Thinking of the unseen mountains just beyond the curtains brings about both excitement and skepticism. Fresh coatings of snow drape columns of bright green lichen. If it didn’t seem like Washington, the sharp color contrast was an immediate indicator. Forget the comparisons to Oz, the dark, yet bright atmosphere felt more like entering an episode from the X-Files. Surrounded by National Forest Service land and Mount Rainier National Park, the area remains void of the usual boutique build up and gluttony one would associate with the typical mountain access road.

But this is Washington. Ascending the switchback Crystal Mountain Boulevard the snow pack deepened with every turn, snow banks grew from mounds to hills. Then it appeared, like a Diamond in the Rough. Silver King and Silver Queen peaks holding court below majestic Mount Rainier.

“Looks like your first taste of Washington should be a good one,” I motion toward Mike. Crystal has been off to an epic start of the season. With more than 210” year to date, conditions were expected to be phenomenal. The upper mountain had been closed due to high winds for the past few days, and the hearty masses could not wait to chow down.

The Arrival

As we approached the main lodge, glimpses conjure instant comparisons to Alta, Utah. Tauntingly steep routes down Upper Exterminator spillover the diminutive base, much like the famed High Rustler. Tantalizing peaks offered distant drool. A short lift ride up the Chinook chair reveals the all important line assembling at REx (Rainier Express). Pecking order would soon be established. Poker faces were the norm, as people waiting patiently tried to hide their game plans. In a few short minutes, the horde would disperse to seek and pillage Crystal’s vast empire.

Venturing Off Broadway, we work our way into Doors, a steep open glade near REx. Today the snow was deep, yet surprisingly light. Perhaps not champagne powder, but aerie enough underneath to create cover shots exploding across your face with each successive turn. Opening up the Doors was a worthy introduction to Crystal’s House of Cards.

Bombs vibrate throughout the basin as we returned for more. Our stealthy companion knows the game- so a few laps later we’re dropped off staring down a pair of tantalizing chutes. Patrol nods with a smile, ropes are dropped and we’re off. The mysterious man with his patented grey toque leads a gorging through the gut. Contrails of cold smoke billow into the frigid air. Shrieks of ecstasy are heard from ridge to ridge. We pause for a moment to review our signatures. Bruce’s Bowl smiled back. Barely touched, these zones would yield fresh lines for an entire day.

Our second return to Spook Hill drops us into waist deep fluff. Amazed at the depth and smooth consistency of the snow, I reach for more. Pole extending like a windshield wiper, I sink in for turn number three. Open wide. Another smothering face shot. “More, More,” I plead. And back to the Ho Chi Minh trail to pay the piper we went. An arduous, sometimes tumultuous traverse, the I-5 Freeway (locals call it the Ho Chi Minh) creates agony for weary thighs.

After cruising over 3,000 vertical feet of fall line, skiers are presented with a choice- to either return to the base via the long, twisty, bouncy, often mogul laden traverse, or if in the right spot, a sketchy descent down to the Northway shuttle stop where busses provide transportation on weekends.

The Future

Significant changes and improvements are scheduled to arrive at Crystal next year as the master plan gains momentum towards full steam ahead, starting with a new fixed-grip double chair. The new lift will service close to 1000 acres of the North Backcountry. It also alleviates the need to return via the aforementioned traverse or shuttle ride.

When considering the uniqueness of the North Country experience, Crystal management wanted to help preserve the atmosphere and snow quality. “We wanted to maintain a backcountry feel,” explains Crystal Mountain Sales and Marketing Director Tiana Enger. The lift will undoubtedly be a blessing, providing a much needed return to the top of Northway Peak. After sampling the many tree-lined stashes of North Country, Casey eyeballed an area known as the Teddy Bears. Not to be confused with the cute and cuddly type, these bears were accustomed to rough play. Varying degrees of difficulty guarded the few entrances, most requiring a short form mini golf. A couple hop turns and exit air sent him zooming into the buttery apron below. Nary a blink of the eye reveals…robust terrain worthy enough to be its own resort.

We continued to spin laps until exhaustion set in. A grand finale ensued with a trip down Morning Glory Bowl, which was courting pockets of untracked. Still mesmerized by the amount of terrain that remained ripe for the picking, we collected our burning quads and retreated to the Snorting Elk Cellar, a locals roots where après isn’t synonymous with fondue or fur lined Bogner.

As we reminisced around the warm fireplace with ice cold Mirror Pond Ale, attention turned toward Northback’s southern sibling. Multiple conversations echoed with excitability. “The King will be so money tomorrow!”

Looking into the Crystal Ball, future plans call for installation of a top-to-bottom Aerial Tramway, more terrain expansion, and additional uphill capacity. But one fact remains certain- odds are definitely in favor of this unheralded gem becoming a household name.

Earlier in the week, cold Pacific storms pummeled the Cascades, leaving behind more than seven feet of snow. The January storm cycles were relentless, and Mother Nature was intent on paying back the Northwest in spades for last year’s record drought. We were lucky. Today we caught a break in the storms. Ascending up the squeaky Double Diamond lift, a long gaze across the Pass revealed unlimited options. “You know how good it’s going to be, Don’t you?” smiled Zbo. Perhaps it was the way he grinned, but it certainly caught my attention. I paused before responding, and then suddenly, it hit me.

Today was about to go down as one of “those” days. The fact that it was about to enter legendary status was just cause for our excitement to peak. After all, this would be not just a day, but the type of day that sticks with you long after the season. It was to become a type of day that speaks in memories. A conversation starter that begins, “Remember that day…” Well carpe diem. Game time was upon us.

A fresh white carpet greeted me as I sunk deeper and deeper into the velvet light snow. The flakes felt buoyant under foot as if someone had placed a featherbed under the surface to absorb every turn. I almost slapped myself. Am I really in Washington? We continued on unabated, charging through the famed Backside that draws worthy comparisons to Vail’s popular “Sun Up” Bowl. Face shot after face shot, I was amazed at the vertical we achieved.

Our group remained frozen in astonishment. The Peanut Gallery paused before responding. I had to break the silence. “Unbelievable!” I gasped. Others expressed their amazement. But it didn’t faze our guide Zbo. He just looked back and laughed. We knew there was much more in store.

“Stevens has every aspect so there is always a lee slope. Northeast, Southwest, East or West, Stevens has it all,” beamed Zbo. And with the local phenomenon known as the East Winds (which filters in cooler air from Eastern Washington) ensure that Stevens collects some of the lightest, driest snow this side of Utah.

