Share your best ski experiences and win!

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With

winter right around the corner, Newschoolers and The Ski Journal

are teaming

up to amplify your excitement for the coming 08/09 season

by giving you the

chance to share your best skiing experience with

the rest of NS, and reward

you for doing it!

This is where The Ski Journal comes in. They are not

only the premium

magazine for skiers, they are now also being sold in the NS

Store. So

before you keep on reading, head over to the NS Store and pick up

a

copy or two!

Here’s the deal about the contest. In 500 words or

less, we want you

to tell us about your best day of skiing ever. Share the

experience

with all of us, and if you have pictures and videos feel free to

post

them. The staff at NS and The Ski Journal will then pick one winner

whose story will be published in an upcoming issue.

Oh, and

that's not it, you'll also receive:

1st 2 year subscription and TSKJ

stickers

2nd 1 year subscription and TSKJ

stickers

3rd single issue and TSKJ

stickers

4th single

issue

5th single

issue

6th single

issue

7th single

issue

8th single

issue

9th single

issue

10th single

issue

 
ill get us started with skiing in general throughout my life while i work out which specific day to go with:

Okay rewind back to when I

was in grade 6, back to the kid I was with a pre-pubescent squawky voice.

Growing up in the big metropolis of Toronto, yes I was a born and bred city

slicker. It all began as a school trip, it was late January, the place-Horseshoe

Valley, a fine specimen of a hill with the ridiculous vertical rise of 95

metres, and the longest run being 671 metres. The condition in Southern Ontario are like no other, with

beautiful shiny ice strips and patches right around every corner of groomers,

it was easy to see myself as a bobsledder of skiies.

But I digress,

arriving with +100 gapers from my school, myself included, in grade 6, the

dilemma of properly fitting boots to a hundred plus kids caused chaos and

havoc, but I persevered as one of the first kids out the door with ski, poles

and all-goggles not included.

Now with the

TDSB (Toronto District School Board)- strict son of a guns- you have to get

stickers: red, blue, green being the final one to allow you to different part

of the hill.

I am not sure

how but I managed to slide my ass down the icy sloops to achieve my green

sticker, allowing full mountain (really?) privileges.

The rest of the

day consisted of races and yardsales, many, and the day that started my

joy and

passion for skiing. Just out on the snow, having a great time with

friends, and

isn’t that the whole point of skiing, let alone life. The seed was

planted, in

a metaphorical sense, and from that day on I’ve been thinking,

dreaming,

talking, watching and writing about skiing. I remember the nights

before i would go skiing, i would be so pumped, and stoked just

thinking about ripping lines, a long time before the park picture came

into my head.

Just the feel

when you know you are the first one down a run, or a line, even if it is a

groomer. The fresh S’s are carved, imprinted into one of Mother Nature’s greats

gifts to mankind (fire is so overrated), soon to be washed out by others.

Aptly describing

what skiing is, and means to me, can only be done successfully by looking at

the smile that gleams across my face at the end of an epic line, or newly

learned trick.

Since that day

long ago in the 6th grade, I have skied everywhere in Southern Ontario,

including the private resorts. My first full year (a ski year in Ontario is

roughly 4.5 months) consisted of Sunday lessons. Lessons might sound lame, but

to me it meant guaranteed skiing at least once a week. And hey, lessons

were only half a day so I could spend the 2nd half, doing whatever

the hell my heart desired. My skiing has even led my family to Quebec to ski a

small portion of their great mountains, and out west to Colorado, a trip of a

lifetime. (If you ever find yourself in Copper with nothing do, hit up the free

cat skiing, as it will put the cherry atop almost all ski trips)

Although my pow

day can be counted on one hand, I still cringe( I’ve got therapy for the

cutting) when the skies are full of

falling flakes and I’m stuck at the prison, the government officials like to

refer to as “school”. Maybe my time has come to just move out west and start my

dream as a ski bum.
 
I was thinking hard about this one for a long time, but i finally figured out my most epic day ever. I remember back a couple of years ago i was racing in the Jr. Olympics and i was having a killer race that whole week. No wins, but top ten finishes. It was the last day of the race and it was snowing like a motherfucker like a ft of the heaviest snow known to man. I was out there having a good time and my first run i did decent, but i really care didn't care because i was just having an epic time and i was still in the run for a first. I go up for my 2nd and i was running toward the end and my coach was like alright lets lay it down. I got up to the start and i had the perfect run. Every turn was just money. I got to the bottom and i was really stoked. I went over to the time board and i was in first by a second. It was super sick. After that i went over to Mary Jane and ripped heavy ass powder for the rest of the day. By the end of the day i was soaking wet with all my buds and i went over to the awards and i picked up the gold medal. It was killer. It was truly an epic day
 
.Damn this is a tough one. For starters i've been lucky enough to ride some

east coast dreams, whistler, breck, windells… but my favorite memory is east

coast for sure. It was 2 seasons ago

maybe 3. My skis kicked the bucket late

spring the year before and rossi was taking their sweet time with the warranty.

Mid december rolled around and I got a beautiful package in the mail. I immediately brought em to the local shop, had

em mounted up, chatted with the tech for a lil, and spent a couple more minutes

forcing him to take my money. Shout out

to skinners. Eventually i gave up and

went to the hill. It was down pouring. Sraight up new england style rain when its

completely inappropriate. Pulled into

the parking lot, christmas break and the place was empty. I really didn't care. I was just stoked on a

new set of skis and finally getting out to ride. Made my way to the park and started to

lap a lil. Main park had just gone up a couple days ago, yet no one was out

riding today. Shit got wild fast, met up

with a bunch of friendly kids I hadn’t seen all summer. A ton of us headed to the hill hopin we

weren’t the only ones who wanted to ski.

