593“
Nov 16, 2018
3 minutes
By Matt Hansen; SIDEBARS BY JACK FOERSTERLING
By Christmas, I’d traded my old, tattered gloves for burly, warm ones. The sunny-day lens for my goggles remained buried deep in my gear bag. After a seemingly endless string of storm days, it was clear that something special was happening in Jackson Hole. You could feel it in the tramline and in the packed mid-mountain cafeteria. Meanwhile, laundry and dishes piled up at home as my wife and I traded mornings on the tram.
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