Thank you for decades of inspiration, both in skiing and in life.
1970 - 2023
In Loving Memory of Dr. Robb Gaffney.
S: Marcus Caston
P: Oskar Enander
L Engelberg, Switzerland
Athletes
Joel Pollinger Mary Birkeland
Photographers
Oskar Enander
Rick Sorensen
Max Draeger
Matt Bansak
Emily Sullivan
Stories
The Approach
Rick Sorensen Page 12
Southern Exposure
Rick Sorensen Page 28
Core Shots
Blizzard-Tecnica Athletes Page 52
Chugach Journals
Mac Keyser Page 72
Simplicity
Tom Peiffer Page 80
Uphill
Nicole Cordingley Page 96
The Backside
Rick Sorensen Page 118
On The Cover
Tom Peiffer drops into an other-worldly portal in interior
Captured by
On The Back
Connery Lundin riding Conejo (Spanish for bunny), patiently waiting for more terrain to open during a historic storm in Portillo, Chile. Captured by Rick Sorensen.
The Approach.
By Rick Sorensen
I
t’s a less-than-ideal February day in Engelberg, and after a few hours of fighting bad conditions and worse visibility in a vain effort to capture content, we’ve retreated to the trusty refuge of the bar at Ski Lodge Engelberg. I find myself sitting outside the lodge, my second or third Braufrisch in hand, watching Johan Jonnson chase his two kids around. As the adorable little hellions incessantly climbed on top of, crawled through, and jumped off of the covered benches outside the lodge — Helmet, goggles, and one boot still on Something funny occurred to me. It’s unclear whether they were more stoked to be jumping off of something or to be increasingly irritating their father, but they were stoked to be sure. Perhaps, even, just as stoked as Johan was to point ‘em straight down the S-Couloir and come screaming out the bottom just a few hours earlier.
Countless languages are spoken by skiers around the world. Johan himself speaks more than a few of them, and surely someday his kids will too. Yet there is one common tongue that we all share. One that doesn’t require a college degree or even a Rosetta Stone subscription to understand.
The language of stoke is universal. It knows no age, no background, no borders, and it permeates through every element of this silly pastime we’ve all converted into an indelible lifestyle.
We missed a year. We didn’t produce a Photo Annual in 2023, and there are plenty of not-so-great-nor-important reasons why. But the truth is, it doesn’t matter. Because the beauty of skiing is that it transcends time. Through good snow years and bad, from the Wasatch to Alps, South America to the South Island, we skiers are a resilient bunch, all eager to write our own story in the mountains. And it’s the stories shared by others that inspire us all to get out and create more of our own. That’s why we feel it’s so important to share ours, here.
In an era of ever-decaying attention spans, marauded by an onslaught of digital mindfuckery, the point of this book is to create something timeless. Something that will hopefully be just as captivating to Johan’s kids someday as it is to us now. Something that captures even just a fragment of the energy that radiated from each of these moments, and freezes it in time for generations to come. There are some things that are seemingly immune to the passage of time. Among these things, skiers themselves are not. But the stories they create, and the memories they share, those never die. To tell these stories is an act that is core of our ethos. So, please, sit back, relax, and enjoy our second Photo (almost) Annual.
S: Johan Jonnson
P: Frank Shine
L: Engelberg, Switzerland
S: Connery Lundin
P: Rick Sorensen
L: Portillo, Chile
S: Joel Pollinger
P: Oskar Enander
L: Engelberg, Switzerland
S: Caite Zeliff, Morgan McGlashon
P: Emily Sullivan
L: Tordrillo Range, Alaska
S: Nicole Cordingley
P: Lee Cohen L: Alta, Utah
“Just
Alta
S: John Nahorney
P: Rick Sorensen
L: Lake Tahoe, CA
“Marcus can make a photo happen anywhere. If you saw where we shot this and how f’ing dark it was, you would never believe he could do this.” - FS
S: Marcus Caston
P: Frank Shine
L: Engelberg, Switzerland
Southern Exposure
High above the crowded freeways and impenetrable smog, an unlikely and fragile high-alpine playground beckons in Southern California.
