Big mountains with little snow

I met my brother S__ to ski for a couple of days in Wyoming.  This was a trip I could ill afford from a schedule perspective, but my rule is never, never to miss a family weekend.  (It's a rule born of living 3000 miles from my closest immediate blood relative.)

The snow was pitiful for the second year in a row.  Trees and rocks sticking up all over the hill.

Jackson Hole mountain is extraordinary.  Big, wild, and scary.

A few observations, in no particular order:

1.  I can tell I'm getting older, and enjoying it, when I like standing on top of the hill and admiring the view as much as I like skiing down the hill.
2.  S__ observed that skiing technique has passed us by, and he's right.  I grew up learning a turn that is basically a skate-step combination, permitting me to accelerate into the arc of the turn and ride the ski's rebound into the next turn.  Modern skiing appears to be a process of throwing one's weight to initiate a turn.  When a skier does it well, it's pretty amazing to watch.
3.  I can tell I'm getting older, and enjoying it, when I get as much pleasure out of watching S__ ski as I do out of skiing myself.  Partly it's because I appreciate good skiing (and he skis well).  (Here too.)  Partly it's because over 35 years of skiing -- a rough guess says 350 days in that time frame -- 95% of my turns have been within 200 yards of S__.  I am pretty sure I can feel his skiing nearly as tangibly as I can feel my own.
4.  You know you are skiing in Wyoming when you find yourself two valleys outside of the ski area boundary and you are skiing moguls.