For the average, run of the mill Washingtonian rain's hardly noteworthy. And for those who love to ski, it's synonymous with winning the lottery. What falls in the form of rain down below, falls as snowy powder on high. Winter here is the skier's happy place.
I never mastered skiing. It didn't help that I was the victim of arrested development with this particular sport when, at 43 I took my first lesson ~ and that with two other young ladies (operative word = young). Our handsome, equally young instructor was quick to ensure their success. Apparently I was invisible; no doubt my white ski jacket didn't help. From the git-go I didn't much care for the sport.
Sounds reasonable to me ~ someone who's happy to stay out of the front country, not to mention the back country! But to others it's a dare. In fact, there are those for whom the back country has such charm that they choose to ignore the winter warnings; the danger. In their minds the thrill of skiing those steep, undisturbed snow courses is worth the risk. They may or may not be the same people who disregard other warning signs: Thin ice... Soft shoulder... Steep grade... Don't feed the bears... Strong rip tide or under-toe ...
I'm always saddened when I hear reports of a back country skier, or skiers claimed by an avalanche.
I could connect so many dots to this one collection of thoughts, but I fear the diminishing return of so doing. Suffice it to say, when God says, "Danger. Stay out of the back country.", I best listen.
Some enchantments and thrills just aren't worth it.