Share your best ski experiences and win!

A lot of times when skiers are about to do something out of their comfort zone they refer to defecating--- like 'he was scared sh!t-less' , 'holy sh!t' , 'oh sh!t' , and 'he's going to eat sh!t'. One day on th hill, in a situation where I could have used any one of these phrases, I instead watched in awe as all of these phrases literally happened -in real life- before my eyes.

A kid at school approached me saying that he heard I knew the backcountry at our local resort pretty well, and wanted to tag along some time. We ended up meeting the next day and I took him out toward a little powder stash. Wanting to get a feel for his skill-level I asked what sort of terrain he wanted to ski. He said he wanted to hit a cliff. Not exactly the answer I was looking for, but I figured we could scope out a couple drops. I happened to roll up right on top of a solid 20 - 25 footer with a descent landing. I rolled off first and back-slapped on a wind-blown landing-- but told the kid it wasn't too bad.

After a couple minutes of watching this kid look over the edge I got impatient and told him to either drop or ski around. The kid just kept staring over the edge. I counted to 3 for him at least ten times. Finally the kid counted to 3 himself and dropped.

He flailed and screamed like a little girl in the air, double ejected on the landing, and slid down toward me. It was super funny. But the kid didn't move. I asked if he was hurt. He finally said, 'I think I crapped my pants'. I looked up and saw little brown streaks in the snow where he had slid down and started getting smelling the stench. The kid was like, 'dude, i have to go clean myself off'. He stood up and it was all over him-- it had to be dhiarrea, it was super nasty.

I made the kid ask for a garbage bag from the lodge, put all his shit in it (no pun intended), and sit on his backpack on the drive home.
 
I just realized that this was supposed to be 'your best day skiing', not 'your best skiing story', -- that may not have been my best day of skiing, but it was definitely funny
 
My best day of skiing involved a good friend, a white lie, and a butt-load of snow.

One stormy, cold morning in January, I wake up to find the world around me blanketed in a sheet 20" deep of pristine white smoke. I immediatly go to the computer to see the snow report: I-80 CLOSED due to extreme weather conditions. my jaw drops to the ground, unbelievable. It looks as if the day is ruined already, i call my friend to ask if he wants to hike the small hill by my house, he simply replies "we're gettin up there; a little bird told me they are letting people who work in truckee through" so we gear up and he picks me up around 8:30 and we proceed to the checkpoint. two-wheel drive? turn around, four-wheel drive? turn around, chains? turn around; car after car hangs a louie in front of us. The NDOT worker asks "you kids plannin on doin a little skiin today?" "actually we work at alpine meadows" (we didnt) He then tells us the road is out due to an avvy that covered the road and took out some guys garage but lets us through with a warning to "try and keep it under 40." Success! With the Guns and Roses blairing, we trudge on to alpine meadows, only to realize we had forgotten about the avalanche, yet alpine is the only place that we own passes to. I guess we would have to just spend the money on tickets (totally worth it). We arrive at this small locals resort with no steeps and no cliffs called homewood. I spent that day skiin trees, and doin backflips off a cattrack into three feet of fresh. At the end of the day, sore and pooped a young guy wearin sunglasses and sportin some sweet dreads gave us our money back. "Due to the loyalty of our skiers and riders Alpine Meadows decided to pay for our tickets. My BEST day ever.
 
It is Sunday, September 24th, 2006. I am sitting in my dorm room. My face is sun burnt and I didn’t do my homework. I can barely move my lower body, and my left butt check is especially numb. Yet, I couldn’t be happier. Today was the single most gratifying day of my life; unsurpassed by the night I lost my virginity. And I want to share it with the ski community because I’m sure every reader has had one of these days.