Out of nowhere we had a crew of 10+ kids. Everyone was slaying and we had the park to

ourselves to do whatever we pleased. Poured all day long but we

rode the lift till close. Lifts stopped

and you know a bunch of us hiked till they kicked us off the slopes. Ski patrol couldn’t understand, thought we

were bein young crazy kids and what not.

Truth is skiing is awesome or in the words of wesley webb skiing is dopealiciouslydanktasticalandballer and when a bunch of your friends love it too,

that’s even more awesome. And when the rest of the world is inside you don’t give a fuck about a lil rain as long as you can ski. So after a splendid cup of hot chocolate I could

easily say that was the most epic way to start a season and I’m

pretty sure I didn’t fully convey my day and all its epicness but it's all

good
 
It was last year. It had been dumping all day a t Mad River Glen and kept dumping through the night. My whole family: me, my dad, my bro, and my mom got up early to get to the mountain early. The lifts opened at 8:30 and we were there at 7:30. I had an Egg McMad which is a bacon, egg, and cheese breakfast sandwich on an english muffin. We were like 3rd in line on the single chair. It was pristine, it was a blue bird day, about 10 degrees Fahrenheit, and the snow was sparkling. That ride up was amazing. It was completely silent, all I could hear was the wind, the lift running, and the thoughts im my head. When we reached the top we headed straight to three cliffs (a woods trail, off of one of the most difficult trails on the mountain, that has three cliffs, duh). We got first tracks, it was sssooo sweet. My bro and I were taking turns goin off the cliffs first. The run was amazing, super deep powder, great woods skiing, pristine weather, and I was super stoked. Then we come to a lesser known cliff called "Old Yeller" I went first. Landed. POOF! Super soft landing. My bro came right after me. We skied the rest of that woods run. It was amazing woods powder. When we went up again, we did the same run because it was so amazing, and we were shocked and thrilled to find that nobody else had been on it. So we got first and second tracks. Another amazing run. Last run, my dad and I got last chair on the double (one of the other chairs at MRG) Going up we were spotting out where we would huck the Bird Cage cliff. We waited till all the ski patrol were up in the shack getting ready for sweep, and we skied down to the Bird Cage. I went first, I ducked the rope and took the far skier's left line. Hucked it, I went huge. When I got to the bottom one of my dad's friends asked me if that was me who hit it first. I said yeah, and he was like "Sweet dude, that was a sick line" At the end of that incredible day, I got home and had hot chocolate in front of a beautiful fire. Then had the best sleep of my life only to wake up the next morning and shred again.

I also have pics that I'm planning on putting up later.

 
here goes! hope ya like it.

---

The snow is soft, the wind only whispers, and the temperature feels perfect against the small sections of exposed skin across my face. The group which I was supposed to follow has already headed off. I spot them waiting at the bottom of this haven which some may call nowhere. This is somewhere to me; this very peak holds memories from the age of 9 years old, the first time I scaled it. Hakuna matata: There are never any worries on this mountain until the trailer picks you up to send you on your merry way back to the flame-heated creaking cabin.

Society beckons while clouds quickly cover the sun. We have one shot at a photo, and the time window is narrowing. Thus, I push forward. The tips and tails of my skis hover where trudging feet normally toil. The laws of physics have done their job well, now adrenaline and mental strength take over. I carefully measure out my pace: ten feet until the edge. Five feet. Three feet. One foot.

Takeoff! I throw my upper body forward into a rolling motion, which consequently destroys any conception of control that I have. Hours pass while the second hand stretches into a minute hand. One who has not experienced the sensation of slowly turning head over heels in the air can’t understand this almost divine experience. Sky becomes snow, snow becomes sky, and all is one: enlightenment of the senses. You must know nothing to learn everything, as many wise men have said.

I hear loud cheers from below, jolting me back to reality. Stretching out my legs to absorb the impact, I focus all of my energy on falling with grace and preparing for the battle of nature vs. human. Gravity pulls me hard into the steep snowfield, straining my leg muscles and detonating pieces of the pristine landscape into my face. Goggles protect me from the harsh snow particles, but nothing matters at this point anyways. Turn after turn after smile after smile, I shimmy down the hill as if I were performing a not-quite two step dance to victory. Ladies and Gentlemen: The Eagle has landed.

This skiing experience took place on my last weekend of skiing in the 2007-2008 season. Hucking my meat off of a 25 foot cliff and frontflipping may seem ludicrous to the outside world, but the fact that I enjoy it confirms that I am an addict. Nothing in life can compare to this feeling: the complete and pure joy, almost arrogant self-esteem, and the haze of the numerous soiled-pants scary moments that end up in exuberant high-fives and epic stories. The best part is that I can look back up after a disgustingly amazing run and see the evidence of shreddage behind me, curving down the peak. It may disappear at times behind trees or at a spot where I have fallen, but it always ends where I am standing. I have no regrets.

 
Describing the best day of skiing in 500 days or less is going to be a feat, so here I go.

After a long year of working at a restaurant bussing tables and waiting hand on foot on needy people, I was able to spend my hard earned money on a trip to Whistler for High North Ski Camp. This was the second time I would be attending camp in two years, but this summer was the best ever. Despite it snowing 6 of 7 days there the park was magnificent every day, except for this one particular day, lets call it a Tuesday. On this Tuesday I believe I was coached by none other than the famous JP Auclair. As the day proceeded the snow continued to fall making the park very slow and almost annoying to lap due to the slowness of the jumps and what not. So we decided to explore the closed section of Blackcomb and setup some natural jibs. The trip to “the spot” included some sweet skier cross course, water crossing, and some super sick tree skiing, needless to say it was epic. We arrived at “the spot” and browsed through the woods for things to jib. If I recall correctly JP said something about a stump that had been setup there before. It took like 5 of use to get that stump in position for some sweet stalls and jibs. We also setup a tree jib where kids where throwing blind 270s out and steezy slides to switch. In addition to the two jibs, I believe we had a 10 foot long tree that was setup in the ways of a flat rail. It wasn’t more than 30 minutes later that everyone was throwing down and seshing the natural features. From hand plant 180s to 540 attempts over the stump, everything was just so much fun. Now I know the entire setup doesn’t sound all that trickable and amusing but this is what made it fun. The day really made me appreciate skiing for what it was, a time to enjoy life with friends while doing something you love. After probably 2 hours of seshing and practically the entire camp skiing through our setup, we skied down to the lift and headed back to lap the park some more.

