Wallowing in white

Perfect days start with fresh powder for Whitefish Mountain's snow reporter

This is what "Big" Dave Ericson will remember months from now, after the snow has melted into the rivers and the white lines of ski runs have filled with shades of green.

Fresh, knee-high powder.

On the good days, the falling snow made waking up at 4 a.m. exciting. On the good days, Ericson, the snow reporter for Whitefish Mountain Resort for the past two ski seasons, had the pleasure of announcing to the world of ski bums and powder hounds that their dreams had come true. On the good days, life was about surfing on top of a sea of white with friends at your side.

March 25 was one of those days.

At 4:15 a.m., Ericson, 33, lets his two dogs outside while he prepares for work. The snow is falling over Whitefish. When the dogs return inside, they're covered in snow. With only 12 days left of ski season, winter isn't ready to end.

By around 7 a.m., Ericson is at Big Mountain and marveling at what the measuring stakes say - 8 inches and counting! It's already the biggest snowfall in over two months, and it isn't letting up either.

In a rush of excitement, he begins the snow report with the only words that can really describe it - POWDER POWDER POWDER. At the end, he writes on the mountain's Web site what numerous folks in the valley are waking up and realizing: "This is the day to call in sick or just walk out the door, March powder at its finest."

The word apparently got out. By 9:35 a.m., a crowd of more than 200 skiers and snowboarders are lined up at the bottom of Chair One, the Big Mountain Express. When the chair crawls to a start, the assembly howls in approval.

Meanwhile, Ericson is up top with his friend Trevor Howard and others who have been checking gates for the ski patrol while they blast dangerous runs for avalanches. The sudden influx of snow has made almost every steep slope a risk.

By the time the first riders step off the chair at the summit, Ericson already has a frozen beard of icicles and a sweaty, red face from wading through the first runs of the day.

A small group of skiers push off toward a black-diamond run, a sea of powder littered with snow-covered trees.

Howard zips by and hits a small jump, which launches him into the air. He yells in excitement. His skis criss-cross in midair before he lands in a pillow of snow. A pair of goggles and a helmet covered in white pop out of the snow followed by a wide smile.

Let the games begin.

Ericson drops into the slope. Dynamite explosions crack like thunder in the distance. With every turn, a flurry of snow kicks up into his face as he tries to smile.

"It was so deep, I had to stop laughing by the bottom because I was choking," he said afterward.

"I really like to ski powder and trees, so when it snows hard like this it's ideal," he said. "On the days that it's not as good of skiing it's definitely not that much fun getting up that early, but days like this it all pays off."

Ericson heads through a maze of trees that open into an unmarked meadow of pure powder. Like a good fishing hole, a good powder stash is something that only a select few are told about.

"I'll have a group of locals waiting for me outside my office if these get out," Ericson said with a smile.

Ericson and Howard relive the action.

"I was feeling like a hero on that line," Trevor said, as the snow continues to fall.

"It looks like our dreams are coming true," he adds. He doesn't know it yet, but he's right. In the final week of the season, more than 2 1/2 feet of fresh snow will fall and make for a happy finale.

Howard howls down at other skiers as they zig-zag through the snow. The radio on Ericson's chest comes to life with an unknown voice.

"Fire in the hole."

Another thunder crack echoes from Hellroaring Basin on the northwest side of the mountain.

With ski season coming to an end, moments like these are what last. Skiers and snowboarders had plenty to remember the season before last, when more than 426 inches (35 1/2 feet) landed on Big Mountain, making it one of the best seasons on record. The snow pack wasn't the only number to shoot out of the roof. Donnie Clapp, the head of media relations at Whitefish Mountain Resort, said more than 300,000 people hit the mountain in the 2007-2008 season.

This season, the amount of snow dropped and in turn the lines of people thinned out. Heading into the final two weeks of the season, there was 265 inches, well below the 300-inch average for the mountain. The attendance figures, Clapp said, won't near the 300,000 mark, either.

"It was a weird snow year. It was really clumped into a few periods with a lot of lean periods and that's not very good for motivating people to come," Clapp said. "We like to call ourselves 'Snow Farmers.' We're completely at the whim of how much snow we get."

Low snow numbers coupled with a limping economy never bodes well for a town that relies heavily on tourist dollars, as Whitefish does.

But that's when the locals save the day.

"Our pass-holders, it's the anchor that holds this place together," Clapp said of the roughly 8,000 season pass-holders and locals who hit the mountain when they can.

"Financially, without our pass-holders, this place would not work," Clapp said. "It's something that allows us to get through some of the leaner times throughout the rest of the year."

"I like to say is that the vibe here is different than anywhere else," he said of the ski town and its mountain. "We work pretty hard to make sure that we're not doing anything that will jeopardize that vibe."

By 12:30 p.m., a group of almost 30, mostly skiers, has grouped around the path to Hellroaring Basin. It's called "the waiting game," Howard says as people stand around, anxious to get the first shot at Hellroaring.

Howard, a 27-year-old who has more than 80 days of skiing this season and successfully skied year-round last year, describes the experience of skiing as only someone who loves it can.

"It's as epic as you can possibly be," he said. "You just look around and there's just you and two other buddies skiing some fresh lines … Very rarely do you say that today was a bad day of skiing."

Ericson has been skiing since he was 5 years old, with more than 100 days on the hill this season alone. He works part time at Runner Up Sports in Whitefish and as a window-washer during the summer to support his habit.

Being on the mountain at the crack of dawn is exactly what he wants to be doing.

"There's nothing like it when you have 3,000 acres to ski by yourself," Ericson said. "It's very peaceful and you see some amazing sunrises and some really great early morning times up here."

Before they head out for Hellroaring, Ericson and Howard chat with almost everyone about how great the day is. The pair won't leave the mountain until the final chair has stopped after 4 p.m., almost eight hours of straight skiing, and they'll pretty much repeat that the next day.

The group waits anxiously, and Howard explains why.

"You get that fresh, untracked line," he says, "and you look back up at your majestic line, and there's nothing like it."

Moments later, the ski patrol walks out and announces that Hellroaring is safe to go. The pack dashes forward. They approach the entrance with eyes wide open. The snow has stopped falling for a moment and the basin is clear and silent.

One by one, the powder hounds drop into the majestic scenery, an echo of howls in their wake.