The Friday night before my most epic day, Summit County was blessed with almost two feet of snow. TWO FEET! And I skied it! I skied in September! First off, I’m from Pittsburgh and although we are home to the best football team in the world, skiing in September is unheard of! So it all started with one annoying 7 o’clock alarm, and a 2-hour MacDonald and Pop-tart packed car ride to the backcountry skiing of Loveland Pass. Now, I am newbie to Colorado and have never skied out of a resort, so I had no clue what to expect when we got there. It was simple amazing! BLUE BIRD day, and 2 feet of white bliss! I was so overwhelmed; my smile was so big it started to hurt my face. I started hiking towards my ordained line, and every time I looked at it, I got that crazy feeling of anticipation, the butterflies that turn your stomach upside down. With my first turn, that rush of adrenaline hit, only comparable to the first big drop of a roller coaster. It was incredible, floating on white powder, it was like everything had gone quite and opera music started playing. Then BAMMM, I took a digger got back up and the fat lady proceeded to sing. It was just so amazingly fun. The type of fun that makes you forget the 65% you got on your biology test. My run emptied out to a road where at least 10 powder hounds stood thumbs out trying to hitch hike back to the summit. I went over and we all just starting talking about our runs. God I love the skiing community, I was talking to everyone about my run as if I had been skiing with them for years. Skiers are the most damn friendly people in the world. A pick-up stopped and I found myself holding on to the back of a tailgate for my life. I took a couple more runs that day every one just as amazing as the first. I was so happy with life; I didn’t have a care in the world. I kept thinking “and I spent 500 dollars on a ski pass, when I can do this for free, what was I thinking?? That day was so perfect and will always be imprinted in my mind as the perfect ski day, and it was only September, hopefully a good sign of what is to come this season.
 
Edited Version (sorry for posting rough draft)

It is cold and blustery on top of Sugarloaf today, and the conditions are less than epic. Blue ice is the only thing within sight and the sounds of gapers scraping their way down the hill rings out from the surroundings. Yet we’re still here, in the cold, in the ice, we don’t care, it’s just another day on the mountain; 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 even today?

Music pumps through my headphones as I stare transfixed in astonishment at what I am about to ski. While the rest of the runs shine in the sun, mirror-like in their iciness, right below me is thigh deep unblemished white. 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 cuts, throwing up a spray worthy of a jet ski. 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, seemingly floating on a cloud or for some reason lifting off of the ground and not needing to land 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. I look ahead and my friend is no longer visible, I am baffled for a moment and then he comes down from fifteen plus feet and lands a few yards in front of me. We continue our descent for what seems like hours, but must really be minutes. The mixed feeling of adrenaline and utter bliss runs through my veins in a way that brings us back again. It is the reason we do what we do, whether it be launching through the air off a jump, doing a gnarly straight-line, ripping the goods through trees, or even your first few turns down the bunny slopes, we all love that feeling.

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 barren wasteland and keep the day going. We spend the rest of the day instead of taking laps down that run chasing more futile dreams. 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.

 
my best ski day evaah

Last february at mount snow, POURING RAIN. got out of work cuz no one was there. all the lifts were still open, everything was empty. Me, my bro and a few of our friends had the whole mountain to ourselves. Rails and boxes were fast as hell, which resulted in many buttslides down massive rails. Landings were nice and soft. we could try any trick we wanted and not get hurt at all cause we just landed in slush. i busted the best trickes of my life. Bombed all the trails that are usualy gaper infested, and after the lifts closed we jibbed in the night park till about 9:00 and my buddy did this HUGEE backflip over a doghouse jib. Little bro did his first 900 which turned out great. we took a break in the hotel deli place as they were closing, we walked in soaking wet and the people there looked sooo pissed watching 4 or 5 soggy parkrats deplete thier engery drink supply.
 