This day of skiing was definitely my best experience ever. It provided the chillest group of people doing what they love to do, ski.

Here is a picture summarizing the scene on the mountain during the day:

n1235700304_30115555_604.jpg


People at camp that session may remember this very well.

Hehe don't forget to look at Mr.Bishops hair :)

 
I'll do my best to keep it brief:

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

My best day skiing did not occur out west in 3 feet of fresh pow or at a super park like Vail or Keystone. It occured at a small hill in WI, with an old friend, and old coach, and an old man.

I'm 26, ancient in the years of freeskiing. I was here at the beginning, making my own twin tips and making up tricks as I did them. Anyone remember the Skodeo? How about the Venus Fly Trap? I grew up skiing this small mountain near my house. It is one of those mountains where you know everyone, there are only a few full time ski school employees, and the managers will let you ski the hills after close if you ask nicely.

When I was in high school, I joined the race team at the mountain and got a park time job as a ski instructor. I became friends with a local skier who I had noticed around but never talked to, and I quickly became a proficient racer. At the same time, I became good friends with an old man who had worked at this mountain for years. He was one of the only 2 full time ski school employees, and he had worked there since the early 60s. He still wore tight spandex pants when freeskiing, but he loved ski instructing and was fast a hell down a hill.

The local skier I became friends with turned out to be my coach's son, and we ended up taking our team to state my senior year. I learned a lot that year about my skiing technique, and improved drastically. I spent every hour of every weekend with my coach and friend, going through gates and drills. After a few hours, this kid and I would hit the park and practice new tricks.

College time came, and I said goodbye to the old man, my coach, and my friend. I moved out west, to Oregon, where Mt. Hood beckoned. My college years were rough on me. I got heavily involved with drugs, and I lost a lot of friends. I ignored these three people who were so integral in my skiing origins, I never once saw them during my college years and for 2 years afterwards....That's six years. They tried to intiate contact with me, but I brushed them off repeatedly until they stopped trying.

After college I moved to Colorado, where the lifestyle continued. I pretty much forgot about that small mountain in WI.

After another few years, I finally began to realize where my priorities should be. It was a hard process, but I got my shit together and turned things around. A year ago, I stepped foot back on that WI mountain for the first time in 6 years. It was a blue bird day, warm, fresh man-made snow. There was race camp going on that day, and I noticed my old coach working with some campers on GS. I worked up the courage to go over and talk to him, and he was genuinely happy to see me. His son was there working the race camp as well, and the three of us got to talking about the good old days. I apologized for what had happened over the years, my friend was pretty pissed but they both were happy I was back.

After the race camp concluded at 3, the three of us went out to freeski. Just as we got off the lift for the first run, we ran into the old man. He looked the same, and he immediately recognized me. Again, there was no hard feelings, which surprised me. The four of us skied the rest of that day, catching up and enjoying the warm weather and poorly lit night skiing. It was 300 vertical feet, man made snow, and chairlifts from the 60s...but it was by far the best day of skiing of my life.
 
So...Kris here from The Ski Journal. Some good stories posted so far. As you know, the best* one will be published in the magazine so I thought I'd offer a few tips for crafting a winning essay.

1. Keep the bro-brah to a minimum. Use real words that have meaning. Like solipsism. And facetious. Okay maybe not those ones. Just steer away from sick, gay, and stoked, especially all three in the same paragraph.

2. Start with a good intro. "I was thinking hard about this one for a long time, but..." isn't very, what's the word, interesting. "It was a dark and stormy night" is better, especially if it involves chairlifts and midgets.

3. Don't write a straight trip report. That's what forums are for. Your story should have some kind of twist or compelling angle beyond I went here, did this, ate that, puked it up, it was sick! But don't get too bent out of shape about this. It's supposed to be fun.

* "Judged solely by me and my vast knowledge of skiing expertise." - best line from Better Off Dead...have any of you guys seen that movie? It's from the '80s... But seriously, I won't be the only one judging, but I do edit the mag so adhering to the above guidelines is smart if you want to win!
 
Ha i didnt realize these were potentially being published so i just wrote for the hell of it oops
 
i love how it says 500 words or less. my english teacher would be dissapointed haha. oh and i will write mine this weekend it will be almost as epic as the fun times we had
 
one day i was skiing backwards and pretending to do the moon walk to try and look cool and not look where i was going then i took out a whole family of joeys and two other dudes it was epic
 
wow

everyone just writing in all these epic descriptions, the eagle has landed, as the pow sprayed gracefully up into my face.

i will enter this though
 
once, i did a steezy 3, huge afterbang, got cat called by some babes, went over, met this girl. we hit it off, i got her number, met up the next day, took some runs, spit some game, s'd some b's, and bing bang boom, i had myself the best sexiest skiing girl eva. Ohh and she got me my sick crowbars for my b day. Lucky dude right?

 
my mom went skiing when she was preggers with me. thus i became addicted to snow prior to birth and just like a crack baby; its not my fault. but the addiction must be fed.
 
