Over the years, skiing with family and friends at Park City has provided a tapestry of memories filled with laughter, excitement, and the occasional brush with wildlife drama. This year, however, felt like an episode from National Geographic invaded our alpine playground.
On a crisp, sunny morning at Canyon’s Docs Run, our planned descent was unexpectedly delayed—not by the usual rogue snowboarder—but due to a moose sighting reported by ski patrol. The run was promptly blocked off for half an hour, allowing the majestic visitor time to leisurely return to its natural habitat away from the groomed trails.
The next day, as we sipped coffee and enjoyed freshly toasted Utah bagels at the condo, we discovered fresh bobcat tracks weaving through our patio, some furniture overturned as if inspected and dismissed by our nocturnal visitor. Clearly, the local wildlife had decided to reclaim their territory, turning our cozy resort into a surprising alpine jungle.
Reflecting on decades of skiing in these very mountains, the landscape hasn’t changed much, though perhaps my approach to skiing certainly has. Now firmly in what I affectionately call my ‘geriatric skiing phase,’ every run is an artful dance of taming gravity, gliding over ice, powder, and avoiding clusters of snowplow skiers and ambitious boarders. Each turn comes with whispered prayers for ligaments and tendons to remain firmly intact, a gentle negotiation between exhilaration and caution.
Yet, despite these cautionary moments, skiing continues to weave its magic, binding generations of family and friends together. Park City remains our snowy sanctuary, ever ready to gift us yet another unforgettable story—moose detours, bobcat tracks, and all.
We have fond memories od skiing with you! Well written, Retired White Coat!