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D
e a r R e a d e r s,
YES
- the season is here and in the North of England we
are waiting for snow. Again. But
there was snow
on the tops this morning folks, so
The time has come...
Time
to wash the spit
— out of your camel-back;
Time to empty out
— the crumbs from your rucksac.
Time
to shake the dust
— out of your woolen socks;
Time to pour shampoo
— on your greasy dreadlocks.
(and they're still unfashionable after all these years)
Time to bite your lip,
— and spend your hard earned cash;
Time to buy a pipe
— and a half kilo stash.
(that last couplet for snowboarders only folks!)
Time to wipe the snot
— from your goretex glove;
Time to pray to God
— for snow from Heaven above.
Skiing and boarding in the North of England is often sniffed
at for its poor weather, dodgy lifts cobbled together
from old tractor parts and most of all the lack of snow.
Not very complementary, but there you are.
However,
if you can hack it when the rain is in your face and
when the mist is so thick you can hardly see the grass
poking through the slush... if you can manage that then
skiing anywhere else in the world will be a breeze -
and all the more enjoyable for it.
If
you know of any ski facilities not covered here or spot
any errors then please email me. You can contact me
on: snowlion@computermail.net.
I would be especially interested to hear of any historical
information about local skiing.
I
hope this website has helped you to get the best out
of our local facilities and encouraged you to support
our local clubs.
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Let's
raise our glasses to another season of skiing
and boarding - and may the snowfall commence!
S
n o w l i
o n
Cumberland
Winter 2003
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P.S.
I was in the ski room the other evening bringing the
kit out of hibernation and as the smell of the wax made
my nostrils flair like those of an Aspen clubber after
a hard powder day, I found myself contemplating the
sounds of the pre-season and how they seem to echo and
mock those of winters past.
I was moved to produce this rather small poem:
The scrape of scraper on waxy base,
Sounds like trying to stop before planting my
face.
The
tooth-aching grate of edge sharpening file,
Sounds like going too fast and landing in a pile.
The zip of flaming p-tex as it falls to the floor,
Sounds like my mates making a swift exit - because
I am becoming such a winter sports bore...
Perhaps
it had something to do with the large quantity of solvent
based ski-wax remover I seem to be using this year.
toodle pip!
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