I was the first person to ski off of the chairlift that day, arriving at the summit of Bosquets Mountain, nestled in the heart of the Berkshires. It was the type of day when the clouds seemed to blanket the sky, leaving no clue that the sun, with its powerful light, even existed anymore. It was not snowing, but judging by the damp, musty, stale scent in the air, I realized it would be only a short time before the white flakes overtook the mountain. As I readied myself to make the first run, I took a moment to appreciate my surroundi ....