Cresting the summit after our Backside warm up run, it was time to explore. We set foot to one of the adjacent ridgelines that feed out like tentacles from the ski resort core. About 25 minutes of huffing and puffing yielded our first experience with the underrated Stevens Tree Sessions. Opening and closing like the doors of a never-ending maze; we gleefully hooted and hollered through the waist deep blower. Kate’s first turns were smooth and fast. The snow continued to astound drawing occasional comparisons to Colorado Champagne. Stopping for a quick breather, it only took a quick glance at the untracked terrain surrounding us to muster up some very giddy smiles.

In typical Washington weather, we alternated between light snow and glancing sun breaks. An occasional gentle snow dotted the skyline with snow so light a shallow breath would disperse quiet crystals into the tranquil air.

Just thirty minutes removed from the ski area boundary transported us to a wilderness more closely associated with Wyoming than Washington. Two Bald Eagles danced in the sky. Winds whistled through dense fir trees. Then Zbo pops out from the traverse to reveal a series of “butcher’s choice” Grade ‘A’ tree lines and untouched bowls. With a wry smile, he looked back, “Nobody ever believes me. While everyone else competes for lines at Baker, I‘ve got just as much terrain here without the crowd.”

I looked over at Kate and we gushed at the opportunities spread out beneath us. Dense tree pockets guarded the entrance to select meadows and a virtual Garden of Eden. Dipping softly into billowing snow plumes, we felt a joy that only endless powder can bring. Grouping up at a halfway point, we paused for a moment to reflect on the bounty. With the beginning of another thigh-deep tree run without a soul in sight, it finally struck me. “So this is what Zbo has been raving about for so long!” As I floated on still in disbelief, a coy Zbo smirked back at me, “Aren’t you glad?”

MORE INFO: Visit StevensPass.com for more info

Details of the Dakine Pro II Pack

After rocking the past few seasons with the popular Heli Pro model, I always seemed to find myself wishing I had a little extra room available to stuff in some of those optional items that may make or break a trip. Although from the outside it’s not completely noticeable, the Pro II squeezes in an extra 300 cubic inches for a total volume of 1550 cubic inches.

The large snow tool pocket, accessed from the front of the pack, comes complete with plenty of room for the shovel blade, while allowing additional free space and mini pockets for other items. Functional features of the snow tool pocket include a probe holster and seat cushion. Once the shovel pocket is removed, it unfolds to create a padded seat cushion- perfect for that mid-day lunch break. Two additional smaller pockets are located adjacent to the shovel insert.

Exterior features of the DAKINE Pro II include a quick draw ice axe/shovel handle holster which provides speedy turnaround when seconds are crucial. A diagonal ski carry (cross or vertical for snowboards) provides easy, yet quick assembly. An added amenity is a zippered waist belt that can easily accommodate most digital cameras, small snacks, or other small tools. To assist with maintaining an unfrozen water bladder spout, DAKINE has also included a hydro sleeve.

Dakine Pro II Pack Review

Once I got familiar with the new pack, it was off to challenge its durability in one of the world’s most unforgiving environments. I knew the conditions in Las Lenas, Argentina, would really put the pack through the ringer. With brutal gale force winds, all forms of precipitation from rain/sleet to dry cold powder snow, it was the perfect locale to test the functionality and potential limits of the Pro II.

The weeks spent last summer in Las Lenas consisted of long one-day tours outside the resort boundary. The many added pockets in the newer version became handy and assisted in making each tour run more smoothly, especially the snow tool pocket. Extra padding for the shovel blade can be used as a seat meanwhile plenty of room exists for a pair of skins, probe, blade, and a few other touring essentials. What also makes this feature user friendly is the easy access it provides to gear required during an emergency.

The backpack itself is rather waterproof and holds up well in the weather. I kept an extra pair of gloves and socks inside the larger pocket without any wet incidents. Additional padding that virtually insulates any Camelback bladder helps keep the majority of the space dry- although if your bladder is prone to any leakage, it eventually finds its way through to the bottom core.

The weight (3.3 lbs) of this pack with a comfortable frame allowed the pack to mold against my body, allowing more freedom of movement. DaKine could decrease the weight of the pack by limiting the excess strapping but it didn’t seem to slow me down. The only exception to this is when the diagonal ski carry function is utilized- which can place a little strain on the left shoulder for those long hikes. It also made a few sections maneuvering around rock bands a bit more technical as opposed to having a vertical carry option.

When looping skis in the diagonal carry, it became a relatively quick and efficient process. Skis with larger tail twin tips such as a Volkl Gotama will need to be placed through the loop one at a time. Those tails with less profile make for a quicker fit, but nothing a few extra seconds won’t cure for the big guns.

As for durability, I discovered one shortcoming. With only a few days of wear and tear, it was unusual but not completely unexpected to notice some surface erosion from the diagonal ski carry. The drawback here is the lifetime of the backpack suffers from the constant etching from sharp ski edges coming in contact with the material separating the shovel blade from the outside of the pack. This is something I’ve found that limits the use of these kinds of packs to about two seasons. Eventually the nylon fabric gets worn down to the point it can easily tear.

Although the pack is more spacious than its predecessor, using a full bladder still limits the amount of gear you can carry effectively. At maximum capacity, I had a shovel, probe, crampons, skins, a small first aid kit, a few snack items, one extra pair each of socks, gloves and goggles, and a light breathable dry clothing layer. With this much stuff, it definitely maximized the capacity for a one day tour. Although the exterior zippered waist pocket was designed with digital cameras in mind- I found it very useful for quick grab items such as a compass, sunglasses, and snacks.

The Bottom Line: Dakine Pro II Pack

The Dakine Pro II performs up there with the best. With each evolution of the DAKINE products, I get a more favorable view. This particular pack fits my body most comfortably without becoming a hindrance and provides just enough functions and accessories to efficiently execute a full backcountry tour.

Using a diagonal ski carry comes with both its positive and negative aspects, but I’ve grown more accustomed to them in that position, though it would be nice to have the option of a vertical A-frame carry for skis.

If you’re length of backcountry trips are primarily one day or resort accessed, I would highly recommend the quality and functionality of the DAKINE Pro II model. Although there are some drawbacks, the positive elements far outweigh the criticism. For those looking for lift accessed backcountry and short day trips, this is definitely an item worth checking out.

