Then we ski down one of the chutes for a single “freeride” that’s judged on line, control, fluidity, technique and aggressiveness. I consider myself a competent skier and I’ve skied the Headwaters chutes a handful of times. But I haven’t guineapigged anything, and I’ve never even heard the term double-stager before this morning. I look around to size up the rest of the competition. At the table next to me, a 10-year-old named Zach Cone rests his chin on his folded hands and intently studies the map from his registration packet. The black-and-white photo overlaid with ski runs shows the chutes in all their steep, rocky glory. He seems undaunted when I ask him about his line. “I’ll try and hit all the powder spots I can,” he says, envisioning a straightforward run. I want to be in his division. As the 56 other competitors finish checking in and getting their race bibs, a cadre of red-coated ski patrollers congregates around event organizer Michelle Jondahl. Outside the lodge, conditions seem pretty mild—the temperature is in the mid-twenties with light snow falling.
The Headwaters ridge, however, is cloaked in a darker mantle, and after a few minutes of intense discussion Jondahl stands on a chair to inform the crowd of eager athletes that the event might need to be postponed. Temps are significantly colder on the ridge and the wind is gusting up to 50
The juniors are in the first division
watch a 7-year-old almost get blown off his feet before collapsing over the finish line and bursting into tears. after me, and I
miles per hour, she announces. With the upper third of the headwall socked in, the judges 1,000 feet below in the Stillwater Bowl won’t be able to see the competitors. But after getting some feedback from the crowd, Michelle decides to greenlight the hike this morning and postpone the freeride stage until tomorrow, when the forecast looks better.