Читать книгу Shaped by Snow. Defending the Future of Winter онлайн

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Still light-headed from those cold, dark moments with Colin, my skin aches for the touch of chilled fingertips and misted breath on my neck. So I leave my apartment in Salt Lake City and drive south to the mountains. I turn up Little Cottonwood Canyon and roll my car window down, twisting my fingers in the currents of the canyon breezes and playing music that reminds me of him.

For billions of years, water and fire have created the landscapes my family lives in; fire from the metamorphic processes beneath the earth and volcanic activity, water from shallow seas, glaciers, and erosion.

Little Cottonwood Canyon, home to Snowbird and Alta Ski Resorts, was created by a twelve-mile-long glacier. It extended from the topmost cirques of the canyon to the base, where it is believed to have butted up against Lake Bonneville, the Great Salt Lake’s massive predecessor. My parents’ house is just south of the mouth of the canyon, and every time I visit them I try to picture a glacier calving off into an ancient lake along the road I drive. Little Cottonwood Canyon has the distinct U shape common with glacial valleys. Running east to west, the canyon looks like an immense canal, connecting eleven-thousand-foot peaks to the valley floor. It’s straight and open enough that someone standing in the valley can get a clear view of some of its highest peaks. In contrast, the glacier at the head of Big Cottonwood Canyon—the canyon north of Little and home to Brighton and Solitude Ski Resorts—extended only five miles. The upper sections of Big Cottonwood are wider, glacial valleys, but the lower section is winding and shaped like a V, since it was cut and eroded by a river. The two canyons are made up of similar rock formations and neighbor each other, but they each have their own distinct feel. Water shaped them differently.