Words and photographs by Rick Sorensen
Dana Tindall closing in on the summit of San Gorgonio, 11,503 feet.
Southern Exposure
High above the crowded freeways and impenetrable smog, an unlikely and fragile highalpine playground beckons in Southern California.
Words and photographs by Rick Sorensen
The ear-piercing sound of an iPhone alarm rings out, shattering what feels like the only real sleep I’ve gotten in what has otherwise been a restless night. It’s 4 o’clock in the morning, and my girlfriend Dana and my breath has turned to a thick frost, glazing the interior windows of my truck cap. At the moment, the only thing I want more than to stay in bed is to stand on top of the highest peak in Southern California with skis on my back.
As a self-proclaimed ‘skier’ by identity, Southern California is a pretty peculiar place to spend four of your quoteunquote formative years. Like most East Coast-born skiers, my dreams were (and still are) filled with the champagne powder of the Rockies, and the gut busting vert of the Tetons. Yet, for whatever reason, the allure of the Golden State cast its spell on me early. Perhaps it was the lyrics of Anthony Kiedis, or Robert Plant, that sparked the fascination. From a young age, I knew I was destined to end up in the land of the rich and famous. It was not that I necessarily wanted to be either of those things (though I certainly wouldn’t complain about the former), but more that I had become completely obsessed with the idea of a place so big, so full of adventure, and so seemingly perfect.
Taken from the San Bernardino’s looking west at the San Gabriel range. Mt. San Antonio (Baldy) standing prominently, 10,064 feet above the Los Angeles basin.
Southern California, it would turn out, is far from the latter. Over-populated and over-priced, I learned pretty quickly that my relationship with California would be a tenuous one. Yet, I spent some of the best years of my life there, and even four years since graduating from the University of Redlands and moving away, the siren still calls back, time and time again.
My time in Redlands fostered a love for things other than skiing, which until that point had made up the bulk of my personality. Mountain biking, surfing, and beer drinking among my newfound passions. Yet, the unique geographic location of Redlands kept the fire alive inside.
Nestled at the base of the San Bernardino Mountains, Redlands has arguably some of the best access to adventure as any city in the west. Forty-five minutes from Big Bear and an hour from the beach, if you were bored at the University of Redlands, you were doing it wrong.
It was at the U of R that I became fascinated by the science of our natural environment, and would go on to major in Climatology. I spent four years studying the science of our changing climate, all while staring up at the high peaks of the San Bernardinos, fearing for how their winters will change, and scheming to convert my beach bum buddies to
mountain addicts like myself. I would have little success in that endeavor. But four years later, I find myself deep in the San Bernardino Mountains, struggling to sleep in the back of my truck next to my ski patrolling girlfriend, who’s already a full-blown mountain addict.
I shake Dana awake, and begrudgingly we start a familiar routine in an unfamiliar place: Base layers on, the flick of a lighter to spark the Jetboil, sunscreen lathered, beacons beeping. The warm, Southern California climate we had enjoyed yesterday has given way to the elevation of the San Bernardinos, and the air is feeling more reminiscent of our home in Utah than sunny SoCal. While cold and
The north face of San Gorgonio and Jepson Peak, taken from Onyx Summit.
overtired, this isn’t our first rodeo, and we know the early start and overnight freeze will play to our advantage. We’re gearing up to ski Mt. San Gorgonio. At 11,503 feet, San G is the highest peak in Southern California, and was at the center of my ski dreams for the duration of my stint at the University of Redlands.
Less substantial only in reputation to California’s Sierra Nevada, the Transverse Mountain Ranges that form the northern flank of the Los Angeles basin offer a high-alpine playground with terrain that can rival any of your big-name western ranges. The word “Transverse” refers to the range’s orientation. They run from East to West, as opposed to North to South, which is how most every other major range in the U.S. run. Transverse ranges are characterized by extreme biodiversity, as one aspect faces entirely to the South, while the opposite faces to the North. This means the South-facing aspect will experience full sun throughout a day, while the North-facing aspect sits mostly in the shade. This, combined with all the right ingredients - Massive vertical relief, low-latitude, and proximity to the Pacific - Make the San Bernardino Mountains and neighboring ranges among the most biodiverse landscapes on the continent. With skis on our back, Dana and I set out from the South Fork trailhead, meandering through life zones. We watch the flora around us shift from Manzanita, Sage Brush and Live Oak groves to old-growth forest, abound with giant White Firs and Jeffrey Pines. Four miles and 2,000 vertical feet in, we see our first snow, and just a few steps later, we’re trading our trail runners for ski boots, and hitting the skin track.
