The headline could have read, “Epic ski conditions at Heavenly ski resort.”
As a matter fact, one internet site said exactly that.
Any time you get five-feet of fresh snow, followed by sub-freezing temps—as in single digits—and clear, blue skis, all before Thanksgiving, well, you’d be hard-pressed not to call it epic.
By all reports, the skiing conditions were as perfect as the snow gods could provide.
But, for me, the key phrase is, “by all reports,” as I missed it.
I was too busy breathing in charcoal-fueled, thick smoke as part of our family Thanksgiving dinner, in my annual “giving my family the bird”…the barbequed bird, that is.
My first chance to head up was a week later, when the common refrain to be heard was,
“You should have been here yesterday.”
But, with some resorts reporting over 10-feet of snow, I figured that all that I would be missing would be the holiday weekend crowds.
Unfortunately, in essence, I missed it all. 
This was surprising, in that my first stop up at Lake Tahoe was to attend the annual Ullr Fest, to offer homage to the Norse god of skiing. Legend has it that Ullr was known as a “major god, or an epithet of an important god, in prehistoric times,” at least according to Wikipedia.
It was said that a night with Ullr was almost a guarantee for plentiful snow.
I did extensive research on the ancient traditions and somber significance of this celebration and discovered that Ullr, which in the Norse language, mostly, means, yet another drinking festival and, as good a reason as any, to drink copious amounts of alcohol and go outside and get semi-naked in freezing conditions.
With my 18th century manuscript in hand, and using celestial symbols and expert navigation skills, I traversed treacherous ice-covered trails of the Lake Tahoe Stateline area, and found my way to the glitz and glamour of the Lakeside Casino, the site where skiers, snowboarders, and their wannabe compatriots gather to pray to Ullr to deliver massive amounts of, what the True Believers call, POW.
But a funny thing happened on my way to find Ullr. I made a short pit stop at the casino bar and when I looked down I found a spotted dick.
A spotted dick in a can, no less.
No, this was not the kind of problem that necessitates a visit to the local clinic for a round of penicillin. This is actually a food item of some sort. I say “some sort” of food, since it is described as a steamed suet pudding, which does not sound like any kind of food I have ever heard of.
I don’t know, maybe it is Ullr’s version of Spam.
Should you be so inclined as to obtain and taste this stuff, here are some recipes for spotted dick. Word out at Hogwarts is that even Harry Potter was into the spotted dick.
Eventually—once I got past that disgusting looking spotted dick—I did find the solemn ceremonies to celebrate this important occasion. (They were probably solemn since I seemed to keep winning the raffle prizes.)
Alas, there was one mishap.
After a few adult beverages I might have mispronounced the sacred name of Ullr and quite possibly called up the wrong deity. It is possible I conjured up the magical spirit of Dvärgar Døkkálfar, which everyone knows, sounds just like Ullr after three or four Crown Royals on the rocks.
As is common knowledge—at least among the Norse people of the 14th century—Dvärgar Døkkálfar is the god of wind, not snow. Oops.
Who knew that Ullr had a blowhard cousin?
This became self-evident the next morning, where, under blue skies, the anticipated accumulation of snow from the recent storms, was traveling in a horizontal direction off the mountain and headed to somewhere in central Nevada, quite possibly in the Elko area. That would be identified as “effing windy,” on the Beaufort Wind Scale.
With wind speeds in the “holy shit, look at those snow banners coming off the ridges,” it was of little surprise when the charming recorded voice on the Heavenly ski resort snow phone offered the latest conditions as,
“You might as well just go home, because we are closed and with wind like this, it may be next year before we let you in.”
“You might instead try the hills near Elko, Nevada.”
So, as sort of a consolation activity, I went cross-country skiing, which I had not done in probably a dozen years.
As ungraceful as I typically am on groomed ski runs using my downhill skis, I was absolutely spasmodic on the cross-country equipment, with wild gyrations of flailing arms and legs going five directions at one time, none of them in alignment with the ski tracks in the snow.
Next time, I will offer my sacrifices to Ullr, BEFORE the consumption of all those drinks.
Admittedly, the Lake Tahoe celebration of all things Ullr doesn’t hold a snow shovel to the weeklong goings on out in the Rockies. Should you wish to partake in those festivities, they start in mid-January. For more details, check out the upcoming ULLR Fest at Breckenridge, Colorado.
If you take a look at the YouTube videos posted on that site, you will see all the drunken guys and semi-naked women.
(Yes, some of the men are also semi-naked, but if you don’t ask me, I won’t tell.)
As for me, maybe next time I will remember to bring the proper offering for someone of Ullr’s stature.
And, in case I don’t find him, at least it will be something to keep me warm on the slopes.
