THE FORTUNATE ONES

Mike Smith had finally had enough. For the last time, a pine marten had scurried atop his bed, prompting Smith to give chase, beer in hand, shouting expletives. Echoes of a guitar from the living room halted as a crowd gathered. The marten’s beady eyes gazed back at us from his hiding place—now wedged between Smith’s bunk and the log wall of the Eiseman Hut.

A storm was fading outside as the sun began poking through the clouds and cast citrus hues along the skyline. The Eiseman, a 10 Mountain Division Hut within Colorado’s remote Gore Range, was full with 16 skiers pursuing end-of-April turns. Our five-man battalion—including Jeff Cricco, Matt Luczkow, Andy Wenberg, Dave Christie, and me—had just wrapped up skiing for the day. It was our second evening of the four-day trip and we had only scratched the surface.