East Coast Powder Day

Powder. My love of skiing can be condensed into that one marvelous word. Powder. I never get to truly explore this profound physical and mental attraction to the light, fluffy notes that sparkle through the sky, as I am a Mainer, an East Coast ice skier, and proud of it. The 08’ season shifted the focus of my endless love from the seldom-visited Vail Resorts to my home mountain and my main lady, Sunday River. Not a feeling in the world can compare to waking up and staring outside, blinded by the sun reflecting off the untouched powder dump, lost in thought, already planning the best lines through the most pristine power on the mountain. A rare thing it is indeed for an East Coast skier to strap on a powder vest, but there I was, ready to go mine the freshies. Out before the mountain was operational, we got our first tracks skiing down to the Jordan Bowl lift. The anticipation, combined with the powder already wrapping me in its cool embrace, was a feeling that can only be described as true and passionate love. Finally, on the summit of Jordan, going head first into the bosom of the mountain. I lean back and feel the wonderful burn, which soon gets pushed to the outer reaches of my mind by a white wall of snow that encompasses my being, thrilling me to the core. Lean back, turn, pop, lean back, turn, pop. My great profession of love to the snow follows a pattern that is only broken when the snow becomes too much for me. Trees rush past my head, specks of green amongst the pure white of the 2 feet of powder that is flowing around me. Today, park skiing is not an option. The first cliff of the day loons before us, the pow pow at the landing promising a soft cushion and an escape from the howling wind. The light wonderful flakes of snow flick past me as I pop off the cliff and fall straight down…into the embrace of a soft lover, the powder, urging me to keep sending up the white curtain, to keep slashing through the snow, to make the most of this rare and unheard of opportunity. A powder day, a powder weekend, on the East Coast. Reluctant to pause even for lunch but having to listen to the will of my body, I take off my coat and helmet, and the powder spills out, following me, ever persistent, into the ski lodge. With a smile I shake off the snow still lingering and eat as fast as I can, eager to return to the arms of my powdery lover, and lose myself in a bed of snowy delights.

-tricksareforkids

 
So I'm typing this on wordpad because i downloaded a torrent, got a virus, had to renistall windows (which i'd downloaded as another torrent), and lost my copy of word (which was another torrent). Anyway, one time I met a girl at the boot pub in whistler. Somehow we decided on skiing the next day. The unfortunate part was that she was British--or so I thought. For a Brit, she turned out to be a commendable skier. We did some laps on red, and then had some food. And of course following the British tradition, afternoon te... er, booze. Days passed, weeks passed, years passed and we continued skiing together, among other things. Some Brits have lots of money. Pounds are worth double right? So anyway, one day I was asked to go heli-skiing. Who could object? I'd just started college, had no money, and was sliding rails nightly at my local hill. I showed up to Canadian Mountain Holidays in my sketch ass heel-ripped to fuck orage denim pants, orage xxl puffy and was rocking two different gloves with my goggles super-glued back together. My girl was with her posh English family, complete with the latest Ark Teryx 40,000mm super trooper jackets and Smith Goggles with the built in battery power fan. But it was all good, we rolled with it. Then It snowed 175 cm in five days. And I got to demo a different pair of Atomic pow skis everyday-- although they weren't rockered Benchelters; I had to settle with Atomic 'Heli-Daddy's', wtf? Anyway, I could go on about how prime the 5 star meals were, or how good the bottles of Dom Perignon tasted, or how light the interior BC pow is, or how good the endless pillow lines feel even after 100,000 vertical feet, but no, I'll leave you with something else. Earlier in our temps ensemble I had had convinced my dear woman to have daddy pick her up a pair of ARV's-- at the time, a respectable ski. Needless to say, I still have them ;)
 
Ooops i think you need to have a fagbook profile to see that one. I will try and post it later.
 
alright this probably wont be good cause im still drunk and its 930 am... fucking boulder. anyways back before i went to CU i lived in rutland,VT and skied at killington. we had a pretty tight crew mainly made up of snowboarders and there were a few skiers. we smoked some nug and drank some beer a lot, but there was this one particular kid who did this a lot and when he ran out of the tobac he smoked cigars straight up just to get that fix. so last year at killy it was snowing like mad so this dude was hiking up rams head above the lift (a closed area where powder hounds seek that good shit all day) he was also an instructor at the time leading some guys where they should not go. As they were hiking up this abandon area, the ski instructor, lets call him cheyenne because thats his name, felt some chest pain. this was usual for him because he had a heart problem so he just sat down and took a break. this persisted through out the day and on his last run up on "rams head above the lift" he straight up had a heart attack and died at 24 years of age. God bless his sole he was a good man. he partied hard and rode hard. he was all about hitting backyard rails all drunk and shit, he was the true man. about a week after he died his family paid tribute to him by hiking rams head above the lift. it was the usual day at killy, overcast and a bit cold. so all his friends and family gathered this huge crew up and we began hiking. it was a very sad moment cause i knew this kid personally and i was walking in the same steps he took the day before. when we got too the top we celebrated and grieved. we also drank some beer and liquor and smoked some vt green cause we knew thats what cheyenne wanted us to do. we stayed up at the peak for about an hour. after we were all dazed and such in remembrance of cheyenne we proceeded to ski down. after a little bit of skiing his mom stopped and showed us to the spot where his actual final spot on earth was. we blessed the spot for a bit. god bless his sole, then skied down the rest of the mountain, while all this was happening it started snowing. not like that heavy snow, but just the light pleasant snow, great for a tribute of a good friend. All in all, my dood, my man, my brothra died for the sake of powder. so to all of you reading this next time your hiking to get that fresh shit, think of my friend cheyenne and say a lil prayer before you get those face shots.
 