so a few years ago me and my older brother got bored with taking runs down our local hill so we decided to build a jump. the conditions were such that snowpacking was great, so we went to work. we shaped, packed, got it all set up and by the time it was done, we weren't about to hike up to hit it. so we decided to ski down to the lift line at the bottom and get a lift up so that in theory we could ski down to the jump and hit it with some speed. on the lift was when the unexpected happened. my brother and i were chatting it up, and as i was glancing around at my surroundings, i noticed a ski patrol guy on his skidoo sled riding down the hill. it appeared as if he was heading towards my jump, which at the point in the lift ride we were right above, so it caught my attention. he was looking off to the side and not ahead of him, so he had no idea what he was about to do. for some reason i made a prediction and alerted my brother of it as he the ski patrol guy was heading down. somehow, he managed to accidentally fly of the jump we had just built. he was taken by surprise because the jump was never there before. he ended up coming close to flipping over, but he definitely caught some air. never seen anybody so surprised before and at the same time i've never been so stoked.
worst ski experience: me and 2 friends were hitting up some backcountry that wasn't actually within the ski area boundaries. so we ended up getting deeper into the wilderness and finding pretty sick terrain with a few hairy spots we had to hike around. overall, it was pretty damn fun. when we got to the bottom, we found ourself in the middle of nowhere, freezing cold and guess what? there was a river that we had no choice but to ford. probably the coldest water you could imagine, and knee deep. thank god i had cheap outerwear, because we came out soaking and miserable. ...and then we were on the highway. great. that means that we had to walk a mile on the highway soaking wet and freezing, in soggy skiboots and carrying skis and poles. we attempted to hitchhike but failed. then when we finally arrived near a lift, we had to ford two more rivers. it was awful. this time, one of the rivers was faster and i dropped a ski in the water and had to venture into quite deep waters to get it. very frigid. i can tell you the lift ride was very uncomfortable.
 
oh man, 500 words, fuck that i cant weave a fantastic tale in 500 words. Oh well here goes nothing

Me along with a couple of my bro’s, who I will introduce later, set forth on what became a journey of epic scope and magnitude. We joined forces with a local school’s ski club heading out to Smuggler’s Snatch as it was called by the end of our trip. It all started off with a super chill bus-ride into Vermont in which Gooder, a Native American bro of mine, enjoyed an issue of Cosmo while others attempted a nap. We finally arrive at a sketch ass bed and breakfast (google: The Red Fox Alpine Lodge) which involved 10 bunks to a room almost army style. We had some fun with some of the other residents there Naverberry received a couple threats to be de-limbed with a screwdriver and my dude Fudge was shot multiple times with a nerf gun. Seth also managed to find out if you kicked the shooting game just right you could continue playing for free, which was taken advantage of while it lasted. Then came the epic part of the weekend, the skiing. We received something like 2 feet of snow that weekend and skied madddd glades, every opening between two trees we saw we just darted in, leading us to quite the predicament. We had popped into the woods in what looked to be a glade, all of us riding east coast skinny ass park skis, to shortly realize this was no glade. The trees kept getting thicker and thicker and we would sink deeper and deeper into the powder. It got to the point where some of our less experienced skiers had to take off their skis to make it down, which turned out to be a bad idea as we made our way into a river bank. This posed a problem to all those without their skis on because they quickly sank through the snow tiptoeing through water. There was much hiking cross country skiing, and tumbling. Anyways after about an hour and a half of meandering through the woods we found a type of clearing where we sat for a rest. There was quite a chill bro sess in the clearing with some jokes and perspectives of the situation we had gotten into. We head off after 15 min or so of chillin in the direction we think the trail is in. Which was all uphill very shitty. Finally after 2 or 2 and a half hrs of blazing trail we hear people and eventually manage to find a legit trail which we piled out onto with enthusiasm (see video). Our trip also included a local backcountry beauty of a glade that was absolutely epic, spitting us out to the maintenance road between Smugg’s and Stowe near the park. All in all it was an awesome experience that I wont forget anytime soon. Heres some pictures and a video from the trip.
http://kingcomet32.myphotoalbum.com...share&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=slideshow
 
Alright here it goes, Last year i went with my 2 bros that go to a different school and one of theirs dad. We embarked on a long plane ride for denver and up to breckenridge colorado hoping to ski and have good times. The first day i went out after being up since 2 A,m, and skied half day. The next morning we woke up and i finally convinced my friends dad to go to keystone. We took the bus over and there was a snowstorm heading right for us. After a great day of skiing and doing my first 450 off a c box we had to go home because "my friend was cold and said the mountain was closin'???? anyways the bus takes forever to come and we made this little qp and seshed it for a while until the bus came. we get on the bus and about 2 miles in we come to a dead halt. there is an accident and we sit in traffic for about 2 hours until we move again. Then it becomes whiteoute conditions and the driver cannot stop.(i also forgot to mention theres a bunch of skiers from alabama on the bus) one of the girls had to pee and could not hold it. we are at a light (i think) because we couldnt see.The girl gets a fricken mini trash can from the busdriver and pisses on the bus... she then throws it out the window at a car....the bus driver is pissed and decides to take us to the depot and make us sit there. We are there with 1000000 mexicans and i just walk out cus its snowing and i wanted to ski(by the way it is 11 pm)i skied in the parking lot and jibed whateva you can imagine. there is a nearby hotel and we told the concierge person we didnt care if there was no room wed sleep in the lobby.i called my other friend who drove out to colorado and his dad (mountain man) picked us up. it was the best experience i have ever had while skiing and i know it doesnt have to do with skiing all that much but its something ill always remember...
 
the best day of skiing for me... hmm.