As we rounded the corner, our crew just gasped. ¨Holy Cow.¨ There were no other words that could describe the majestic draw of the Marte chutes. The entire drawl of Frankie´s was enough to elicit the moistest of drool from the Tahoe dudes. ´oh, they just gotta get Marte open!` they sighed. But like a fine aged wine, before they could sample the goods, a taste was in order. Hercules opened up before us with knee deep fresh snow and a simmering ray of light. Ron and Kate hopped in first, and immediately approving cheers resonated through the valley. The previous day`s 36′hours of traveling seemed to vanish in the reiging moment. Joy had been so kind to staple these huge grins upon our faces.

The next day, it was on. Marte had opened for the first time in over three weeks and the gringos were hungry. We feasted on first tracks into Frankie´s, scooped up the wind-blown powder inside Vegas, and laced up the boots for an adventurous trek up Cerro Martin. We continued to exercise caution as the avalanche danger was still rated high. Sluffs were prominent and managing them became key. A few choice descents were aborted, but we managed to claim our share of the top grade Andes powder. The magic was back. It was another day of ´getting infermo´at Leñas Land.

- Tim Cartwright, Contributing Writer

We skiers will always remember Squaw Valley, not just for the 1960 Winter Olympics, but also for its place as the home of Snowfest in the 1980′s cult film, Hot Dog The Movie. Some stars age gracefully, but others try to keep up with Father Time. Squaw has done both. Whether it’s 1960, 1983, or the present, one thing is for certain- This mountain is Sick. Period.

Some people may argue that the terrain here is no more challenging than that of Jackson Hole or Whistler, but Squaw Valley holds on to this Hollywood type mystique making it all the more formidable. Most skiers have seen Squaw’s chutes and cornices countless times on film. When it comes time to ski these challenging areas, the terrain takes on a whole new look. As one competing ski operator put it, “Alpine Meadows may scare you, Kirkwood can scare you, but Squaw will definitely scare you.”

What sets this mountain apart from others is that most resorts have only a few lifts holding the goods, but Squaw provides adrenaline off almost every lift. It doesn’t matter where you start because each lift provides challenges that a single ski area can only dream of. Perhaps that’s the draw of “Squawlywood.” With so many of the top-ranked freeskiers in the world calling it home, Squaw Valley remains the “Tinsel town” of the ski world.

Arriving from South Lake Tahoe fueled by burritos and margaritas, my first glimpse of Squaw is awe-inspiring. I gazed up at the massive Cable Car. It appeared to climb straight up into the clouds surrounding the midnight blue sky. The spotlights shown on the rocky cliffs emitted a hazy glow, revealing the steep, granite rock peak. I felt like I had fallen into the fairy tale of “Jack and the Giant Beanstalk.” In my sleep, I could almost hear the Giant clamoring, “Fe, Fi, Fo, Fum, who dare challenge me?” I tossed and turned all night dreaming of how I would take on this massive beast.

Awaking to a blue-sky morning and panoramic view, it was easy to motivate. Fueled by the awesome pastries and a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice from the PlumpJack Squaw Valley Inn, it was time to rock. Time had come to make the trek out to KT-22. The four-person high-speed quad shone like a diamond in the ruff. It was the gateway to the kingdom. Squaw’s “Magic Kingdom” chock full of exhilarating terrain. For skiers, this was Fantasyland.Climbing towards the top of KT-22, you can catch a glimpse of the famous Fingers- a particularly delicious pair of cliffs that become target number one on big powder days. Opting for the scenic tour to get acquainted, we decided to head towards Headwall Express. At the top of Headwall, it was there that we caught our first view of the infamous Palisades. Interestingly enough, there appeared to be a fresh dusting of snow. Kendall and I watched as one of the locals spewed fresh powder from his twin tip skis. Immediately, we investigated.

Our attention turned toward North Bowl where boot-high powder greeted us. Excitement mounted as we realized that the hike up to the top of Squawlywood was inevitable. It was still early in the morning on an unexpected powder day. Fresh snow greeting the small pack of skiers under the morning sun was a welcome sign.

The moment was near. It was the perfect time to tackle the imposing Palisades. Unfolding itself like a movie script before us, our legs tensed up, knees grew weaker with every step, and all we could hear were our hearts beating faster and faster. In the fashion of each skier before us, I could only imagine scenes from classic Greg Stump or Warren Miller movies that have been filmed here.

But things seemed different this time. Suddenly I realized that in my mind, I was the star today. The time had come to take the screen test and tackle one of the most photographed and infamous ski lines the world has to offer. Visualizing the back flip Shane McConkey threw off the Extra Chute and churning over Scott Schmidt’s mind-numbing descents into the Chimney, I realized how frighteningly huge these lines were.Fortunately, some of the more daring entrances were closed. Under my breath, I muster a thank you to the patrol for saving some of my nerves for the time being. Then I thought to myself, “Who cares if the imposing, ‘heart in your throat big boy’ lines remain closed today. Main Chute will do just fine to scare the pants off most people.” We were not just walking on hollowed ground, but going to ski it. This is where it all started. Chills ran throughout our bodies. This is it. Time had come to make that first awe-inspiring turn. Suddenly, I heard voices going off in my head, “Three, two, one, dropping.”

The first turn was a long one. Speed came instantaneously. With a feeling of relief and sense of amazement, I piloted my skis through 6-inches of fluffy Sierra powder towards a rocky knoll in the distant. What may have appeared average to the locals rocked my world. It was the ultimate rush. After making the adrenaline connection with a few locals, we were hooked. Jeremy, Mark, and Brian became our new guides to this massive playground. With the drop of a ski pole we headed off towards Granite Chief.

Looking up at the top of Granite Chief, I thought it really couldn’t get much better than this. The lift attendant quietly suggested, “Boundary Bowl, Boundary Bowl,” under his breath. I couldn’t believe it. He was giving me the ultimate tip of the day. Ski Patrol was getting ready to drop the ropes. I relayed this information to Brian and the local gang. They concurred. We were off to Boundary Bowl.Hiking up to the top of Granite Chief was a quick boot pack. Along the way we were able to catch vistas of a crystal clear Lake Tahoe off in the distant. We opted to drop into the Christmas Tree Chute on our way to Boundary Bowl. This imposing chute rolled over the edge. Everything disappeared beneath the tall timbers in its path. Dropping in, my skis were suddenly vertically inclined. A few quick turns and I was accelerating toward the Boundary Bowl traverse. In rapid- fire succession, another adrenaline buzz had hit me. My love for Squaw was sinking in.