Alright, so I didn't do a word count, so I have no idea how many words this is. but conscidering I don't have a fixed address or stay somewhere nearly long enough to warrent me getting a subscription, I'm not too concerned. Here's my story:

What makes a day of skiing more than just a day of skiing? Every winter is a race to log as many days in as you can before the sun does it's job and all the snow melts till another season. With the approach of yet another season, thoughts of past days on the hill fade in and out of consciousness as I watch the snow creep ever so slowly down the mountain towards town. One particular day shines brighter in my mind than any other. It was not a bluebird powder day in the backcountry, nor was it an epic park session full of landing the new "latest" tricks. No, this day was, to the spectator, just a normal day of skiing, but to me it was one that helped sculpt my life to what it is today. It was 10 years ago, spring time at Mt. Tremblant, Quebec. While on a weekend trip with my family I was exploring the mountain by myself and came across the terrain park. While my home mountain did have a park, it was not as of yet allowing skiers within their world. Tremblant on the other hand had opened their park to everybody so I poked my nose in and sniffed around. I found myself above the halfpipe watching the snowboarders (and the odd skier) doing their thing as they rode the pipe. After I had enough with watching, there was nothing left to do but drop in myself. The run was not amazing to say the least, getting maybe a foot or two out every odd hit, just riding the transitions feeling it out. That would be the only run through the pipe I would take that year. It would also be the last day on the hill of that season. What makes the day stand out so much after all these years, is bigger than I could have have known at the time. In a time where skiing was beyond "losing it's cool", the sport was on it's deathbed waiting for it's child, snowboarding, to pull the plug. I was a young skier who loved the mountains, but was in all reality, lost within the sport that he loved. That run through the pipe, combined with the release of the Salomon 1080 and my home mountain allowing skiers into the park the following year, rekindled my fire, gave me something to work towards, and ultimately, kept me skiing to this day.
 
huge snow storm in chamonix, i was at le tour skiing the woods that give on vallorcine, which are kind of tricky cause if you dont find the right path you end up hiking and stuggling forever, but if you do it is amazing, wide open spaces and 35, even 40, at certain spots, degree steeps witha couple of moderate drops, anyway snowing, ill meditation session at the top, hitting the woods solo, realizing that i found the rite path and all of sudden a deer (not sure exactly what species) juts out just in front of me 6 or 7 feet to the right, and continued to dash through the snow parallel to me for a couple of feet and then dissapered into the maze of trees in the direction from which it appeared, amazing feeling of oneness with nature.
 
back in like grade five when i was pretty much a noob, actually a complete noob we were a ski club at kirby or oshawa ski club(this is ontario) and we had to take lessons(mandatory) so we thought we were late and we were going up a t-bar, we decide to get off the t-bar and but through trees and ski down to the lesson area, i was by myself and got off fine, my two friends behind me got off at different time and it was exactly the right timing where the t-bar cam flying up and hit my friend in the eye, removeing his goggles and breaking the lense. i turns out that when we got to the lessons form half way up the hill(or 100 feet for the size) my friends eye was swollen up and he could not see out oh his eye. we then got in trouble and the next week we had to write a test and draw the proper way to ride a chairlift.(my school was by the book, no room for fun) and then go to our lesson and then we could ski for the rest of the night.

then about three or four years later me and the same friend went to skyloft,(my first time with twins i think) so there were small rails and i was trying them, so was my friend he caught an edge and ended up hitting his face, his right cheek swelled right up and he couldnt see out of his eye again.
 
man some of these are epic... so here's mine. it first starts off bad then gets better.

