Life in Black and White

I used to think that, when my parents and grandparents were kids, there were no colors. All of the TV footage of those times is in black-and-white. And all of the photographs of them as kids are black-and-white. It was therefore no big stretch to assume that the world was devoid of color in those days.

For a short time today, color left my world. On a backcountry ski trip this afternoon, I found myself surrounded by only two colors: white and grey. The above photo is a color shot. See what I mean? Snow was falling and the sky was grey. The ground was covered by a soft fluffy white blanket. And the trees appeared in various shades of grey. The only occasional shots of color I got were -- every now and then when my skis appeared above the fluff -- the small bright green graphics of my boards and an occasional flash of yellow when Oscar darted from tree to tree.

It felt like an old-time ski movie. No people, no colors, just the snow, the mountain, my dog, and me. There wasn't even much for sound, so it was like a silent movie. All I could hear was Oscar's bell, which was muted by snow. Everything was quiet, peaceful, and cold -- although I was sweating underneath on the way up. At the top, the sun attempted to show itself, but the ski remained white. I quickly removed my skins, put on my shell, sipped some water, and got ready for the descent.

Going down was fabulous. I skied the same area yesterday, and it was the best run of my season. Today was the same except that there were 3 or 4 inches of new snow, and it was still falling. So, despite the old-time format, the skiing was phenomenal -- just like in the old ski movies.