We entered the Boundary Bowl area and found endless untracked powder amid a terrain garden filled with booters and small cliffs. Everything seemed perfect. Brian, Mark, and Jeremy ripped killer lines. Another local shot through a relative ‘hole in the wall’ from the top of Granite Chief. All around us were relative unknowns flashing lines right and left. Stars or not, Squaw locals nail it. Granite Chief was addictive. One run was simply not enough. We burned our legs through the lunch hour until we were satisfied.

On our way back to the Headwall Express, we ran into a gang of old-school freestylers hanging out at Gold Coast. Sheryl was the leader of the pack. The last time I saw this freestyle diva she was celebrating her 50th birthday in style skiing powder in Las Lenas, Argentina. She insisted that we follow them around for the afternoon. While the sun began heating up, suggestions pointed us into the Sun Chutes. The lumpy powder had now turned to a beautiful corn for the afternoon. Sheryl and her gang tore up the Sun Chutes without abandon. We were chewing up the tasty corn snow like it was candy. The gang relayed their thoughts and stories of the recent Hot Dog movie reunion. They said it was like watching the Rocky Horror Picture Show. Everyone was there – many of the actors were reunited with their fans. And everybody shouted quotes during the screening. The revelry continued. It was the one movie that all skiers could relate to- a movie that transformed a generation. We felt like we were living it, ripping it up with these former world-champion freestyle skiers. They were the Hot Dog connection.

Kendall and I retired to our swanky digs at the PlumpJack Squaw Valley Inn to prepare for another day. After dining on some appetizers at Bar One, we decided that we hadn’t quite finished our day. The Cable Car was open for night skiing on Mountain Run. We figured a quick run ought to do it, but we were wrong.

During the ride up, we struck up a conversation with a local snowboarder. He asked us if we would like to join him for a few laps in the Riviera Halfpipe. A few laps then turned into 5,000 vertical feet of pipe riding. With easy access via the Riviera chair lift, we continued to amp our adrenaline addiction.

Finally, we decided to rest up our weary legs with a trip back to the hot tubs. We were so tired that it became like a “Chinese Downhill” to the finish. Our legs refused to turn (except near those ‘slow’ signs).

We had just lived a day in the movies. A kinship was created like no other. We had bonded with the locals and tasted our own fame. Squaw attitude? Not here. These locals were the top of the class. They showed us what we were searching for. The vibe, the stoke- everything was picture perfect.

One thing is for certain: This mountain is SICK. Period.

Another slow day begins in the Skykomish Valley . Time appears to have frozen (or melted) still. The gas station attendant watches as two cars make their way through town on the approach to Stevens Pass. No skis, no snowboards, no rack. These are just passer-bys on their way to Eastern Washington . Then, a moment of silence turns into minutes, into hours. The waiting game continues.

An unusually warm winter weather pattern has strangled the Northwest, causing many ski areas and businesses in January to close their doors and then yet again in early March. Signage blatantly stating, “Closed until more snow.” Even venerable Mt. Baker , known for its deep snow pack and world record snow fall, had to ‘pull the parachute’ more than a few times this winter.

Devastating drought and record warm temperatures have keptmost the season at bay. And when the Cascades needed the snow pack most, the Hawaiian Islands sent there warm, island breezes to the Northwest. Weather forecasters coined a new phrase for one of the three strong Pineapple Expresses ravaging the area- an aptly name ‘Tropical Punch.’ And punch it did. The knockout punch was laid out to several areas across the Cascades and Southern British Columbia in early January. Many would struggle to recover.

It’s February 6 and what would be considered a busy Saturday, roads are seeing little traffic. Stevens Pass remains closed. The weather is trying to help, but it’s not sufficient. Enough flakes had fallen from the sky overnight to create a soft blanket of white. Normally, the hordes would be here to get their fill, but not today. Not this week. And perhaps not this winter.

The 8” to 12” that accumulated overnight has rested on top of barren slopes, just enough to cover the dirt and rocks below the surface. We are staring at a mirage in the Desert. Could there really be enough snow at higher elevations to offer a glimpse of winter?

We strap on our skins and ascend the switchbacks along Skyline Ridge to the North of Stevens Pass. Starting off on the road with 5” of snow beneath us, we slowly make our way towards a hopeful winter climate. With a meager snow pack, the Cascade Mountains of Washington and Oregon have been left wondering if winter would ever appear. As the season has progressed, 2005 rapidly draws comparisons to 1977, which has widely been regarded as the worst year in Northwestern skiing.

A snow depth of close to four feet greets us at the top of Skyline, enough to ski a few short turns down the first 500 vertical feet of Moonlight Bowl before it melts into large piles of dirt. Returning to the front side, a severe shortage of snow on the South facing aspects left us with only one descent choice to the parking lot: the main utility road. Dicing down about 800 vertical feet, it resembled more or less of a luge course. It was apparent that winter remains on hold until next season.

In a letter posted on the Stevens Pass website, General Manager John Gifford stated, “ We have never seen a ‘winter’ quite like this one.” Last Wednesday, Stevens Pass made the decision to suspend operations indefinitely until next season. “We will put this unprecedented season behind us and look ahead with all the enthusiasm that comes with renewed hope and excitement of a great season to come.”

The Summit-at-Snoqualmie reiterates the challenges faced by Northwest skiers this season, “ The weather has been, to say the least, aggravating. It seems the last two months have included daily forecasts that either say ‘models have not been consistent’ or ‘mostly sunny with record or near record warmth.’”

Mt. Baker continues to defy the odds, chugging along with three chairlifts operating on a 25” to 35” base. This could be the first year in the history of the Legendary Banked Slalom that the event has faced such conditions. Already rescheduled from its usual January date to a seemingly ‘safer’ April 1-3, it is now once again in jeopardy of being cancelled. Rumors from the mountain have indicated that if snow is needed to be hauled in via helicopter, that the mountain operations staff will do whatever it takes to ensure the success of this year’s event.

On the flip side, The Summit-at-Snoqualmie and Crystal Mountain are keeping up hope of reopening in either March or April if “significant snow fall” occurs. The Summit recently sent out an email to pass holders indicting their resolve, despite the challenging weather. Forecasters are pointing toward a mid-march return to winter, with potential snow fall for the Cascades. Although we’ve just about run out of our snow dances for 2005, I think we’re just saving our best ones for last.

–

Taunted by reports of more than 31” expected in the high Sierra, our crew from the Cascades embarked on what many people would term a suicidal tendency.

I beg the question, “Are you really serious about Mammoth?” The voice on the telephone chuckles with a resounding, “Uh, I don’t know, but it looks pretty good.” I could tell this conversation was pointing me on a 15 hour journey for three days of skiing. “Okay, count me in.”

