A mutual passion for the slopes leads to romance after divorce | members only access

Conversations among skiers and snowboarders are reserved for the chairlift. If you’re traveling solo the talk rarely strays from patter about weather and snow conditions. Even then, one’s

ability to communicate is directly tied to the former, any enthusiasm to speak intricately tethered to the latter. In other words, if the weather’s lousy you’re too mummy-bundled to utter a

word, and there’s nothing much to say unless you’ve good snow to crow about. Mystery skier in the chartreuse jacket. Courtesy: Crai S. Bower COVID further silenced the ride. Resorts limited

chairlift groups to families. Those of us who skied alone sat no more than two to a chair and were instructed to sit on the far ends of it from each other. We essentially shared an unspoken

pact not to breathe, let alone speak. But this silence worked just fine for me; I remained focused on scanning the slopes for glimpses of chartreuse and powder blue. As it turned out, I got

my best glimpse while waiting to board a chairlift. Imagine my surprise when, while at the head of my “singles” line (yes, that’s what it’s called), I spotted the mystery skier at the head

of the opposite singles queue for the same lift. We would be riding together, on opposite ends of the same chair. The romantic in me thought it fate, but it was probably more coincidence,

considering that Crystal is spread out over 2,600 acres, with 11 lifts giving skiers and snowboarders access to 85 named runs and bowls. SINGLE OR MARRIED? Alas, what to say, if anything at

all? First, it was COVID; see the unspoken rule about not speaking. Second, ski hills are awash with ski widows and widowers, those individuals who are so singularly passionate about the

sport they leave their disinterested spouses at home and ski alone. For 10 years, “ski widower” was also my moniker. A single-parent social worker, my mother could never afford to take us

skiing. It wasn’t until my late 20s, when a friend invited me to join his family on a Tahoe trip, that I discovered this epitome of family travel, the ski holiday. What could be better than

a day spent slope-side, followed by a convivial evening of fresh-faced folks chilling out over board games, pasta and pints? Years later, as a husband and father, I repeatedly tried to

replicate the same “ski-trip bliss” with my own family, always unsuccessfully and with much disappointment. It takes two snow sport lovers to make the magic happen. I have friends who

absolutely love skiing but who, due to pressure from non-ski enthusiast spouses, gave it up for their marriages, only to have their relationships melt like a ski hill cursed with rain anyway

— sending them right to back the slopes, newly single. I also know others who maintain ski widowhood, having struck agreements with their ski-adverse spouses that, come winter, fresh snow

takes precedence over conjugal commitments. Given I’d seen my impending chairlift-mate skiing solo for almost a month, I figured she resided in one of the two camps. Which one remained a

mystery: Ski gloves cover up wedding rings.