It may have been the “Hut Fairy” who got the windows steaming that night. Yes, the rumors are true – a living sprite resides deep in the Adamant Mountains at a small Canadian hovel called the Fairy Meadow Hut. The lad came clad in a sheepskin vest, a dusty brown mullet, gold-plated rhinestone-encrusted shades and a mini-disc player that shouted everything from hard rock to hip-hop. And, boy, could this furball snowboard those 60-degree couloirs cascading down from the granite skyline. Yep, I think it was the Hut Fairy and his tunes that derailed our lucidity that particular evening.
It started when our ski tribe burst through the wind-hammered hut at dusk after a 10K day of greedy powder hunting. The Hut Fairy was already blaring disco tunes throughout the T-shaped structure, and so the madness began.
Soon, a tangled mess of rainbow gummy worms, swollen to thrice their size from their six-day bath in the bottle of tequila, started making the rounds. The slippery critters were passed around and one by one the pile disappeared, slithering down each person’s gullet, washed away with a splash of snowmelt. Before we had a chance to pull our pruned stumps from our sweaty boots or hang our skins to dry, the worms had seeped into our bones. From there it wasn’t long until purple wigs, Hawaiian prints and sequined clothing appeared in preparation for the limbo, butt darts, one-legged shopping bag eating and the tricky behind-the-body broomstick slide.
Looking back, I know the Hut Fairy initiated the flow of jiving juices that skewed our sensibility that lawless night – but scratch that. I think the fever started with the six bluebird days of skinning and tracking up thousands of snowy feet in this northern powder paradise with 20 chummy skiing cronies. I don’t think even white-haired Gandalf™ – staff and all – could have evoked this anarchy if he hadn’t been granted those sunlit days of unblemished powder bowls, peak bagging, and couloir snatching, all packaged up with a hot evening sauna. So how could a measly fairy be solely responsible? Yeah, I think it was definitely the week of scandalously spine-tingling backcountry skiing that did it to us that night. Sorry Hut Fairy.