Great closing line
T, lots of info and I wish we still had the pictures to confirm this but do you remember we found a clipboard sign in sheet and feeling like we were on punkd because the last guys name was Jeff Sullivan
wow! great story! angels were watching out for your gang of party animals/skiers!
Do you ever look back and amaze yourself that you didn't end up dead or in jail for life? I do.