The year has been one of despair and desperation in the Pacific Northwest . The once proud mountains annually covered in deep ‘Cascade Concrete’ have been left barren in the wake of January’s Tropical Punch. Many Washington resort operators had been left with no choice but to close the mountains. Our search for snow continued.

Back on the road, as our car made its way through the crisp, clear California night, I couldn’t stop myself from laughing. “This is absolutely crazy,” I told myself. But the clouds in the distance told the story. Following a moonlit cloud layer through the Sierras, we were on the tails of a classic California storm.

We arrived in Mammoth just in time for first tracks to McDonald’s. A little breakfast gut bomb and we’re on our way to the mountain. At 7am , the buzz of traffic from the L.A. megalopolis was apparent. It was going to be a freeway driving, horn-tooting, run the red-light kind of day on the mountain. The lack of sleep has suddenly faded. Red Bull and coffee are pumping through our veins as we are whisked up the Panorama Gondola.

Dropping into Climax for first tracks, Robbie sinks into his waist. The smoke emitting from the tails of his Gotamas creates a turbulent wake. While Robbie is running interference down the freeway for me, I dart off to the skier’s left and begin snaking my way in and out of the rock gardens, passing people like a driver on the 405.

Our sea level lungs gasp for air as we make our way up the short, but steep ridge of Hemlock Bowl. It’s been a few hours now since the Gondola was cooked and we are hard at work mastering our new playground. It’s delightfully chock full of tight trees, hidden drops, and large pockets of waist deep snow. The sun shines down approvingly as Matt leaps off the ridge. Billows upon billows of snow bursts fill the air as he motors down the face.

Watching Matt float through the forgiving powder, I can’t wait any longer. The need for fresh tracks engulfs me. I spy a beautiful line full with pillow upon pillows of untracked powder. Diving through each and every turn, my face becomes frozen with each and every blast of snow. As I ski up to Matt and Robbie, I can tell they had a similarly epic run. “Another one,” they ask. I respond with a contagious enthusiasm, “Absolutely!” Laughing and smiling under the radiant California sunshine, we knew our crazy gamble had paid off. 31” of the Sierra’s finest snow had welcomed us with open arms.

With the fiery sun beating down from above through the Earth’s largest ozone hole, we lay stretched out amongst the comfortably inviting couches while enjoying cold Quilmes, the popular Argentine beer. FM 97.7 Radio Las Lenas continues to provide the background beats for our tropical vacation. Looking up at the big blue sky, we can’t help ourselves but to think there could be no better paradise.

Flashback: August 25, 2003. Internet chat room boards are lighting up like wild fire. “I heard there’s no snow in Las Lenas.” “Rumor has it they are closing next week.” “My trip is cancelled. Looks like I’m going to Chile instead.” There are two types of skiers in this world- optimists and pessimists. For the pessimists, it was paradise lost. With so many trip cancellations, the karma wheel had to be spinning in my direction. I am an optimist.

Although snow in the Andes Mountains can be more fickle than its counterparts in the Northern Hemisphere, it has a knack for finding its way with unusual timing. I decided to make a call to get the truth. “Hey, everyone says there’s no snow and its closing- is that true?” The slim shady snowboarder on the Lenas end replies, “I doubt it. The snow is lacking down low, but it’s in good shape up top- totally ripping dude!”

There are two types of skiers in this world- optimists and pessimists. For the pessimists, it was paradise lost. With so many trip cancellations, the karma wheel had to be spinning in my direction. I am an optimist.

I have to admit, I was a little bit nervous without seeing the coverage personally, but I knew that the annual “Santa Rosa” (a large sub-tropical storm that sideswipes the Andes every September) couldn’t be far off. We were all hoping she’d be in a nasty mood when she arrived.

“So where are you thinking of shooting?” Blair Debnam asks photographer Peter Moynes. “Well, it’s pretty beat in most places but try and make it toward the top of the farthest fin. It’s still untouched and has the most sun.” Piece of cake. I follow Debnam as he starts a boot pack up a rapidly rising spine that lies about a couple hundred meters from the sun coated ridge underneath Entre Rios peak. The plan is to boot pack straight up and then sideways above a few exposed cliffs to reach the top. At first glance, it appears to be no more than a comparable hike at Alta or Jackson. It’s our first day on snow (and rather excited at that) but we soon realized like everything else in Las Lenas, it was a lot bigger and much more difficult than envisioned.

We knock out a short, increasingly steep boot pack to the base of a rocky outcropping, just below a set of towering rock spires. From there, the hectic side traverse begins. Snow beneath our boots is beginning to change from soft pack into a lemon meringue pie. It’s firm and grippe on top, with nothing but sugar underneath. The former Canadian freestyler is taking about 4 kicks in front of me to lay each sideward step into the snow. Slope angles have changed dramatically and we are now clinging to a 45 degree wall. It was so easy to under-estimate the difficulty when assessing our first run.

An ice axe and crampons would have been a welcome sigh of relief, but Debnam (who had just clipped in) replied, “Well, they’re helping a little bit, but not a whole lot.” We continue our chess match across an exposed band of cliffs that was now starting to tower more than 100 feet over an unpleasant 20 degree landing. BOINK. OOFF, UGHHH, SHIT! WATCH OUT! A baseball size piece of volcanic rock hurtled out of control from the cliffs above and came within inches of knocking Debnam upside the head. Shaken, but not stirred- Blair continued to lay the remaining footers left in our ascent. We realize that the next time one of us might not be so lucky. Finally, with a collective sigh of relief, we reached our destination.

The sun was starting to fade into the backdrop as I watched Blair slice into the buttery corn snow. I could think of nothing better than enjoying a cold beer after this scare-a-thon. But first, a few thousand vertical feet of spring corn, if you please.

The weather forecasters had been calling for big storms to arrive for the past three weeks. Logic suggested that the Santa Rosa would never arrive, but should it arrive, it had the potential to create some extremely dangerous avalanche conditions. With the current snow pack rotting and melting, many of the popular off-piste routes developed dubious reputations for becoming dangerous mine fields of rock and ice. Fortunately, it was still possible to find excellent corn snow and pockets of month old powder. Making the most of every day, our group trudged on with optimism and a sense of purpose.

