Skiing up to Source Lake is a pretty mundane backcountry outing for most folks, but it was a memorable experience for me. It was only my third day ever on telemark gear, so I was prepared for an all-out faceplant extravaganza. I did, in fact, eat some snow, but most of it was on the steep skin up the ridge overlooking Snow Lake. On the way down, all the cursing and flailing was forgotten and I reveled in the fluid sensation of deep powder turns. I lost my virginity to the sweet pow-pow.

Josh and Dan called me up the night before to ask if I wanted to go on a short tour. It would be a mellow trip, since Josh had not been skiing since he tore a knee ligament several months ago. I was all for it, as my plans to climb ice in Lillooet had been derailed by an unfortunate combination of work commitments and road closures. Eagerness I had, yes -- but no ski boots. Dan said he'd come by the next morning and bring his old pair of leathers (a half-size too small). We'd see if I could cram my feet into them for the day.

The boots were built like medieval armor and despite Dan's promises that the liners "pack out really well", there was no way I was going to suffer even a short day in their confines. My soft couch nearly drained our will to go anywhere at such an early hour, but Betsy got a hold of a rental shop at Snoqualmie Pass that could furnish the needed footwear. We hit the road.

Parking lots were full, lift lines were long, and we were glad to be heading away from the pay-to-play zone as we skinned up the valley singing Frank Zappa songs. We got to Source Lake in short order, had a snack, dug a couple rutschblocks to Dan's exacting specifications. I was hanging right in there, skinning up just as fine as you please. That is, until Dan started breaking a steeper trail and I slipped and slid toward a local minimum on the learning curve. Somehow I managed not to throw my skis or a hissy fit.

As we turned to head down, the sky cleared and the mountains greeted us. Dan led the way through the trees; Josh and I followed with less aplomb. Once we broke out onto a flatter, more open slope, the going was good. Linking turns, floating on the white waves... it was beautiful. I looked up at our fresh tracks and knew I was hooked.

Josh tempered his usual aggressive jump-turn style and carved his way down without any undue knee strain. We bumped down the icy trail back to the car with plenty of care while Dan bombed ahead to take a lift-served run.

A treat awaited us at the car: a note from some unseen admirers who expressed to us their fondness for "tall, dark, handsome teles" and offered to meet us for beers aprés ski. At first we thought our flirty female friends were the authors, but Dan called the number on the note, heard a stranger's voice, and hung up in surprise. Later that night, Josh called me at home. He and Dan had a date the next week with the blue Honda girls.