You know you live in a good place when you can gather two or three dozen people together on short notice for a fine day of spring skiing just minutes from downtown.
Which is what happened this weekend when friend and neighbor Sean quickly rallied whatever fellow ski fiends he could muster for some fun in the sun on the sagey, p-j-ish frontcountry slopes of the majestic and semi-arid Carbon Mountain, hiding just behind the post-industrial hinterlands of Bodo, on the dingy southside of greater metropolitan Durango, and rising ominously over the soon-to-be site of the murky, karmically tainted, coal-dark waters of Lake Nighthorse ...
But for a day, Carbon Mountain was a sacred slope swarming with peaceful, playful, pagan pilgrims. Or so it seemed, savoring a beer in the sun among a mass of really good people between runs carving the corn, with Durango at our feet and this wacky wicked winter still in our blood.
The mythic, mystical Corn Camp had reappeared. For a while.
A toast to rare gift. See you all again in another dozen years or so. Or sooner. Until then, check it out here.