Before long, we’re in the “figure it out” part of the journey. I had a loose route plan, one that we abandoned pretty quickly as the Southern California sun baked overhead. We climb higher into the alpine, watching vigilantly for the warning signs of an unstable spring snowpack. We’re a bit behind schedule when we hit the ridge line that draws the divide between San Gorgonio and neighboring Jepson Peak. 1,500 feet straight up to the summit of Old Greyback, we strap our skis to our back yet again, and hit the Stairmaster. As the sun grows higher, our eyes are glued to the steep, east-facing chutes of Jepson, looming across the drainage. A stout breeze and unseasonably cool temps seemed to be keeping things in line for us. The snowpack that we had feared may turn to isothermal mush and turn us around early, is rock solid. Nothing is moving. We press on.
One foot in front of the other, we close in on our summit. The great Mojave Desert burns at our flank as we eclipse 11,000 feet and the Los Angeles basin comes into view. On a clear day, you can see the Pacific from this vantage point, and I wonder what this magnificent landscape must have looked like before becoming the most populous metropolitan area in North America. I recall the countless hours I’ve spent in gridlock on the 10 Freeway, the frustration I’ve felt waiting in lines that wrap around the grocery store, or the disappointment of waking up in Redlands and not being able to see these mountains, shrouded by smog just a few miles away. But at this moment, none of that matters. High above it all, the true beauty of Southern California shines.
Above: Jepson Peak is a backcountry freerider’s paradise.
Right: The twisted trunk of a long-dead Lodgepole Pine.
Dana and I enjoy cold burritos and some water in the sun at 11,503 feet. As we recover, we’re mind-surfing the countless lines that populate our field of view. There’s a lifetime of skiing in to be done in this little range, and 20-something-million people 10,000 feet below who have no idea. “Thank God,” we think aloud.
The first 300 feet of our descent are marked by the kind of turns that make you stop and check your teeth for loose fillings. Refrozen sun cups reverberate through our bodies as we laugh at the ridiculousness of the moment, and are thankful not to be dealing with a reactive snowpack. Eventually, though, the snow gives way to the spring sun, and we enjoy 2,000 vertical feet of primo Southern California corn skiing, hooting and hollering our way down the gut of San G. As we dump elevation, the snow softens, and we carefully pick our way through fields of low-angle mashed potatoes until we arrive back to our shoes, stashed next to a pool of runoff snow melt. After a brief dip to shock the system, we’re back on the South Fork trail. Before long, we’ll be gorging on burgers and sipping on Southern California’s finest high point beverages, reveling in the high derived from such a special skiing experience.
Previous:
Dana closing in on the summit of San G, the Mojave Desert baking in the distance.
Facing:
Top - Looking south from the summit of San Gorgonio at Mt. San Jacinto, 10,834ft.
Bottom - Looking west, Jepson Peak in the foreground, Mt. San Antonio in the distance, 10,064ft.
This Page:
Dana harvesting Southern California’s finest corn crop.
This was a bucket lister for me. I spent some of my favorite years looking up at these peaks, learning about their biodiversity, and marveling at the potential they hold. Yet, in my studies, I also learned to fear their fragility in the face of climate change. There has been a lot of talk lately about socalled ‘last descents.’ This is not one of those stories, but it’s impossible not to acknowledge the threat that humancaused climate change poses to this unique landscape, and wonder how many more skiing-obsessed Redlands students will have the opportinity to check this one off their list.
Like so many of the places that we skiers call home, the mountains of Southern California sit directly in the cross hairs of climate change. Skiing in the San Bernardino Mountains may only be a feasible reality for so much longer, and I am grateful for the opportunity to experience it while it exists. Yet, as a skier, I remain optimistic, and know that we will come together to help protect this fragile landscape, and countless others, for generations to come.