I have to say it was last year, after school one day. My friends and I headed over to Howelson Hill,( a sorta ghetto local hill thats known for ski jumping, but there are a few runs and a small park) to go to freeride, and our usual coach didn't show up. the senior coach, Aryeh was there and he is probably the biggest influence on my riding. He took us up to this spot, and there was about 2 feet of fresh pow as far as the eye could see. We hit this wind lip until it was dark, and then hit rails in the park until about 8:30 under the lights. It was the perfect session, and everybody on the team was hucking whatever they could into the pow. I don't think I will ever forget it, and it will remain in my head as the best day of skiing ever. The best conditions, my friends, and the most chill coach ever. Just chilling and having fun. Thats what skiing is all about for me.
 
So we head up to Marquette, Michigan for the midwest superpark and everybodys stoked, even if we ARE being driven up there by my mom... We stop in this tiny ass town called Newberry to stay the night. When we get there, my friend tells me to take a peak in their sauna, he says it's got this sweet new feature. I was tired from the car ride I didn't think about it, anyways theres about twenty crazy tatooed huge ass bikers all just staring at me like what kid, all naked, it was fucked up. While we're there, we get this inclination to smoke some weed, but omg! nobody brought a lighter. Next thing we know, we're running along the highway, in wet swimsuits mind you, towards a tiny BP sign that looks like it's about a couple hundred yards away. Wrong. It was more like a mile and a half. So we get there, cold as fuck, but noooo they won't sell us a lighter. We're not 18 yet! Not even matches! AND on the way back, along the other side of the highway, this dog comes out of it's house, this big ass dogman-wearwolf-pitbull-rotweiler mix and chases us down. Scary. Anyways, the next morning we made it to midwest superpark and it's just the best thing to come to midwest skiing ever, and we skied all day. It was awesome.
 
hahaha, i was going to write something up for this contest, but i soon realized that being a ski bum with no fixed address, winning a 2 year subscription would be extremely pointless considering the fact. well, it'll be a long month of anxious waiting so I'll probably pump out a story for you before the 1st. I guess just don't let me win. in the mean time here's a joke for you all.

What's a pirates favourite letter?

R?

Ah, you'd think so, but they're mighty fond of the C!

 
My Best Day Skiing.

How I Almost Made it in a Warren Miller Ski Movie.



My best day of skiing actually happened when I was a volunteer ski patrol for a mountain here in Utah. We decided to join the ski patrol because it meant free skiing. It had been dumping for days as it often does in Utah and my buddy and I who had joined up for ski patrol together were getting tired of the snow that was getting eaten up on the front side of the resort. We had heard on the radio that there was some grrreat skiing to be had on the backside but to direct tourists away from one of the zones because the Warren Miller Film Crew were there filming for their movie that year.



Of course us being “ski patrol” we thought it was our “duty” to check out how the snow was on the backside and get a glimpse of the Warren Miller athletes. When we arrived to the zone where they were supposedly filming we couldn’t see anybody, no filmers, no athletes not even tourists. I pointed out a line to my buddy with a couple little pillows and a 15 footer at the end and told him I would meet him in the clearing.



As I dropped in to my line that was when I heard and saw the Warren miller ski crew. I was skiing the exact line they were about to film. All I really heard really was f-bomb this and f-bomb that. The Warren Miller film crew expressed how disappointed they were to resort management that two ski patrols volunteers had ruined a shot they were lining up and the time it had wasted. Needless to say that was my last day of being on the volunteer ski patrol.



You might ask how could this be your best day skiing ever? Well it turns out that to be on the ski patrol you weren’t allowed to ski in the terrain park so I had to basically sell my soul to the devil to get a free ski pass. It’s all good though because I got all the backcountry training I needed in preparing to join the ski patrol. I was also stoked because I could be in the next Wareen Miller movie!.............................................but probably not.



 
damn son, this is a toughie.

well, it all started at 4:30 am on a Saturday morning sometime in April. My pops rolls me out of bed much to my chagrin, which was rediculous in the face of the ensuing delights the day would beget. As I meandered downstairs and wandered into the kitchen i was greeted with the bedazzling scents of sizzling slices of dead pig and cool drone of the meteorologist heading the Weather Channel's foray into sleepy little Spokane, WA's climate patterns. After dishing up some dope eggs and rad bacon I sat down on the couch and "got learned" about the day forthcoming. After a quick shower and packing, my dad and I set out to quest for the fluffy white stuff (no, not blow).

We were headed to Mt. Spokane, or Mt. Baldy as she was originally known back in the day, although the mountain isnt quite stellar it's close, and we weren't feelin' a 2 hour drive up to Schweitzer in Sandpoint. Upon realizing that the snow gods were dumping their blessings on us i was stoked to say the least, as this would be my first powder day since I sufferred a life changing injury. In November of 2007 I destroyed my right arm, which has left it pretty much useless and me poleless, but I digress, first powder day since I'd gotten hurt. We were ascending the access road to reach our destination, The Beatle Years was serenading us as we traveled and the goods were starting to show. When we got to the lodge we found out that the lifties hadn't been able to rally their pinto wagons tough enough to make it up the road so an epic wait ensued. By the time everything was going strong mr. sun was out and baking our snow, but we weren't phased. Thigh deep pow and sweet face shots rewarded us all day.

I had never felt so alive.
 
