Writing Exercise: Skiing Goose Creek Meadow

The writing prompt was: Describe a familiar setting to someone who's never been there. 

My old green Subaru chugs up the Goose Creek Road as it's done countless times. Despite decent road conditions, I park at the house before the trailhead in order to avoid the last steep push to the parking lot. Getting stuck on Goose Creek Road is a Bozeman ski tradition I’d like to avoid.

From the house, my friend Merry and I begin our ascent and in ten minutes we arrive at the trailhead. There, families eager to chop down a Christmas tree spill out of all-wheel drive station wagons and big macho trucks. Dogs leap about, tongues and tails waging as they meet new friends, both the animal and people variety. Children, squealing in delight, sled down the hillside, their little butts rooted to cheap plastic saucers. Past the gate, Merry and I start the steady skin up to the top, the gentle slap of our skis joins in with the kid and canine sounds and adds to the soundtrack of this idyllic setting. Am I imagining it or is there a palpable sense of holiday cheer in the winter air?

Old roadbeds cut through the trees. These abandoned corridors, once used by big machinery to extract trees from the ground, now mark a wide path for skiers like us looking to leave our mark on the snow-covered meadow below the ridgeline. While people are here today to remove trees from the forest, they do so by simpler, quieter means. Their goal, holiday decoration rather than profit.

Our route continues through the remains a fire. Charred trees, eerie and altered, litter the hillside. Some are toppled over, others stand forlorn, either way, the forces of the world have transformed the landscape for our enjoyment.

Next the climb up the meadow. Then the ridgeline. Views of mountains off in the distance. Food, water, climbing skins off, warmer clothing and goggles on. Time to ski the meadow. Merry and I arc graceful S-turns down the gentle white face. So close to town, so close to the mass of humanity below yet we have the meadow to ourselves. 

We ski Goose Creek in silence.