This spread:
A moody sunset over the Transverse Mountain Ranges.
S: Marcus Caston
P: Oskar Enander
L: Engelberg, Switzerland
S: Claire Abbe P: Frank Shine L: Aspen, Colorado
S: Mary Birkeland
P: Frank Shine
L: Engelberg, Switzerland
S: Elyse Saugstad P: Indeed Productions L: Alaska
S: Johan Jonnson
P: Rick Sorensen
L: Engelberg, Switzerland
S: Zeb Schreiber
P: Ming Poon
L: Lake Tahoe, California
CORE SHOTS
Our athletes and ambassadors make up the core of our Blizzard Tecnica family.
These are some of their favorite moments from the last few years, as told in their own words.
S: Connery Lundin
P: Rick Sorensen
L: Portillo, Chile
MARCUS CASTON
Blizzard-Tecnica Freeride Athlete Salt Lake City, UT
“The first real powder days of the year are always special. All that waiting around and daydreaming throughout the summer is finally over, and the pow is finally flying. In early December, the snow kept falling in Engelberg. The lifts weren’t fully open but you could tour up and have the upper mountain to yourself. We waited a few hours for this spot to have the perfect light on it and had about a 20 second window to get the shot. Getting everything to come together perfectly happens only a few times every year... Happy to get one in the bag early.”
P: Oskar Enander
L: Engelberg, Switzerland
CONNERY LUNDIN
Blizzard-Tecnica Freeride Athlete Lake Tahoe, California
“Sliding down a giant rock face is not exactly every skier’s dream. But it was mine on this day.
It feels like everything’s been done on skis, but this rock ride was different. It’s in a league of its own.
I wanted it so badly. Not for the adrenaline fix, the likes or the views. My motive was pure, proving to myself I could do something I thought was impossible. My skis are OK and I still smile every time I think about that bumpy ride.”
P: Jeff Engerbretson L: California
ANNE WANGLER
Blizzard-Tecnica Freeride Athlete Innsbruck, Austria
“We saw the big storm hitting the Western Alps. Between looking at different weather models and when we were actually sitting in the car, it was less than 24hrs.
We could have not made a better call.
We skied perfect champagne powder in the Alpine with high vibes, the best crew and Stian Hagen showing us around his backyard.
“It was an early morning in the Tordrillo Mountain Range, and Morgan McGlashon and I had just happily peeled ourselves from warm sleeping bags to put on cold ski boots. I love the wide array of feelings that vibrate throughout your whole being on those mornings when you are headed out for a big day in the mountains.
It is a combination of excitement of what is to come and the anticipation of all the unknowns that lie ahead. In those cold, dark mornings when you first get moving there is the excitement of all the epicness that is to come, and then there is the annoying actualization that there are many hours ahead before even the slightest glimpse of the sun’s warmth will hit your face. There is the stoke that comes when you think of leapfrogging your way down a 4,200 foot Alaskan couloir with your best friend, and then comes the sobering realization of all the hard work that lies between you and those incredible turns you have been romanticizing about.
One of my favorite things about spending time in the mountains is the dichotomy and extreme contrasts that exist. There can be intense moments that challenge you and bring up fear or self-doubt but there are also the sweet, sweet feelings of joy, strength and pride when all goes to plan.
For me this photo captures a moment in time when all of those feelings were swirling through my head as Morgan and I were headed out to take on the day. This photo reminds me of all of the reasons why I love skiing, and of how lucky I am to have a best bud like Morgan to adventure in the mountains with.
.. And P.S.. If you were wondering, the stars did align for us that day and our crew got the chance to link beautiful turns down all 4,227 feet of this behemoth of a line we coined, ‘The Big Mama Couloir’ ...what a gift!
NICOLE CORDINGLEY
Blizzard-Tecnica Freeride Athlete
Salt Lake City, Utah
“This is the day I think about when I think of the crazy 2022-23 snow season. It’s a quick shot from a few hours in the backcountry near Alta. I skied Alta opening-3, then walked across the street to meet a friend for a tour. The snow was unbelievable—perfect, chest deep, blower pow for 1000 feet of 35 degree terrain. The photographer, Mac, is one of my best friends. We skied straight into a hug at the end of this giggle-til-you-choke-on-pow run. Then we went back up for a second lap by headlamp.”
