Visiting Mammoth is an exploration California’s “other” paradise.
Everyone has a perfect, stereotypical image of California: sunshine, beaches, tanning and speeding through Malibu in a shiny Porsche. But what about winter in this beach paradise? What about the inland part of the state, the majestic Rocky Mountains and Yosemite? Southern California is a glowing paradise in the summer, but if you open your mind and are willing to look a little further, you’ll find that in the winter, Mammoth ski resorts give the Californian beaches a run for their money.
The wind was howling and the snow was coming down so hard I could barely see my hand in front of my face. My hot breath inside my face warmer was fogging up my goggles, further obscuring my vision. I snapped my skis together and tugged them off of the ground, and then threw them over my shoulder. I headed towards the ski shack, trudging through the thick powder in my heavy boots. I felt the grated, metal stairs rising in front of me before I saw them, and lifted up one heavy foot, pulling myself up to the next step. I made it to the top of the staircase and headed towards where I knew the entrance to the chalet was; I almost ran into the glass door.
A blast of hot air hit me as I stepped inside, and sweat began beading on my forehead beneath my fleece headband. I slid my skis into a rack by the door and pulled off my gloves, goggles, and face mask. Looking around, I saw my family and friends sitting at a nearby table, sipping on hot coffee and looking dejected. Only a half-day of skiing and the conditions on the slopes were insurmountable. This was incredibly rare. The weather at Mammoth is typically mild, ranging from thirty to forty degrees and sunny with occasional snow flurries. Today however, was a brisk fourteen degrees (nine degrees with wind chill) and visibility was non-existent. We were definitely not going back out on the mountain.
After convening and figuring out what to do with the rest of our day, four of us decided to take advantage of the day passes we had already paid for and take a gondola trip to the top of the mountain. A restaurant called “Panoramic” is located at the top of Mammoth’s main peak, so we decided to go up and check out the view and the quality of their hot cocoa. I traded my clunky ski boots for some fuzzy snow boots and we headed towards the gondola. We were among the few heading up the mountain in these conditions. We boarded the gondola, two of us on each side facing each other. The doors slid shut, and the gondola picked up speed as it swung out of the boarding station, and into the blizzard.
Walls of sheer white surrounded us on all sides as icy pellets smacked the sides of the car. Nothing was visible. I looked down into pure white, knowing there were craggy rocks, icy pools and tall green pines spanning out beneath me. After a few minutes, I felt the gondola tilt backwards slightly as it began to climb upwards at a steeper rate, mounting the last and highest peak. As the gondola climbed the face of the peak, the wind picked up, rocking the car back and forth.
Suddenly, we came to a stop. The gondola swung back and forth as the wind whipped ferociously around the edges of the car, whistling through the cracks around the edges of the windows. My heart stopped, thinking about the sharp crags and steep drop-off obscured by the sheet of white beneath us. A few moments later, the car jolted into motion, and my heart rate slowed. A minute later we swung into the station at the top of the mountain.
Snow whistled ravenously through the station. I nestled my face into my jacket to hide from the icy bite of the cold. We crossed the platform and stepped into the restaurant lobby. It felt as if I had slid into a warm Jacuzzi. The warm air washed over me and I emerged from my jacket like a turtle cautiously coming out of its shell. We got a table at the edge of the restaurant. The table was by a window that looked out over the whole mountain. It felt as if we had ascended into the storm, the snowflakes swirling violently a few inches from our faces. The waiter brought out four steaming cups of hot cocoa (not bad by lodge standards) and I sat, pressed against the window, looking out into the white abyss, letting the warm cocoa warm my raw red fingers and fill my body.
We finished our first round and ordered another, taking our time with each rich sip. Old friends that had drifted separate ways over the past few years chatted, laughed and shared stories of what had happened while we were apart. All the while the storm raged on. I breathed in the smell of the rich cocoa and felt the hot liquid sloshing in my stomach. Warm, sitting back in a squishy chair, I felt a toasty sense of relaxation fill my body. There are moments you know you will remember, images you can feel your mind’s eye photographing while they are occurring. This was one of those moments. We were full of rich, chocolaty sugary goodness and were protected from the blizzard outside by the jovial atmosphere of the fireside restaurant. Glowing with the radiant energy and joy only being warm inside on a cold stormy day can bestow, I was reminded that sometimes all you need to overcome an unfortunate change of events is a positive attitude, an alternative plan, some good friends, and a mug of delicious hot cocoa.
