On St. Patrick's day, I was actually skiing (in Ontario).
I described it as akin to trying to ski on a daiquiri. Very slick and slushy, with the odd patch of dirt showing here and there, and a big, deep, totally liquid puddle at the top of one of the chairs. I saw one young lad snowboarding shirtless. It wasn't really *that* warm, but I expect he got the attention he craved nonetheless.
By the 18th, it was clear that skiing is over. Some diehards out there, but not me.