I beleive it was Dec. 26th 2004. Days after the computer crash at comAir my family and I are plannign to go out to PC to ski for a few days. I was 13 at the time, and not a member of ns. So because of the computer problem all the books were overbooked up the shiitter. Also keep in mind we fly non rev standby. So if there's an empty seat and no other standby's ahead of us, we'll take it. So We all get screwed the first day, and we stay the night at MSP. the next day my middle bro gets on the only seat of the first flight, and he skis half a day at alta, later that day my oldest brother and my Dad get on but my Mom and I do not. So my mom and I overnight at MSP again.

I had a good feeling that night that we'd get on and low and behold we did. So my dad picked us up at SLC and i got to ski a half day at the canyons. The next day we skiied Park city, but it was kinda rainy, and I wasn't havin a good time. By lunch i was wet and I wanted to quit. All of a sudden on a run my middle bro comes up behind me out of nowhere, and convinces me to go to the McCOnkey high speed and hit up McConkey's bowl. I grudgingly agreed. SO then I got to the bowl, and i was said"oh shit double black" im a noob, i cant do that. But I tried and I had a good times learning how to ski the bowl, and skiing the sick glades down below. My mood turned from "fuck this shit" to "wtf was I thinking, this is awesome!"

So our third and final day my brothers and I decided to hike up to Jupiter peak. Now i have asthma and I couldnt make it all the way, but my brothers and I traversed over, and skiied some of the best powder of my life, and the sick glades below. So what started out as the trip from hell, it turned out pretty sweet, and all was well.

ps I went to PC last year and hiked all the way up to Juipiter and conquered it alone.
 
ok.. so i went with 2 friends to "les 2 alpes" in france in spring break last year. 12 inches of nef fallen pow had just arrived from the sky the day before, this day was nice and bluebird, so we decided to hit some pow.. (oh yea- i was on the snowboard then= loser) we found a kinda cool line, which we saw from the skilift on the way up.. so we got down to the spot.. and i looked so good, and we began hitting the fresh pow.. but suddenly there was cliffs 10 feet down and the place was too steep to hike up again.. som my friend on skiis threw his poles and skiis down and crawled down.. (it is alot easier with hard ski boots- than soft snowboard boots) and me and my 2nd friend was stuck up there.. i was a little fitter than him, so i hiked 6 feet up and crawled to the side. and found a small passage down..threw my board that ended up 200 feet out on a frozen lake..

there was only 7 feet down.. so i crawled a bit.. and then i jumped, landed on my feet, but rolled forwards on my face the bumped my ass on a rock "which bruised me HARD!" nd then i were safe. now i just had to go get my board.

my 2nd friend was still up there, and couldnt get his fat ass down, so we had some "life-savers" to come get him, they put a robe around his belly and lifted him down.. it was so funny..

ya that was it :D

oh yea, it took me like 30 minutes to walk 200 feet in the deep snow.. thanks alot snowboard with no brakes :(
 
PILLOW TALK: Best Day Everby Cheech Sander
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StartFragment8:30 A.M. A scandalous, scandinavian smile blooms next to me.
“mmmm…skiing, or sex?”
She taps her finger twice on my lips.
Still smiling, a seductive head tilt.
“toughquestion”