March 2008. I head out to Jackson Hole with my bud. I've heard about Corbets and how gnarley it is. My bud's dad has a wicked old pair of K2's that he snapped dropping into Corbets hanging over their fireplace. So basically this little couloir is really hyped up for me. So our first day out my bud and I head to the summit to take a look down Corbets. I step out of my bindings so I can crawl on my stomach to look over the edge. And holy shit, this thing is big. I mean, I'm an east coaster, I don't see this kind of thing everyday. And the first thing that goes through my mind is, 'How the hell am I ever gonna get down this thing in one piece?'. So my bud's dad is like, "Amo lemme show you how to do it, then I'll come back up and talk you through it." So he drops in no problem and he's back up standing next to me in fifteen minutes. He tells me I have two options. One, I can side-slip down as far as possible then drop it, this way there's less of a drop and I've got a better chance of sticking it. Or I can just Drop in straight off the top of the couloir. All I can think of is the broken skis hanging over their fireplace so I'm like "Ok I'm gonna side-slip then drop in." I slide down as far as possible (check out my profile picture) and huck myself down the couloir. I eat it big time, loose a ski, slide down like 75 feet, and I'm chillin' there in the snow and I say to myself, "Amo, why are you such a bitch?". So an hour later, after climbing up to fetch my ski, I'm back at the top of Corbets, and now I'm thinkin', 'OK Amo, go big or go home', I start flipping through my skiing playlist looking for the perfect song. Space Walk by Lemon Jelly comes on. So I wait it out, 'Here we go, and uh...woah!' I drop in, straight off the top of the cornice, stick the landing and I'm shredding some perfect pow, headed home. I feel like a million dollars.
 
My Most Epic Day Ever. It was just this summer and i will remember it forever. I was 14 years old and the anticipation for my trip to Windells was overwhelming. I booked my flight and the deal was finalized and i was going to WINDELLS!!!!! 2 of my friends and I sat in school, counting down the minutes, the hours, the days, until we would be boarding the flight to Portland, Oregon. Because i was only 14, this was the first trip I was going to ever be on in which i would be alone without my family. I was so extremely excited to do the thing I live for, ski. The day finally came and after a total of 15 minutes of sleep the night before, i was ready. Nerves, Excitement, and anxiety shot through my body as the experience of a life time became a reality. The drive to Albany Airport and the flight to Portland dragged on. It felt like days had passed and I was still stuck on the plane going to Mt. Hood. On the plane there was no time for sleep, only preperation. Preperation for the trip and for all the things i would be experiencing. The plane finally began to descend and chills were sent through my body. I grabbed my back pack and was shuffled along the airport into the WINDELLS van. After another sleepless night, I was on the mountain. I got introduced to Mike Hornbeck who would be my coach and then we were off. " Take a warm up lap and meet back at the chairlift" hornbeck said to us. I clipped into my skis and down I went. I was amazed by the abilities of the others as they did butter 3's and 5's down the mountain. I had to fit in, so i pushed myself to do everything they did. We finally entered the Windells park and the sight of the perfect set up of terrain was the most memorable sight of my life. The snow was glistening in the beating sun and the jumps and features were awaiting our arrival. I warmed up on the rails and boxes with a few smaller tricks and worked my way to the jumps. I was determined to land a new trick that day. "Don't go big the first day" flew right over my head and I asked Hornbeck how to do a cork. He explained the trick and showed me how to do it. He stomped it. I was in the zone. I pictured the trick in my head and imagined my self stomping it out. I rolled down the hill and up the jump, I flung my arms and I was doing it. I looked at the ground and saw my landing...then i stopped in mid air. I lost all momentum and plummeted to the snow and landed with a thud. viewers "OOOHED" and "AAHHHH'D" but that didnt distract me. I unclipped my bindings and hiked to the top. Hornbeck gave me some advice, and i tweaked the image in my mind. I soon was thrust down the hill into the jump, I once again thrust my arms and tucked my knees, I opened my eyes and saw the landing coming into view. I prepared myself for the landing and stomped it. I threw my poles above my head in excitement and skiied away. I successfully landed a cork 540 and recieved props from professional skiers. It was amazing. To be noticed by some of my skiing idols was the best feeling in the world. The day went on and I skied better than i have ever skied before, landing pretzel after pretzel on rails and more corks on skis. The week continued on in this fashion and after an exhausting experience I flew back home with countless stories to tell my friends.
 
There are certain places in the world of skiing that are legendary. We have all heard of the magic that can occur in such places. When the cosmos align and the snow gods allow us on earth to have a glimpse of the power and majesty that can take place in the heart of the mountains. Last year, myself and seven others embarked on a journey to one of these places. Jackson Hole, Wyoming.
When I moved from Chicago, Illinois to Bozeman, Montana I had no idea what was in store for me. After years of dreaming and hoping that I could one day live out West, it actually happened. Attending Montana State University allows me to explore the abundance of terrain that is located at Bridger Bowl, just 20 minutes from campus. Although I skied more powder and got more face shots than I could ever fathom, it was the weekend that myself, and seven others went down to Jackson Hole that changed everything.
We heard that it had been dumping and that it was not going to let up, so we packed our things and headed out. What normally should have been a 4 hour drive took 10, due to the closure of the Teton Pass. Upon arrival we booked a room, bought all the supplies we would need for a fun filled weekend and impatiently waited for the best day of skiing of my life. Everyone woke up nice and early and we headed out the door. Hearing the avi blasting was a great sign of deep snow, and deep snow it was. We took little time to discover Rock Springs, an amazing out of bounds area that for some reason absolutely nobody entered. As we all know the tram was not running so getting to Rock Springs was quite the ordeal, especially when it's snowing well over an inch an hour. Once we got to the bottom of Jackson we hopped right back in the gondola. Eight people was the perfect number! After the gondola and two lifts we reached our destination. We wanted to ski Corbet's but due to all the snow it was closed, which was fine with us because lapping Rock Springs was better than anything we could have imagined. We skied from open to close without stopping to eat or drink, approximately 8 hours a day. On one of these trips to Rock Springs, I ventured to the other side of a gully to find a nice 25 footer and had my buddy scope it from the bottom. Although this is not the biggest cliff I have ever hit, it certainly was by far the best landing I have EVER experienced. The takeoff had a nice lip and I cruised off, sailed, and landed in the deepest, fluffiest, most orgasmic particles of the stuff we all love. To my surprise, I didn't stop sinking. Snow must have been piling up for days and I felt my body fully submerged..... and then some. Upon surfacing, I let out a "HOLY SHIT", that everyone else chimed in on. For the rest of the day, we got to the Springs as fast as we could and skied the deep snow all day long. Later that evening there were plenty of hotel shenanigans to go down, which led to a broken nose. The night turned into morning, and we made a repeat of the day before. With more snow on the ground it was a great day, but I don't know if the excitement and adrenaline that I had on that first day can ever be recaptured. Needless to say we went back to Jackson Hole the very next weekend. And that, was my best day of skiing ever.