P: Mac Keyser
L: Little Cottonwood Canyon, Utah
DREW GILMORE
Blizzard-Tecnica Freeride Athlete
Park City, Utah
“With a season full of powder days, there were a lot of “Top 5” moments, but Jackson has always been one of my favorite places to ski and visit. This entire day was filled with fun turns, great friends, and good times. We started by skiing some classic lines in and out of bounds at Jackson Hole. After exploring the resort, we headed over to Teton Pass. It was my first time on the pass, and I was stoked to finally ski it. The booter was straight up, the light wasn’t the best, and the snow was variable. But, we were all excited, because skiing is skiing and it’s always fun, especially when shared with friends. In the end, we were able to find some soft turns and had a great time. It’s just another day that solidifies Jackson as one of my all-time favorite places.”
P: Rick Sorensen
L: Jackson, Wyoming
NOAH GAFFNEY
Blizzard-Tecnica Freeride Athlete Lake Tahoe, California
“This cliff is called ‘Far Right Rock’ off Mainline Pocket at Palisades Tahoe, and I’ve dreamed of doing backflip off of it for years. With perfect conditions and blue skies, it was the day to finally fulfill my vision. I came in with some speed off the top, floated the backflip out, and put it tomyfeet.Itwasoneofmyfavorite feelings I’ve ever experienced.”
P: Jeff Engerbretson
L: Palisades Tahoe, CA
CLAIRE ABBE
Blizzard-Tecnica Athlete/Ambassador Keene, New York
“Anytime I get to ski with the Blizzard Tecnica family it’s special. It’s what I look forward to every year. So many years of memories, we all have this awesome bond over skiing and being a part of this special family.”
“Both these images were taken on the same day in the same zone. I was out with my roommate Marie, and Ryan, a Revelstoke photographer in Rogers Pass. It was a beautiful sunny day after a storm and these two pictures evoke two completely different feelings despite being on the same day. I find this special because not all days can feel or look the same to everyone. Sometimes the mind is stormy, sometimes it’s sunny.”
P: Ryan Collinson
L: Rogers Pass, BC
S: Connery Lundin
P: Rick Sorensen
L: Portillo, Chile
S: Johan Jonnson
P: Frank Shine
L: Engelberg, Switzerland
S: Marcus Caston
P: Rick Sorensen
L: Engelberg, Switzerland
S: Marcus Caston
P: Frank Shine
L: Engelberg, Switzerland
S: Kaz Sosnkowski
P: Rick Sorensen
L: Mt. Baker, Washington
“Drew getting the payoff for getting out into the sidecountry at Alta the morning after it dumped!” - LC
S: Drew Gilmore P: Lee Cohen
L: Alta, Utah
Chugach Journals
Mac Keyser —
Chugach Mountains, April 2024
We were wrapping up our third day on the Eklutna Traverse with a quick evening ski. The warm, clear weather was making glacier travel easy, and our trip was going incredibly smoothly.
While the rest of the group was enjoying a relaxing evening in this beautiful setting, my brain was fully in photo mode: “Nicole, I need a left footer right there. Oh, and let the tips run downhill for an extra beat before a hard right footer–should keep you clear of your sluff.”
She nailed the left footer. And it was the last photo I took all trip.
Entering the next turn, she smashed into a piece of frozen debris under the snow, and her ski came free of her foot. The rest of us watched as the ski shot into a gully below, sped off a 1,200’ cliff, and tumbled to a glacier miles below. It was gone.
There was one huge day left—11,000’ of skiing, 4,000’+ of climbing, and close to 20 miles of distance—and now we were missing a ski and had to beat the impending heat slides in Crow Pass.
We came to Alaska with friends who we wanted to have fun with, and so far we’d had plenty. But we also chose this group because we had the skillsets needed if things went south. In that moment, a switch flipped in all of us—fun was over, time to get out safe.