Brutal question. There are few tougher decisions in a man’s life than choosingbetween making love with a bombshell, or making bomb holes in untouched fluff.Both are ephemeral, and conditions aren’t always ideal. When you’re older, youwon’t be able to perform as well. And neither one ever seems to last longenough. On any other frosty February morning, it might have takenthe jaws of life to pry me from that bed. But it was still puking outside.Khybers beckoned.
I take my gaze back off the flakes, and fix it on a pairof deep blue eyes. I smile.
“Let’sgo”.
The beauty of dating a skier is that “pillow talk” refers to pillow linesrather than sweet nothings. A cup of earl grey tea and an egg, and I’m off.Yesterday this sidewalk would have crunched with the soundof road salt being driven into the concrete. But this morning my ski bootshardly make a sound, muffled by the newly fallen.For me, the excitement doesn’t hit when I sling my skisover my shoulder and feel the binding dig into my back. It doesn’t hit when Istep into the gondola either. Hell, it doesn’t even hit when I get out. There’sstill that bit of hesitation. What if the visibility sucks? What if thecoverage isn’t that great? And, on this day, shouldn’t I be at home in bedright now? The nanosecond the detatch quad fixes itself back to thecable, all of these questions are answered. The mechanical drone is broken bythe rickety-rickety-RICK of the cableaccelerating through the wheels. In that moment of liftoff, with the wind in myface, the vision changes from the sled-dog ass ahead of you in line, to apanoramic plethora of skiability. Right then is when I start searching,imagining.I hung a right off peak chair, then dipped left, slicingmy shins through some soft wind lips on my way towards the ropes that ended thejurisdiction of INTRAWEST. It wasn’t the deepest powder I had ever skied, butthe small spaces in between the thick Canadian pines were still enough to losemyself. As I darted through the trees, my hat gobbled as many flurries as itcould - the helpless crystals sticking like Velcro- before they had a chance torest on the forest floor.
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Real skiers understand the importance of giving thanks forgifts like today. They also understand the protocol for doing so… It’sdifferent than, say, praying at a meal. To pray before getting faceshots on the untouched blanket below would be a waste of what you’re thankfulfor. It’s not greedy; it’s your responsibility, to go, now. That is whyeverything else is so quiet on a powder day; so that your prayers, can be heardloud and clear to the gods. For me, the “WOOHOO!!” is the “Our Father”,and the “YAAAAHHH!” is my “Hail Mary”. Prayers said and thighs repenting, I stopped at the edge ofa small ridge. Along a fallen log were a trail of squirrel footprints, no doubtfrantically trying to remember where his stash was through all the new snow. Otherthan that, my two planks left the only prints. But not for long. Soon I heard the “prayers” of another powder hound, and my trackswere joined by two more. I couldn’t see her blue eyes through her mirroredlenses, but I could clearly make out my own smile. And although the snow hadsuccessfully masked most of her face, she wore the same distinctive expression.I had made the right choice that morning, and was handsomely rewarded.Pure joy; courtesy of Khybers, B. C.EndFragment
 
Ok so here it goes:

Back when I was a grom of about 13 years old (I'm 25 now), I followed the older kids from our racing program out of bounds in the 500 yard boot pack to our now sacred powder stash. It's nothing really; a 12ft drop to a fairly flat landing or 8 ft drop to directly into 4 foot drop (well, not last winter when it was a 20 footer due to record snowfall). But shit when it was my turn, I jumped, landed on my ass and proceeded to slam into a tree about 20ft down the hill.

Now many people wouldn't think that this would be my best ski experiance But in that, I learned about the backcountry (ok "side country" in southern ontario) in that it's an environment that is completely different than that of a ski resort in that there's no one to come collect your sorry ass if you break yourslef and there's a little bit of work involved in getting yourself back to the groomers. Since then we've all tried 3's, lincolns, etc... off that little 12 footer to almost flat and we've loved every second of it.

Viva l'Ontario!
 
My best day of skiing was when i started out. I was like 4 years old. I was having lessons at the local place and we just all started to make jumps and having fun. We were supposed to go around the cones but we screwed it and started to do the jumps. We had seen the older kids do it so we did. That was the thing that probably started of my love for skiing for the rest of my life. So basically we were a bunch of little kid just fooling around doing what we do best.

I think that was the thing that started me off on free style skiing. Now even now i remember that when i hit up that ski place. Now I am addicted to the rush of air and the fealing of having total control over what you do. And having the stomich drop as you go down and stomp the landing. Now even now i am going through a withdraw of skiing. I can't wait till the winter to come and i feal the rush of going down.

Also some other days that are the best are when the place i ski at switchs up the jumps. Its always fun to go pull some 540's and see the kids look at you. I know they are thinking that some day they want to do that. I know that because that is what i felt when i saw someone do that. Evem mow i see a video and I want to do that.