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“The Typical”



By Michael Shaw



The story of the typical ski day



People seem to remember the most epic powder days. The best and worst seem to stick out in most people’s heads. What about the days in between that, the days that we crave for when the thermometer reads 98̊ outside? During the winter people take the typical ski day for granted. This is the memory of the days in between the foot of fresh and the days of rocks and slush.



On a typical morning the alarm clock goes of at about seven o clock. The memory of the day before and the work that needs to be done comes rushing to the brain. The thoughts bring a feeling of anxiety into the morning. All of a sudden the facts click in the brain, it’s a Saturday and today is a ski day. The harsh realities that were once so shocking now vanish. Skiing is the only thought that manifests.



A shower, strawberry pop tart, and the weather report are part of the morning ritual. Loading the gear and fueling up the car are tasks that are always done last. The long cold drive up to the mountain begins. NPR seeps into my self conscience. Finally the drive that has been done many time over is over and done.

The sky is of no particular shade of grey. The lifts that day seem to never run fast enough. Not a new inch of snow has blessed the ground that now lay under the two planks that should have been waxed the night before. Some familiar faces are seen. The runs seem shorter than usual. Then at the end of the run the sound of the greetings from lift operators fill the air. This is repeated for the remainder of the day. Finally after the lifts close and the walk to the car seem like it will never end.



These days are taken for granted for most. The powder days will always the talk of the season. But there is one problem with a powder day, it’s only a day. The powder is nice but happiness becomes elusive after that because searching for powder that isn’t there is disappointing. The typical ski day is one that will reside in a special place of my heart. It is a place of stability where change is never a factor. I will never search for something that isn’t there and happiness comes from peace of mind.

Well thats my story I hope you enjoy it. please i would love some feed back i havnt dont anything like this before.
 
“The Typical”



By Michael Shaw



The story of the typical ski day



People seem to remember the most epic powder days. The best and worst seem to stick out in most people’s heads. What about the days in between that, the days that we crave for when the thermometer reads 98̊ outside? During the winter people take the typical ski day for granted. This is the memory of the days in between the foot of fresh and the days of rocks and slush.

On a typical morning the alarm clock goes of at about seven o clock. The memory of the day before and the work that needs to be done comes rushing to the brain. The thoughts bring a feeling of anxiety into the morning. All of a sudden the facts click in the brain, it’s a Saturday and today is a ski day. The harsh realities that were once so shocking now vanish. Skiing is the only thought that manifests.

A shower, strawberry pop tart, and the weather report are part of the morning ritual. Loading the gear and fueling up the car are tasks that are always done last. The long cold drive up to the mountain begins. NPR seeps into my self conscience. Finally the drive that has been done many time over is over and done.

The sky is of no particular shade of grey. The lifts that day seem to never run fast enough. Not a new inch of snow has blessed the ground that now lay under the two planks that should have been waxed the night before. Some familiar faces are seen. The runs seem shorter than usual. Then at the end of the run the sound of the greetings from lift operators fill the air. This is repeated for the remainder of the day. Finally after the lifts close and the walk to the car seem like it will never end.

These days are taken for granted for most. The powder days will always the talk of the season. But there is one problem with a powder day, it’s only a day. The powder is nice but happiness becomes elusive after that because searching for powder that isn’t there is disappointing. The typical ski day is one that will reside in a special place of my heart. It is a place of stability where change is never a factor. I will never search for something that isn’t there and happiness comes from peace of mind.

Well thats my story I hope you enjoy it. please i would love some feed back i havnt dont anything like this before.
 
It's hard to pick a good day skiing, because there aren't many bad ones, but the ones that stand out the most for me are the days I spend with my brothers and friends, putting together sketchy backyard setups, building jumps in fields, at golf courses or wherever there seems to be enough run in and transition. These are the days I have learned all my best tricks and had some of the best times with my friends.
One snowy night at college, I decided to go outside with my skis to try and find some delicious pow-covered features to shred, or just rip some turns on the hill by the library. When I arrived outside, I saw two snowboarders at the top of the aforementioned hill, hailed them and introduced myself. We built a tiny jump on the hill with the small amount (4 inches, +/-) of new snow we had, and spent the next two hours sessioning it, and lying low whenever we saw campus security go past. It was one of the better times I've had skiing, and I learned how to do 360s that night. The two snowboarders I met I continued to shred with the whole season, at the resort and just having fun in the sidecountry, and we are good friends to this day.
Over Christmas Break (07/08) my family took our usual trip to Maine to visit relatives. My brothers and I intended to visit Sugarloaf and Sunday River, but the first day we just stayed in the small town of Blue Hill. Since there are no ski hills within a short distance of Blue Hill ( I believe the closest one is Camden Snowbowl, about 1-2 hours away), we drove to a golf course close to our grandmother's house where we were staying, built a small kicker and busted our moves off it to the amazement of the kids sledding on the slope next to us. We then noticed small man-made drop over the "fairway", which made a mini road gap, which we sessioned for hours, dropping in out of the tight trees for maximum speed to clear the "road". It is also one of the funnest times I've had on skis, and I doubt I would have enjoyed that day as much at a resort. Later in the trip, we ended up going to Sunday River, on a day when it continued to snow harder and harder throughout the day, while there were also less and less people. The day began with some fooling around in the park, which eventually progressed to a decent pow day (for the east) with tree and bump shredding. It was one of those days that you race to try and get one more chair and duck the rope as they're pulling it across the gate.
When I began skiing I was 14 and had no clue about newschool or twintips, but I couldn't go skiing enough. I wore a hoodie, a rental helmet and mom-bought Sears pants, to complement my sweet K2 Escape skis, but I had some great times with my friends just being an honest gaper for a season or so, before I realized I could actually ski every day. This led to moments like the ones described above. Every time I go out and get on the lift at the beginning of the day, it's the best moment ever, and when I land a new trick, or see someone stomp something really sick, I'm always stoked on that for the rest of the day, and those are the best skiing experiences as well.
 