One afternoon, Moynes, Debnam, and I decided to test the waters off the Sans Noms. An area known for its massive vertical and lengthy run out, we figured it to be a grand ending to the day. Sans Noms is a virtual collection of steeps and a fan favorite. To access this far-reaching area requires a short ride on one of Las Lena’s many poma lifts. Nelson, BC-based Moynes sped ahead on the catch-and-release poma with a surprised look on his face. “I can’t remember the last time I rode a poma- it must have been years.”

“Okay, let’s do it.”…..Picking up speed, he graciously arcs through the sun with his shadow playing catch up…. he continues to lace long and powerful turns to the next rock band 2,000 feet below us…..“That was great! Just perfect,” he shouts.

“Okay, let’s do it.” Debnam starts in, cautiously carving some gravy turns and then starts to increase his angulation as he drops over the ridge. Picking up speed, he graciously arcs through the sun with his shadow playing catch up. I watch as he continues to lace long and powerful turns to the next rock band 2,000 feet below us. Moynes is ecstatic, “That was great! Just perfect,” he shouts. We begin to wrap things up with a big smile on untouched, smooth as silk corn snow. Still waiting on Santa Rosa, but things couldn’t be much better. It’s starting to look like the bandwagon folk’s back home who cancelled their trips couldn’t have been more wrong.
As we pick our way through a deserted rock field and switch slopes, we catch up with Mike, a former Tahoe native-turned Los Angeles ER doctor. With all the stuff that’s been happening lately to fellow Gringos, we welcome the extra company (and medical expertise from up North!). The four of us work our way through the thigh-burning gullies at the bottom and complete our descent of more than 3,000 vertical feet. Unfortunately for us, we have a 3.5-mile hike ahead on a dirt road (in normal snow years, it is possible to ski out most of this). Some folks had been calling ahead arranging 4×4 rides, but we gladly welcome the relaxing hike amidst another fully satisfying day.

Debnam and I are fortunate enough to have packed our hiking boots anticipating the long walk. Peter and Mike weren’t so lucky. Especially Mike. He was not aware of the 3.5-mile hike ahead that would be conducted in his ski boots. The hike really wasn’t so bad- it’s mostly a gentle downward sloping off-road jeep trail sandwiched between the mountains.

Things are going smoothly, but we notice a narrow gap in the road ahead. A jeep is approaching fast. We line up single file to the right to allow him ample room to pass, but ever the generous Argentinean, he allows the same to the driver’s right and clips a rock band. His jeep takes a bit of air and settles into a precarious position hanging over a river bed 30 feet below. A rollover was the last thing we expected to see in the backcountry! We look toward Mike, knowing that we could have a serious situation developing. The four of us (two in ski boots) lean up against the front of the jeep as the driver prepares to reverse himself out of the mud. The back tire is skidding and going nowhere. We start to rock the jeep and are able to push it back into safety. Assuming the driver will give us a quick ride to the adjacent Aries hotel, we approach him with our gear- but he just thanks us and speeds off! No big deal, but we are hoping that our good deed does not go unnoticed in the future karma department.

That same night, our Canadian friends decide to host a Gringo party. It’s the second year installment where the rules are simple: One Gringo must bring two Argentine women. Not everyone succeeded but the party allowed a close knit group of 20 blow-off some steam and show appreciation to Ullr for the bluebird days. It was also a chance to request the Santa Rosa. The party was a conglomeration of hard corps fanatics, pro skiers, photographers, and locals. Heather Bowen of “The Ride Guide” was their filming Colin Puskas, Pierre Yves-LeBlanc, and Hugo Harrison for an upcoming special on Canada’s Global television station. Snowbird-Alta, Jackson, Whistler, and Nelson locals were all in the mix. As with everything in Argentina, it was 2AM and we were just getting started.

Looking outside in anticipation of clouds, we saw nothing. The clear skies were a green light to continue the party at the Wine Bar. Once again, Mariano’s cozy Wine Bar became the social scene for North American and European freeskiers. It was “The Ride Guide’s” last night in town and all signs were pointing to a mini-bender. We had been getting up each morning and charging it, hiking until we could not make a second step and now was the time to kick back with others that share the same passion.

You just knew it was going to come. Mot had been up all night for the past week, waxing each board and fixing his gear…..No matter what the weather buffoons were predicting, we all had a collective feeling that “It will come.”

You just knew it was going to come. Mot had been up all night for the past week, waxing each board and fixing his gear. Someone thought he waxed the same board three times in the same evening. You could tell by the way he started to laugh- that sinister sort of giggle you might hear from a person at 6am in the Jackson tram line with three feet fresh and still dumping. Mot fed the stoke and it was there. Each day it continued to get stronger. No matter what the weather buffoons were predicting, we all had a collective feeling that “It will come.” Clear skies prevailed after a rough night out at the Casino and clubs and then BAM!

“You gotta see this!” “Is Marte open?” “No, Informes says it’s been windy and heavy snow there all day.” “Everything’s Red Light!” With that news being digested, we pulled over covers and fell back asleep, hoping for the best.

The smell of fresh ground coffee and a loud knock at the door begged the question. What’s the buzz about? Mot is busy brewing the hardest hitting caffeine jolt west of Mendoza. It was Go Time. With everyone else recovering from a massive overdose of Oonce, Mot and I ventured about on a quick scouting mission at three o’clock when the Caris chairlift reopened. Dropping into Cenador, one of the most consistent 38- degree pitches this side of the Lower 48, Mot entertained a crapshoot. 24 hours prior, the slope had been littered with a variety of rocks, boulders, and mud.

We picked out a patch in the dense-covered fog hidden to the far skier’s right. It appeared to be a vast wasteland recently converted into a swath of fresh snow. Pointing my skis straight down the center fall line, I took a little speed to air over the small rock outcropping that blocked the entrance. Landing a few feet down the slope, I felt my knees sink softly into the ever-forgiving smooth coating of snow. I watched as Mot poked his turns further and further into the snow pack, exploring the depths of the new found glory. We were dropping in sync about five turns apart, pushing the boundary layers of this new snow. A few snakebite rocks here and there that either sent one of us off balance or cartwheeling through the snow, but nothing of the unexpected.

The deeper layer represented a thickness more consistent with Sierra cement, but working its way toward the top, the powder felt lighter. Not just a little bit lighter, but on par with the Rockies. It was exactly what the stability required. Surprised, but exhausted we exhaled a collective sigh of relief and excitement. “That was totally sweet! Did you see how deep it pillowed on the right side?” “Unbelievable,” I replied. “I was following your rooster tail the way down!” Before we could break the news, some additional late afternoon laps were in order. The snow continued to pour down, giving us a day of rest before the bounty.

