After we ate dinner we hauled our ski clothes back on and headed out for a night ski. At first we though it magical; at the base of Blue Mountain the wind had stopped and it was relatively “warm”. The snow was gently lit by lights spaced out up the slopes. As we ascended on the chair lift the tiny snow flakes floating towards our faces sparkled, like glitter. I sighed with satisfaction. It was magical. Water is still running in the creek that the chairlift passes over. The scenery is tranquil. Then, toward the top of the hill the wind picked up and the tiny areas of exposed skin began to freeze. The once beautiful tiny snowflakes became tiny daggers of ice. It was dark and I remembered a trailer for a horror film about skiers abandoned on a chair lift overnight. Last year a snowboarder was found dead at Blue Mountain. We did one run. It was enough.
We had gone to Blue Mountain this weekend for Avalanche Gay Ski Weekend, and had even bought Festival Passes, tickets for access to all events. We hadn’t actually managed to attend any of the events so we committed to going out on Saturday night. We prepared ourselves by playing Ticket to Ride with drinks. It was a very loud game. I managed to win, after Dan was successively blocked a few times from connecting his tracks. Pete missed the entire point of the game of completing routes across the map, having used up all his carriages making random railways across the board. Pete played songs off his iPhone though a small speaker. Bec read a book on the couch. Royden floated about. We were a little drunk when the Taylor Swift song about shaking played, and happily sang along. It was a great evening, with friends.
The Saturday night event was a White Party. We hadn’t come prepared and had no white clothes so we improvised. Julian knew how to wrap a bed sheet into a toga. I wore my ski pants underneath. I put my jacket and gloves on for the 100 m walk downhill to the Convention Centre. It looked like there was a back entrance to the building we could head directly to. Dan and Julian braved the cold and headed out in just their togas. The back door was locked. It was like watching a Benny Hill skit watching Julian and Dan jog up and down the hill trying to find an open door, and the way around to the front of the building. We were the only people dressed up when we arrived and felt very out of place. Eventually when more people arrived and many wearing white T-shirts, as well as a group with onesies, it was more comfortable atmosphere. Several drinks helped. I was unusually sociable and talked to several new people. We came home at two and polished off the leftover risotto from dinner before falling into bed.