Spring Skiers Are Still Carving Up Boyne

Boyne Mountain — It was a long winter. The snow just kept coming and coming. It wasn’t until mid-April that the last disgusting mound of browning slush melted in the Meijer parking lot, leaving behind all the little scraps of garbage that had accumulated over the prior four months. And I’ll be honest: I resent the fact that I am still writing about snow when I should be at the beach.

If you asked me last week if there was anyone who might disagree with such universal sentiments, I would say, “Certainly not, my good man! No one in their right mind is sad to the snow go. No sane person actually wants to lay their eyes on any slush for at least six months.”

But I would have been wrong.

There are, believe it or not, people who still ache for the snow when we are less than two weeks from Memorial Day. They get in the car and drive four hours just to get their skis on it when the rest of the world is in full bloom. No, they might not be entirely sane, but these snow-obsessed lunatics are hilarious, entertaining, and full of a high spirit.

On May 17, there was still a thick layer of snow covering Victor Glacier at Boyne Mountain and, of course, there were a bunch of lunatics flying down the still snowy slope while more sane individuals were launching boats on Lake Charlevoix a few miles away.

The collection of people on Victor Glacier was eclectic. There were local season pass holders, young kids, old guys, and a bunch of 20-somethings jacked on Red Bull.

I spoke to a clean-cut professional as he was leaving. Skis on his shoulder and earbuds in his ears, he told me he lives in Ann Arbor full-time but has a place in Boyne City. He said he was surprised by how many people there were and how many were not local. Victor Glacier at Boyne is the last remaining snow in all of the Lower Peninsula, so if you’re obsessed with skiing, there’s one game in town. People from downstate come here, people in from Indiana, people who want to get one last run in before the season officially ends.

I watched a young guy rip down the slope with a pizza box. Balanced on the palm of his right hand, he carried it like any waiter might though he was on two skis heading straight down the hill. Down at the bottom, past the chairlift, where the snow ends and the grass begins, he sailed through, landing his skis on the green spring ground, coasting along seeing how far he could make it.

His name is Peter, he’s from downstate, and he piled in a car with a bunch of friends for a day-trip Up North just to grab one last run. “It’s exercise, it’s good to get out, good to see the sun and touch grass, you know what I mean? It’s socialization too.”

People skied in jeans, shorts, hoodies, jackets, T-shirts and no shirts. It was 67 degrees at noon on Victor Glacier, and the shirtless guys and girls wearing only skiing pants and sports bras stood out against the snow.

The whole vibe at Victor Glacier was really something else. I shoot photos and videos of a lot of people and often they just don’t want to be filmed. They get skittish and give dirty looks. It’s part of the gig. But everyone I shot at Victor Glacier was amped about it.

Up top, getting off the chairlift, they gave peace signs and smiled. Down at the bottom, they pulled each other close for a shot and waited without me even asking. An old guy smoking a fat cigar, sitting on a bench with ski boots still on, watching the run smiled and said, “Hell yeah, man” when I asked if I could take his photo. I don’t think I’ve had quite as many people ask me on assignment, “Did you get good shots?” as I did at Victor Glacier on May 17.

Everyone was amped to be there. Lift tickets were $29. It felt like there were no rules with the energy of an afterparty, and I suppose that’s kind of what it was.

Finding my car in the parking lot, I saw Peter again with a bunch of the people he drove up with. They were hanging around their cars, hatches open, half-empty boxes of beer in the back, Red Bulls cracked. Guys with their shirts off, girls with sweaty hair, ski boots on the pavement, green grass beyond the lot.

I sat in my car, thinking about how we hate the snow by March and curse it by April, but these lunatics love it in May. They drove four hours just to get a shot at a melting run. They seemed pretty happy, pretty fit, pretty vital. Like they were squeezing every last drop from life.

Maybe they are onto something. Maybe we’re the lunatics.