It’s an early start to a typically cold Monday morning. The winds were quieting down and the sun was shining. The showcase Marte lift appeared ready to take center stage. A vast arena of steeps, chutes, bowls and everything associated with the word extreme, Marte stands proud. For very few lifts in the world can match its terrain or access. More than 50,000 acres of mesmerizing descents were about to reopen.

Mapping out the upcoming day became a daunting task. With so much terrain to choose from, where to go first was the most difficult choice. Anticipating a late start for the upper mountain prize box, we stormed up a few quick laps above the Caris and Volacano chairlifts. The powder was unbelievably deep. It was light and feathery. The kind of snow that you can gently brush off a car window, leaving no trace behind. The first run shifted our gears into overdrive. Pushing waist deep under a bluebird sky, we felt that this was The Perfect Moment. Uncrowded, untouched, and all ours, we shined in the spotlight. With few gringos to share the windfall, we knew it was going to become a day of the ages.

Reaching the Marte lift with a big grin on my face, I meet up with Bryce Phillips. As luck would have it, Bryce had an unplanned change in his travel plans and ended up arriving in Las Lenas the night prior. A long time fixture in Las Lenas, he was quick to point out that the snow was the lightest and deepest in recent memory, if not in years. Scouting out the Marte Bowl beneath us, we decide to pass up the tasty leftovers from this 2,600-foot centerpiece. There were bigger fish to fry.

Eduardo’s beckoned like a large Birthday present. We took great pride unwrapping this present. Eduardo’s greeted us with about 3,000 vertical feet of couloirs, rock drops, chutes and open powder fields. Following Chuck Loeffler, we merged left to reach a consistant pitch. The snow felt stable and light. Mother Nature had done a great job the previous days and we were about to judge her quality of work. No complaints from Chuck as he danced his way straight down the fall line, disappering under massive clouds of snow. Almost like the club scene from previous nights, my body started to ‘ounce’ to the Latin American beat. My first turns sensed the stability and lightness of this incredible snow. Relaxing to the rythem and beat, I let my skis run.

The run of your life.This was my moment. The stage has been set. We all have them, but this one was special.

After a day of raiding the lift-serviced vertical, our attention turned to a much-anticipated bigger prize- Torrecillas. A distant glimmer from below, the Torrecillas and its majestic rock spires hover atop the Andes. It’s not only a huff and puff, but a momentous journey. Letting go of the Iris poma, our legs acknowledge the next three hours will be via sheer foot power.

It’s a veritable whose who of Utah skiing. Brant Moles and Chuck Loeffler lead the trek, but are followed closely by Brian Barlow and an assortment of other characters. Although the Wasatch might be green, these Snowbird skiers were getting ready to taste one of the most impressive powder feasts in recent memory. Already, local Argentines were calling this storm the lightest powder in years.

The beautiful aqua marine skies help to relieve the constant pant as we make our way over shale rock falls and treacherous boot packs. Off to the distant, the horizon touts a large collection of volcanic craters dotting the Argentina-Chile border. With a stiff calf muscle or two and several depleted Camelbacks, we lunged toward the top. Rewarded with one of the most spectacular views in all of skidom, the adrenaline keeps pumping once the goods are revealed.

Staring down the gigantic curtain, Brant dives in. Seize It, Live It, Rip It! Charging harder than a thoroughbred on Red Bull at the Kentucky Derby, Chuck starts on cue. Careening down the massive face, you can barely see him in a cloud of smoke. When it’s all over, the only traces left behind are the marks of a few turns that seem a couple hundred meters apart.

Brian and I are reflecting on a previous day’s screening of a French film, “The Perfect Moment.” We are standing atop an Alaska-type wall of snow with nothing between us other than 2,000 vertical feet of bliss. Large cliffs, open bowls, and couloirs frame the scene as we make the final preparations to take our cue. Brian enters center stage as he drops. It only took the first resounding “YES!” to realize how incredibly lucky we were. Barlow sinks to his waist in light fluff, creating a huge rooster tail on his second turn. Soon, he disappears off into the distance as he comes into view for Brant and Chuck. It was another 40 seconds or so until we could see him screaming out of the fall line below.

The perfect moment- you can just feel it. The sun shining, powder resting deep below tired, weak knees, thoughts of the unknown, a sense of excitement and thrill. The package was there…. Wanting to make it the perfect run- the run of your life….This was my moment. The stage has been set. We all have them, but this one was special.

Staring down the fall line, I knew it was time to reap the rewards. A long difficult climb was about to end in solitary bliss. Looking up at the sky and then again down below, I adjust my goggles and recheck my transceiver. I look toward Mot and Tara and get the green light. A surge of adrenaline takes over my nerves and my legs seem to forget the torturous climb. A picture perfect ridgeline drops steeply into a curving couloir. I focused again on the line, took a few breaths, and finally…let my skis loose. Time stood still. Large pillows of powder blanketed me in a sort of Angelic dust. Shining underneath the powerful sun and a stellar group of friends, Las Lenas delivered me into my “Perfect Moment.”

For more information, go to laslenas.com.

Trails take on new form with the innovative designers of the world-class Whistler mountain bike park. Cross-Country bikes need not apply. We are talking hordes of decked out full armored combatants ready to test their skills on some of the burliest trails in the world. Ride up? No thanks, we’ll take the lift. The bull wheels on the Fitzsimmons Express are once again turning and whisking mountain bikers up to more than 1,200 vertical feet of in-your-face, smack talking, hard nosed, those aren’t your momma’s trails for all the dirt bashing enjoyment one can handle.

With the old cliché, “bigger is better” Whistler once again pulls out all the stops with the much anticipated opening of the Garbanzo Express. The additional 2,200 vertical feet will feature a variety of wall rides, signature berms, and hits. Anticipation looms large for opening day on June 26.

Operations in all four seasons dominate the Whistler landscape. Competition for first chair is not just for snow sliders. Bikers get in on the fun as the season’s turn. Closing day at Whistler Mountain on June 6 treated die-hard skiers to numerous skiable chutes in Glacier Bowl holding down a consistent base, droppable cliffs and cornices. While snow was rapidly disappearing underneath the Emerald Express, The Peak Chair was rocking. Curious to check on the conditions inside the Couloir, I made my way through a large boulder field of shale rock to find a wide enough slab to make the cornice drop into the chute. Butterflies hurtled through my stomach when I realized that I could still hit a phat cornice into a technical line- months after other area resorts had shut the doors. I couldn’t contain my enthusiasm so I immediately launched the lip toward the snow covered apron below. Feeling my heart beat like that again brought a rush of adrenaline through my body- catapulting me back to the Peak Chair. It was like a drug. I wanted more. I needed more.