There have been days where i don't want it to end and it does. Like when i learned how to grind. Or how i learned how to 180

And that has been the best days of my life

 
here we go:

Rewind two years back on Valentines Day, Bristol Mountain, New York. That Wednesday was the best experience I've ever had skiing. The epic V-day storm dropped a foot plus on all of 1200' vertical of Bristol. Now to some, skiing 12 inches of white gold might just be the norm for them, but were on the Ice Coast man, we're more core than you. Waking up that morning to "All Penfield schools closed" and seeing that 14 inches of snow have dropped on the vertical I was soon about to shred, made me unbelievably stoked. I arrived at the mountain an hour before opening with my dad, or as other skiers at Bristol like to call him the legendary "Papa Scorza", Joe, The Rev, and friends. Waiting in line for the lifties to start loading seemed forever, and I was starting to question if Lower Rocket was going to deliver enough pitch for me to descend through the lake-effect pow. I vividly remember my legs completely shaking while going up on the lift. I eventually got off, as I fumbled with my iPod to get some Wolfmother playing. The first run was epic, and I don't know how I got down the mountain with the size of the grin on my face the whole time. Needless to say, everyone was stoked and did not hesitate to snake through the lift lines to get a second run of untouched. After the third run, everything was completely tracked out. It didn't matter, it kept snowing and stayed epic all day. I was pleased that I finally got to put my fat skis to some use on the East Coast.

To me, a ski experience means nothing if you don't have your friends with you to enjoy it with. February 14th delievered that experience, and it's definitley not something that happens every year in the area that I live in.

Have a great season, stay healthy. Keep it real.

-Spencer Scorza

 
hows about a story from my best day that turned into my worst day of skiing?

February 5th, 2005. I wake up to a fresh 2 feet of snow...obviously not common in Maryland. What a good day to get some skiing in right? Wrong!

I was skiing with a group of about 10 friends, just making laps around the mountain rather than the park, like we usually do. It was a great day of skiing, and the snow kept on falling. Five p.m. rolls around and the mountain announces that it will be closing early due to the conditions of the roads nearby. So, my friends and I decide to make one more run on the "diamond" trails, and then we will call it a great powder day.

On the last run of the day, something terrible happened. Keep in mind that at this point it was snowing so hard you couldn't see more than about 10 feet in front of you.

We get to the top of the mountain, and begin the descent. About half way down the mountain, I found out the hard way that skiing too close to the edge of the trail has its consequences... When I woke up, I found myself resting against a tree with my friends gathered around me.

Turns out I had gotten too close to the edge, went off a 15 foot embankment, and came to rest with my chest against a tree. When all was said and done, I ended up with 8 broken ribs, a punctured lung, and a lacerated liver. All of my injuries required a chest tube, 2 I.V.'s at a time, and lots of pain killers.

After the accident, I spent 15 days in the hospital, and 2 months in bed after that. the doctors told me in the hospital, had I hit the tree any differently, I would likely be paralyzed because I broke my ribs about a centimeter from my spine.

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Would you really leave the one you love out of bed for three feet of powder? Are there really no friends on a powder day? I think if you want to be the cocky guy at the bar that night that no one wants to be around then perhaps that answer is “yes.” But if your answer is “no,” then you might have just landed not just the best ski day ever, but just the best day ever period.



The winter of 2006 wasn’t the best for Colorado. It was very dry, and very cold. Hardly any snow fell in January, and February was starting to look the same, only with more -30 degree days. Valentine’s Day was rolling in, and I was having the darndest time convincing my boyfriend to do anything. But whatever love gods there are must have been shining down on our relationship, fore it granted us two new feet just in time for the 14th (yes gentlemen, February 14th is Valentine’s Day). Without an alarm set or words spoken, we both were out of bed and out the door by seven, off to an always brilliant powder stash. To our pleasure, we meet our friend and his girlfriend in line for first chair too. For the next four to five hours, the weather changes between blue bird and blizzard; always filling in our tracks from the previous run. We spend those four to five hours skiing fresh lines through open bowls, tree shoots, and rollercoaster drainages. All the while getting deep face shots, branches to the face, a couple of starfishes, and laughs and smiles abound. And as our legs can’t take anymore and we start to head to the front of the mountain, we run into five other snowboard friends of ours who spontaneously were there that day as well. We forget about going in and take some more glorious powder and tree jibbing runs, as can only truly happen when following snowboarders. When the light began to fade, it was time to call it. Spicy tacos were had and cold beer served and the day to celebrate love and friendship came to a close. But that memory of that day will never be done.



