Block Party“Is that the same igloo you built last year?” Now, understandably, an igloo amidst apartment living is one of those mountain mysteries which provoke classic mountain questions, like “What happens to the moguls when summer comes?” and “What time do the Maroon Bells ring?” High noon, right? No, wait, that’s the fire siren in Aspen. Huh.
My friend Sam took the igloo question in stride because after a long day’s night at the Annual Igloo Celebration, no comment seemed too off-the-wall. Sam inherited igloo-mania from current friends and prior tenants; by taking over their apartment, he also pledged to gather helping hands and build an annual igloo, from the cross-country course up.
That’s the best part about the igloo building, according to Sam, the fact that it overlooks the big hill on the Nordic course. All day long, unsuspecting skiers zip across the trail, ill-prepared for the sudden incline. They either wobble and barely hold it together, or come out of the track and wipe out altogether on the igloo’s front veranda. As day laborers, we had slopeside seats to all the action. “Endless carnage,” said Sam, with a mischievous grin.
We gathered snow from around the walkways, heaped it onto bright orange sleds and dragged it over to form the foundation pile. I was part of this year’s construction crew. I got to build my own block, mortar and all, kind of like getting my own star on Hollywood Boulevard; it felt that exciting, as I maneuvered the Icebox Construction tool and carefully sawed off my own rectangle of snow.
Master Carpenter and Fearless LeaderI grabbed the plastic sled in-between cargo loads and went downhill, head first, onto the treacherous cross-country course. I gathered more speed than intended, classic sledding miscalculation, and wiped out in a snowbank on the other side of the ski tracks. The crowd went wild.
We started around high noon and plodded into the night. There was 7-layer taco dip, shrimp and cocktail sauce, barbequed brats and mini pork sandwiches straight from the grill, with a full bar and a steady stream of mood music to motivate our manual labors.
Sam said it wouldn’t go in one day, something about a city permit, zoning codes, obstructing the view; we laughed at any number of ways to hold up construction in Aspen. And of course, contractors don’t work on Sundays.
We worked diligently into the evening and the igloo reached critical height, and mass; thank goodness for the labors of misplaced Eskimos. It took a few more nights of Sam and dedicated local handy-men to finish it off and by that time, it was Tuesday; I was hunkered down in my own warm abode, utilities included and kind of forgot about the igloo at the end of the block.
Then, about a month later, I remembered.
A friend and I walked down to Sam’s end of the apartments to check it out. It was a stark, clear star-filled night and there it stood, almost glowing against the dark sky, with a winding walkway and a tunneled entrance and two perfect benches for pow-wowing with other Inuits. We crawled inside, giggling, then marveled at how warm it was. I seemed to have forgotten that most obvious reason for building an igloo: provided your backside is cushioned from the ice, you can spend a cozy February evening inside without ever changing temperature.
It was peaceful and quiet, our laughter and whispers the only sounds. Some had carved initials or rough etchings in the ice bricks, petroglyph-style. I wondered how many had wandered by while Sam was at work, or asleep, to spend a few silent moments inside the igloo, sequestered from the world and reflecting on it, where no one else could see.
I got Sam’s invite about a week later:
“Once again... it is that time of year. Cabin fever has set in, and spring isn't that far off. But, winter is not over yet and the igloo is still standing. About a month and a half ago, a bunch of friends gathered here to create an ice dwelling that any Inuit would be proud of. Now is the time to come share in the wonderful snow craftmanship of your fellow Aspenites.”
He summoned us to grab our grass skirts, Hawaiian shirts and coconut bras out of storage (there would be extra in case we’d misplaced that box) and come on down to celebrate the igloo in all its glory. It was a heroic cause, worthy of valley-wide attendance and the weather couldn’t have been springier. With the igloo already built, all that was left was to enjoy.
The Canada-USA Hockey game, overtime for the Gold and the Olympic Closing Ceremonies would herald in the evening’s events. A friend from Carbondale stopped by on his way back from a weekend in Steamboat; a lively snowboarder breezed in, bikini top and purple stretch pants underneath Burton gear; hula girl antennae bobbed atop heads while strawberry daiquiris went down and by nightfall, the igloo was packed to capacity, more Inuits than the fire code would allow.
The full moon beamed out across the horizon. Sam lit the Tiki torches as the last of us headed to the ‘Gloo. He grabbed the bottle of Prosecco, chilling for just such an occasion, and looked out across the cross-country course to check for wayward skiers rounding Carnage Bend. Coast clear, he popped the cork into the bright night and the bubbles trickled down his grass skirt.
From the Igloo to the Tropics
Bedecked with Love and Hula Girls