Our exciting final day had become a series of problems we needed to solve. We made a plan, sorted out our jobs, and got to work that night. It was a brutal day but went without a hitch. I’ll be forever grateful for those childhood ski coaches who made us all train on one ski.
Whenever I see that picture now, all I can think about is that moment of mental reframing. My brain flipping immediately and completely from “How do I set up this picture?” To estimating water needs and running timelines for the next day’s travel—all while fumbling to get my lens cap back on. I may have come to take photos but sometimes the mountains change your plans.
S: Nicole Cordingley
P: Mac Keyser
L: Eklutna Traverse, Alaska
S: Anders Soyland
P: Nico Arias
L: Patagonia, Argentina
S: Joel Pollinger
P: Oskar Enander
L: Engelberg, Switzerland
SIMPLICITY
A Photo Essay from Japan
Words by Tom Peiffer
Photos by Guy Fattal
Featuring Chad Sayers and Tom Peiffer
There is no room for complexity in spontaneity, only a single action... To go. An action that leads us to the simple pleasures we chased in Japan: Food, friends, and above all, snow. The trip came together as I was already in Japan and everyone was still back at home across the Pacific. For me, every time I visit it feels so familiar but also brand new. The shock you experience has a comforting feeling to it, as if you’re being welcomed into a dream land. I know that, with every journey, memories are created and an adventure is had.
Everyone arrived in Sapporo, the city glowing with lights and signs as if it were a mini version of Tokyo in the middle of a winter storm. The snowflakes and wind drifts were lit up by the city lights as cars and people still filled the streets, creating a dystopian, eerie, yet captivating setting. We learned on the first night of the trip that one of the few challenges we were going to have was finding dinner... Hear me out. Guy, our photographer, abiding by his religion, can only have kosher diet, and there is a surprising amount of pork lard in everything, and of course, shellfish. Chad also really wanted bento boxes, but those are not actually that common. It always made for a good walk around wherever we were staying. Regardless, the excitement radiated throughout the group to get on snow and into the mountains.
Previous:
What makes a pow day so great? Sharing it with your friends. Shooting photo and video, you often ski your run alone. This one is one of the more memorable ones. In between snow going over my head, following Chad‘s cold smoke and seeing his red jacket come in and out of explosions of snow while the same thing was happening to me was just epic. Friends on a pow day.
This spread:
We were walking quietly through the forest. Without the trees, the sky and the snow melted together. I look up in between steps to realize we were standing at the base of what felt like the heart of the forest. This was one of those small moments where you remember every detail, the branches tree jutted out as long as the tree was tall. We just stopped at stared for a moment to appreciate the giant before heading to the top.
We traveled south down to Niseko, where we were going to spend the first leg of our trip. The conditions had been marginal the prior few days so the expectations were “open-minded,” but the excitement was still very high. A view that will never get old is looking back on the volcano Mt Yotei. We spent our first day skiing through three hallways with the peaceful giant looking over us in the background. We appreciated the blue sky all day while everyone shook the prior travel day out of their legs. We explored the sidecountry terrain of Niseko Hanazono and some Onsens in the area — Japanese hot springs.
In search of snow, we looked to the tucked away resort of Kiroro. During the days spent in Niseko, we were vigilantly scanning weather models and watching storms when Kiroro had caught our attention. Our first day there was one of those dream days where everything just went right. We managed to find open tree hallways stacked beside each other, and we were the only ones in the area all day. That was some of the deepest snow I’ve ever skied in my life — A true dream day. We made the most of storm chasing for two days. Our gear hardly dry and everyone happily tired
from skiing a lifetimes worth of snow, we headed back to Sapporo for the second leg of our trip.
The next big adventure of the trip had already began, and I didn’t even know it. After skiing the Kiroro forests all morning, as we are checking into a hotel in Sapporo later that night, I realized I had left my passport and my “never loose any of this” bag back in Niseko. Surprise, you cannot check into a hotel in Japan without your passport. As I set out, ready for hours of driving in the snowy night, my travels were cut short by a very icy road and a red light.
S: Chad Sayers
Facing:
Chad carves into the deep snowwith Mt Yotei looming like a silent guardian in the distance. The mountain watches as he skis down the slope, every movement fluid, as if the mountain and him are connected in a moment of pure, peaceful exhilaration.