So the answer to my previously asked questions should always be “no.” We should never forget that skiing is a lifestyle that should, like all other areas in life, be shared with friends, family, loved ones, and never taken too seriously. Skiing, whether in deep powder, or on a sick park line, or straight lining groomers, should be like a cold beer, always served best with a frosted pint glass and a group of friends.

.....(note from the author).... Perhaps a bit more of a narative than recomended, but I needed something more descriptive to really capture that day.
 
On Jan. 5, 2007, I witnessed my ski partner drop his last cliff in the Jackson Hole back country. It was the worst experience of my life: standing there, making the 911 call, watching two friends pound his chest for more than 30 minutes, winding from Rock Springs back down to give ski patrol and the police the accident report. While this was the kind of thing we all knew in the back of our heads could happen, it was suddenly a rude, unacceptable reality.

One year later to the day, much of the same group of skiers made our way back to Jackson. Fat flakes flew all night and all day. As we tore up the entire mountain from first tracks through the Hobacks to endless deep laps on the Alta Chutes, barely uttering a word, all we could think was thank you to our fallen friend for making this day—and the entire season Jackson saw—one for the memory bank.

Toward the end of the day, we chose to venture out toward Rock Springs. One at a time, we plummeted into chest deep blower, making as many turns as possible, not wanting it to end, and ultimately reminding us why we do this.

The irony of being there exactly one year after this horrific event in perfect conditions is what wholly made the day what it was. We love skiing enough to keep on doing it through tragedy, and, while we do not want the negative to happen, we can accept the consequences of the situations we put ourselves into. Celebrating a fallen skier’s life on the hill is what we know best.

 
Ben Rothlesberger is an urban fan

It was 2:00 am on a saturday and we rolled up to our local mountain parking lot. Our local mountain is seven springs up about an hour north of pittsburgh. if your ever in western pa hit it up our park is better and better every year. Well anyway we got a ski shop right off the slopes with a pretty decent sized down flat down handrail leading down to the bunny slope at the bottom. its prolly like 15 flat 15 with a pretty gnarly death kink. We were setting up our in run, it had just snowed super hard that day so shoveling snow to make the lip was super easy. It was mad cold, so a couple of kids headed to the lodge to grab a coffee or whatever and came back with with something i couldnt believe. The one kid came up to me and said "dude your not gonna believe it, But ben rothlesberger is in there, and he is drunk as fuck!" i didnt believe it at first, so naturally i had to go check it out. I head into the lodge with a few friends and eventually i ran into a big crowd of people. I made my way through the crowd and sure enough, there was the Steelers quarterback, holding a bunch of empty pizza boxes with a knitted hat on backwards, babbling like an idiot. He was with some country band, the povertyneck hillbillies i think was the name of it. idk i guess they're big or something i dont listen to country music. So me and my friend looked at each other and were definatly thinking the same thing, we gotta get these guys to the handrail. i tried to get bens attention, but like i said before, he was super tanked. So i walked over to one of the guys in the band and was like hey man, you gotta see this handrail were sessioning on our skis outside. the guy was super stoked, and came with us dragging big ben out to watch us. on the way over i looked at the boxes of pizza he was holding and said hey ben, let me get a slice of that pizza, and then ben shouted "IF YOUZ WANTS ANY OF DIS PIDZA, YOU CAN PWRY ID FROM MY COLD LIFELUS HANDS!!!!" that was the only thing i heard him say the whole night, or at leats that kind of made sense anyways. But the story ends with ben rothlesberger coming to watch us session the hand rail, then stagger off to the parking lot and speeding off in his hummer. and yes he did drive, or attempt to drive up the hill. i remember he ran into a garbage can, then yelling "Fucking R2D2!" and speeding of into the night.

Fucking rediculous
 
Me and 5 Noob friends were skiing for the first few times and hit a deep spot of some really good fluff and we all being from the east coast didnt get to ski powder ever.It was funny when we all hit it one after the other and everyone failed by flying foward into a summersault of pow explosion. peace
 
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