So long and thanks for all the turns

By Ben Olson Reader Staff

From Northern Idaho News, March 27, 1923

Took Ton Of Powder To Shoot Away Hill

Work on the Hope road is progressing rapidly these days. So far the contractors have confined their work to the most difficult part of the job, the hill north of Trestle creek, and are getting well along on it.

Last Wednesday, the highest point on the hillside which the new road will reach, and which, because of its precipitous character was considered the hardest engineering problem of the job, was successfully shot away. One ton of powder which is had taken weeks to place, was exploded that day. It had been the intention to “shoot” the entire charge simultaneously, but a poor wire connection (the shots are fired by electricity) prevented the most important part of the charge going off at the first attempt in the morning.

It took several hours to locate the defect in the wiring, but it was found on the surface, and on the afternoon of the same day the current was again applied, and the towering hillside crumbled away, leaving a clear course for the new road. To the contractors, a great deal depended upon the success of this shot and consternation reigned for a time when, in the forenoon, the first shot failed to do all that had been expected of it. The second shot, however, finished the job exactly as desired and furthered the work a long way. The road bed at this point will be considerably farther down the hillside than the old road, and will also be apparently the highest point on the new road north of Trestle creek. From this point north the new road descends as fast as the grade will permit to near water level and will continue thus to a point where it turns to cross Pack river; thus eliminating entirely a large part of the hill which the old road traverses.

The end of the ski season at Schweitzer is always a little bittersweet. Everyone down in the valley is rejoicing at the first warm days of spring, leaving only the locals and diehards to remain in the mountains to wring out every bit of winter stoke they can until the closing bell.

This year, closing day falls on Sunday, April 9, giving us just over a week to say goodbye to this winter tradition that keeps many of us sane and healthy. I shudder to think of the state of my mental health if I was unable to escape to go screaming and howling down the mountain once a week throughout the winter.

While I spend the majority of the ski season chasing untracked stashes of powder across the mountain, the end of the season brings a whole different vibe at Schweitzer. Gone are the thousands of tourists and lengthy lift lines, the scramble for parking spots and careful navigation around groms and newbies on narrow runs.

Instead, there’s a sense of calm that washes across the entire mountain. It’s a quiet majesty that remains an important transition time for locals because we feel a closer connection to our ski hill than during the hectic midseason. It’s the same way you feel when houseguests who have stayed for months finally take off and leave you with a quiet living room again. It’s not that you dislike the houseguests — you’re just ready for them to be on their way.

That’s one thing I’ve always appreciated about North Idahoans; we’re respectful of those who share our spaces, but we’re so damn glad to see them go.

Spring ski days are warm and familiar, like going to a party where you know everyone. It’s a time to ski with a couple of beers in your jacket pockets, ready to whip one out at once when you find a cool perch on a

Chair 4 run, where you can sit and overlook the lake and town.

It’s also a time to act a little goofy, like when Cadie and I showed up to the Rowdy Grouse yurt to find them cleaning up after a rail slide competition. Everyone was drinking beer in the sun as the day came to a close. We shared a tallboy with our good friend Gary Quinn, with whom we sailed across the Atlantic about five years ago. Some kids were sliding down the jump on their butts, so I said, “Hold my beer,” and told Cadie to ride me down the jump like I was a snowboard. Our friend Marty Andrews snapped a photo on his phone and we laughed about it the whole drive down the hill.

As I look up at the two-dozen hash marks on my wall for the 2022-’23 ski season, I can say with some degree of certainty that 90% of them were excellent days, when I couldn’t think of any place I’d rather be than Schweitzer.

After April 9, we’ll box up our winter gear, take the ski rack down from the truck, stash the snowboards in a closet and close the book on yet another season of winter fun in North Idaho. And, while the end-ofseason melancholy feels the same today as it did 20-plus years ago when I was still in high school, I take pleasure in knowing that, at the end of the year, we’ll be back up there again — standing over an untouched run of powder, smiles on our faces as wide as Bottle Bay.

Until then, I’ll say, “So long, and thanks for all the turns.”

Sudoku Solution STR8TS Solution

Crossword Solution

Instead of half-mast, maybe you could fly a flag at threequarter-mast for a guy who’s in a coma. Then, if he gets worse, the flag gets lower, or if he gets better, it starts to move up, so you can just look at the flag and see how he’s doing.

Laughing Matter

Solution on page 22

By Bill Borders