Truly we as skiers all know the feeling of comradery that comes with friends that share our love of skiing. A select few know the even greater bond shared between family members that ski together. I have skied since I was about 10 and my brother was 12, it wasn't long before we were passing our dad and off to adventure on our own. I skied with my brother my whole life, every year we shared weekend trips with friends, weeknights at the local bump of a hill, and rained out days that somehow turned into a good time.

Well early Feb. we took a bus trip with my dad, my gf, my bro, and I up to mt. snow. My dad's too slow now and my gf is just learning, so first chair every day I'd get up with my bro and we'd go shred alone in the morning to really have at it ya know. The snow wasn't incredible, mt. snow was well mt. snow so it was ok, we spent most of our time on the backside in the trees just having a blast and hanging out together. We got out a few more times last season but that was our last big trip together. Then come this spring a shitty decision involving drugs took my brother's life. I haven't been the same since, and I really don't know what I'm gonna do this winter as my bro was pretty much my go to guy when it started snowing. I'm gonna get through it and keep doing my thing on the hill for sure, but really my bro was the only other skier amongst our friends(rest are boarders) and it physically pains me to think about a season without him let alone the rest of my life. So for that reason I'll probably always look back on that one mediocre weekend at mt. snow that was my last big ski trip with my brother.

That was just a little something I posted over at skitheeast.net.
 
I remember waking up at 3 in the morning. It was spring break. Dave, Mike, and I threw all our gear into the ford explorer, and we left the resort. I was so tired it was hard to keep track of time, but I think the trip was about 45 minutes long. When we arrived, I was stoked to say the least.

When we got out of the car we started to prep our packs for the long hike. I put a small hand towel and a change of clothes in my pack. I also brought the only sandwich i saw worthy of a trip like this, peanut butter and fluff. I packed my boots into the side pockets, and strapped my fugitives onto the side of my bag. I was told the hike was long and hard, I had severley underestimated it.

We started the trip up hill into the bottom of the bowl. I think it took about two hours before we reached the fall out lodge we were really discouraged. There were high avalanche warnings on the head wall and right side of the bowl. We had come too far to give up and go home, so we pressed on for the last half mile of the hike. When we arrived in the belly of the bowl, we took this time to admire our opponent, and of course to eat. At this point we changed out of of sweaty hiking gear, and into our ski gear. I buttoned my powder skirt for the first time in my life, I knew this would get messy.

We began to hike up the left gully where there were lower avalanche warnings. Once half way up, we began to cross over into the bottom of the head wall and started the final stretch of the hike. Once at the top we dropped our skis and clipped in. Dave was the first to drop, he made it all the way down the head wall with ease. I was up next, and I was not prepared for what was next, I got all the fear out of my mind and took a last look at the mountain, and just as I did, a small avalanche broke out midway down the right gully. I almost shit myself. Neither Mike or I wanted to be the next to drop, but he finally got up the courage, and dropped in, he took to wide of a turn and slid out. he just slid his edges the rest of the way down the mountain. I wanted to get down there as soon as I could, so I took a deep breath and went for it. I got half way down the head wall before I got cocky thinking it was easy. I leaned too far forward on a turn and fell. Both my skis released and I slid most of the way down after that on my back head first. When I recovered and came to a stop, I checked myself out and I was fine. Dave had already gotten one ski and the other was not far from me. So we started our hike back up and continued to ski the snow fields and left gully of Mount Washington.

This trip showed me what skiing is, its not just tall tees and hucking, its about challenging yourself to do something you never have done. Thats what I did that day.
 
It is cold and blustery on top of Sugarloaf that day, and the conditions are less than epic. Blue ice is the only thing within sight and the sounds of joeys scraping their way down the hill permeates the atmosphere. Yet on this day we are still out, in the cold, in the ice, we don’t care, it’s just another day on the hill; then a message, a flash of hope. “The t-bar line is sick today, we just hit the bottom half you should check it out”. Through the wind and long lift ride our hope remains, could there be a stash of pow even today?

Music pumps through my headphones as I stare tranfixed in astonishment at what I am about to ski. While the rest of the mountain shines in the sun mirror-like in its iciness, I am looking straight at thigh deep untracked pow. I turn to my comrade and partner-in-crime Schuyler, and we both slide into that effortless abyss. Schuyler races ahead and makes the first few throwing up a spray worthy of a jet-ski. After those first few feet I hit the pow and instantly everything is good in the world. The first few turns are a ski-gasm and I can’t seem to even comprehend the gnar that is about to be shred. Then it hits me and I am enveloped in the pure feeling of flying through… what is it that powder feels like? It is an indescribably great feeling as if floating on a cloud or for some reason just lifting off of the ground and not needing to touch again. To me it is the single greatest feeling one can achieve; and in this moment I am feeling everything that powder has to offer.

Then the journey is over, Schuyler and I look up to our two single tracks and wish there were still more ahead. But sadly no, we slowly turn and scrape our way across the rest of the mountain and keep the day going. We spend the rest of the day instead of taking laps down that run chasing more pow dreams that end up futile. By the time we make it back to our run it is tracked and moguled. But we smile because we know that all those tracks were second to ours and the day is truly for us.

 
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