Lap after lap exploring the various entrances into the Glacier Couloir and Cirque, I grew bold and ventured toward a more rotten, exposed Exhilaration. Snow lines had definitely receded since my last trip to this hanging wall of snow back in February. Pointed rocks, holes, and avalanche debris lay scattered amongst what seemed like an outright obstacle course. I checked my line and decided that it was time for a little mini-golf. I hopped off the opposing cornice and landed square inside the first chute.

Plans were coming together. I thrust my skis into a few power turns toward the next snow lined patches to my forward right, but felt the momentum overtake me. “Oh, Crap!” I thought to myself. The front shovel of my right ski had sunk into a thick wedge of sludge. I knew I was going down- there was no way out of fighting this exit. Luckily, I had planned a few ditch lines in case I found some trouble so I was able to cartwheel in between the rocks- finding my way through the widest gap of densely covered spring slush. My t-shirt came untucked from my jacket and I woke up with a bit of a 7/11 slurpee scraped down my back. Ouch! That friggin felt like the nice caress of sandpaper. Ah, but it was definitely worth it- One more quality digger for the season. What started out as a day with freezing rain and sleet turned into a well protected bluebird adrenaline fest. On my way down the Whistler Gondola, I couldn’t help but notice the large après gathering at the Longhorn Pub. Oddly enough, with no snow on the ground and surrounded by mountain bikers, skiers and snowboarders, it felt just right. That first sip of cold Kokannee tasted like a bit of Heaven.

But Heaven will have to wait. Whistler Blackcomb, North America’s largest winter playground, recently announced plans for the most ambitious expansion in Whistler Mountain history. Plans call for adding an additional 1100 acres of Peak to Creek skiing and an unrivaled in-bounds backcountry experience on adjacent Flute Bowl.

The long-awaited opening of the Peak to Creek trails will allow both intermediate and expert skiers the opportunity to ski more than 5,000 vertical feet to the newly redeveloped Creekside, a family-friendly pedestrian only village with shops, restaurants, and hotels.

When all the new improvements are completed, a whopping $14.2 million dollars (CDN) will be invested. As Whistler residents will attest, it’s all about progression. Stuart Rempel, VP, Marketing and Sales, agrees. “We’re all about creating unforgettable memories for everyone that comes to play on our world class mountains.”

As soon as my car steered away from the coast and with the elevation rising, so were the piles of snow. The sheer amount of snow was mesmerizing for early December. Although I knew it was going to be an epic dump, I felt something of a foreshadowing coming. The tall, stately fir trees stood proud shouldering heavy loads of snow on top of their bristles. Christmas music seemed to resonate with each turn of the radio dial. A joyous time was sure to come.

Twas the night before Peak Chair, and all through the town. Not a skier was stirring. Not even a louse. The powder was bombed by the Patrol with much care- only to awaken the next morning with much more to share while Whistler Village was decked out in a festive Holiday flair. The skiers nestled all snug in their beds- would have dreams of sugarplum powder pillows and face shots above their heads.

As promised, Whistler patrol opened Peak Express by 10 a.m. and we were off and running- lap after lap of placing track next to track. Once we finished with Whistler Bowl with touches along Surprise, we made the trek toward the VD Chutes. Dream-like fir trees covered in snow with pillow after pillow of powder booters. Coverage remained outstanding for early December. Continuous laps involving Big Red and Peak Express were in motion for hours to come. I couldn’t shake the excitement each time I approached the rock garden. Soft, cushioning snow and with sequences of five or even seven kickers lined up in a row. A later exploration onto Garbanzo Express revealed more untracked powder and ghost-filled chairs. Something just speaks to me when you have the opportunity to rip pow lines all day with minimal line ups. Especially at The Big W-B. A long afternoon of Kokanees certainly lurked ahead at the Garibaldi Lift Company.

Sunday morning, Tom and I met up with local photographer Magali Roy. Blackcomb opened with yet another fresh coat of snow. Dropping into the Café Chutes beneath the Rendezvous restaurant, we discovered the beginning of the day’s first bounty. I followed close behind Magali and her friend Pam- as they raced in and out of tree pockets toward Jersey Cream Express. These “Betty’s” were high on life. I could tell from the smiles and stoke talk while riding up the Wizard; it was going to be another stellar day.

Heading straight for The Bite, we entertained ourselves in knee deep powder amidst the rocky outcroppings. This was my first time riding the W-B early season. I kept waiting for rocks to rear their ugly heads, but there were none. Amazed, I leaned over toward Pam to ask about conditions in the gut. “Not a single core shot yesterday. It’s good everywhere!” With that assurance, I dropped into the center and raced through powder pillows and snow banks. Our runs began to add speed and soon I felt like I was riding the Bullet Train Express with these ladies. Growing tired (yawn) of the wide open powder, our fearless female powder warriors steered the group into the mystical trees just shy of 7th Heaven. The first nine turns were…well…DEEP. The trail opened up below a catwalk into one of the perfectly gladed sections of Raptor’s Ride. Perfectly spaced powder bumps greeted us with wide grins. It seemed that everyone was fond of this sheltered area with yesterday’s low visibility. We returned to JC where the goods were plentiful and bumps hard to find.

Numerous laps later among the trees in the Jersey Cream Zone, Glacier Express made a surprise opening. The staff had been preparing the Crystal chair when they got the call from Patrol that “G” was a go. We had pretty much given up hope the high alpine would open today. 60km. + winds were scouring the upper faces. Our first ride up was a cold one. Wind howled and nipped at our boards, almost as if to try and rip them from our bindings. Keeping a watchful eye on Spanky’s Ladder, we dropped in Heavenly Basin for a quickie. The snow in the High Alpine had certainly accumulated and drifted more so than the lower mountain. Charging through snow drifts and virgin tree shots, our faces began to develop that contagious permagrin. Miraculously, with only a handful of riders angling for position, we were able to hit up Spanky’s Ladder for multiple laps. One of the sites for the upcoming Canadian Free skiing Championships in January, both Ruby and Diamond bowl seemed to be peaking at the right time. A bounty of untracked powder, turn for turn, awaited us each run until our legs could go no more. Another perfect start to yet another exciting season. Like little kids sneaking around the house looking for signs of Christmas presents, we snuck a peak underneath the wrappings of what’s shaping up to be an incredible season across North America.