Steve Munier is a snow reporter at Stratton Mountain Resort in Southern Vermont and he shares his struggle between the corporate promised land and a satisfying career. Thanks for sharing Steve and i, for one, think you made the right move!
Ever wonder what catalyzes the transformation from to ?
This move from city slicker to powder hound isn’t quite as Kafkaesque as you might think. It’s rooted in a love of snow, Stratton and above all, the luxury of waking up every day with a smile on your face thinking about the day ahead. Here’s how Snow Reporter Steve got here…
Beep beep beep, slam. Beep beep beep, SLAM. Why, 7 a.m., why? I’m finally up after nearly breaking my snooze button. I roll out of bed right into my miniscule shower. After wrestling with the hot water knob and water pressure, I’m dried off and picking out which button down shirt to wear with my slacks. I grab a pop-tart out of the pantry and head downstairs to a bustling New York City which is way more awake than I could ever be.
As I head a few blocks east toward the 1 train, the day dreaming begins. I can picture my line down Spruce, the mountain all to myself. It’s just Mother Nature, a foot of fresh underfoot and a little hooting and hollering on my part. As I transfer to the Shuttle and head towards Grand Central, I feel trapped like a sardine; the subway car is filled to the gills. When the doors open, hundreds pile out like a school of fish. I feel like I’m swimming upstream.
By the time I flash my badge at the front desk of the Met Life building, thoughts of Stratton Mountain have returned. My head is swollen with memories of a childhood skiing in Vermont. I can feel the shag carpet of my parents’ condo under my toes and the smell of the crackling fire in my nose. My body is warm with the thought of a blanket wrapped around my body and my family sitting around the table playing cards. From 225 miles away, I feel right at home. The one problem, I am stuck in my cubicle. Right then and there I decided I needed to return to Stratton, for an extended stay.
Beep beep bee- I am up. I am stoked. It’s 5 a.m. I can see the snow falling from the window of my cottage. Within minutes my long johns are on and I am out the door heading up the Stratton Mountain Access Road. A Snow Reporter’s commute. Eager to tell the world about all the fresh, giddiness overwhelms me.
I made the move. I left the heartbeat of the world and found a cozy corner to call home in Stratton, Vermont. My mission: to share my stoke with fellow metropolitans and skiers in anticipation of their weekend pilgrimage to Stratton. Your weekends are a microcosm of my recent move. That need and desire to escape the commotion of a big city and seek nirvana on the slopes of Stratton Mountain; it’s not lost on me. I don’t take any of this for granted.
Stratton Mountain is a very special place. Anyone who has grown up skiing here, or just come for a getaway with friends, knows what I’m talking about. On the cusp of our 50th Anniversary, I am reminded every day how lucky I am to be a part of it. Instead of changing subway cars, I lap the Ursa lift. Instead of counting elevator stops, I tabulate vertical feet skied every day. Instead of drinking a gin ‘n tonic after work, I enjoy a Long Trail at Grizzly’s.
So as you sit there in your office crunching numbers and attending meetings, know that there is a little slice of heaven waiting for you. That little voice in the back of your head calling your name? It’s real. It’s me, Snow Reporter Steve Munier, on the snow phone amping you up for the weekend ahead.