This Page:
Perhaps one of my favorite moments from the whole trip. We were deep in the Kokusai backcountry. Peter and Guy stayed on a ridge adjacent to ChadandI.Itwasjustalongopenface with late afternoon light stretching over it. With good visibility ,the shot was simple. “Just ski it.” So, under little pressure and with time to my self, I just skied, enjoying the freedom of the open face.
Following:
Chad presses forward along the snow-covered highway, shadowed by the mountains hiding in the fog. The sign above points the way to Kutchan, a quiet reminder of civilization, though it feels distant in this white wilderness. Beneath snowbanks carved out by constant snow clearing. his steady rhythm contrasts the stillness of the landscape, moving through the silent expanse, embraced by winter’s vast solitude.
Pages 88-89:
The Hokkaido forests in a snow storm are peacefully silent. The tree hallways in Kiroro were endless, turn after turn, the snow never seemed to end.
I slowly slid into the back of a car and got into a small fender bender. Moments later, Japanese police are on the scene, and my Canadian driver’s license was not enough identification. Not understanding why I didn’t have my passport. They became suspicious and took me in for questioning. After hours of deliberation via translators in a small room, and spending the night at the local police station with Peter, we were out and ready to go ski the local hills outside of Sapporo.
Something I always look back on pleasantly is the ski culture in Hokkaido. At the ski hills, we saw busloads of young school kids and cosplay enthusiasts dressed to perfection. For everyone, skiing is a simple passion. The days spent venturing into the backcountry out of Kokusai were long but filled with many laughs and smiles as the snow continued to fly over our shoulders. At night, we would spend our time exploring Sapporo’s streets, eating food and having a cold beer while recounting the day.
For the final leg of our trip, we traveled up north to Asahikawa, where we hunted for road side pow skiing from the van. Exhausted from early mornings and long days in the mountains, we still remained determined to ski every bit of snow we could before the sun set. At night, the piercing-cold wind and snow storms would sweep through the city, and we would bunker in at a local ramen or dumpling restaurant for dinner, enjoying food and sake with the locals while we rested for the next day of adventures.
Something that always sticks with me from these trips when I reflect on them, are the people. Whether you shared a dinner table, a beer, a chairlift or even just a small interaction, there is nothing but kindness. Even with everything else being something of a dream, almost a perfect reality, its the memory of the kindness that carries the furthest. The opportunity to share a trip with your closest friends comes from the help of many. Some days came easier than others, but everyone made this trip possible. To those who’s paths we crossed, thank you.
S: Chad Sayers
S: Tom Peiffer
P: Rick Sorensen
L: Alta, UT
UP HILL
Excerpts from the tales of a badass road trip, led by badass women.
Words by Nicole Cordingley
Photos by Chloe Jimenez
Read the full story at Blizzard-Tecnica.com
Part One.
Castle Mountain, AB
Imagine this isn’t Madeline’s house?”
Chloe and I lounge, slumped into two oversized couches in the basement apartment of a ski-in/ski-out house. We followed our friend Madeline’s directions to get here: “It’s the basement suite of a pink-ish house. There are two sleds in the driveway. There isn’t exactly an address for my place... pretty end-of-the-road at Castle.” We don’t have cell service to double-check, either. A wall of luggage, ski boots, and touring gear sits between us and the door. We laugh, imagining anyone else walking into their home to be greeted by our great wall of over packing. It’s the delirious kind of laugh that comes after a 13-hour drive through a winter storm.
Chloe and I set out from Salt Lake City, in a truck packed to the gills, on a two-week road trip to visit four friends we know from our summers guiding on Idaho’s Middle Fork of the Salmon. Our friends lead adventurous and creative lives year-round, and we can’t wait to finally experience their winters instead of just hearing about it in the summer. The first stop is Castle Mountain Resort, Alberta: A massive ski area with a tiny operations team at the end of the road and the entry to a Provincial Park.
Madeline Martin is a river guide, ski patroller, and avalanche educator. She’s adventurous, ambitious, driven, kind, and fun. From June through September, you’ll find her guiding weeklong wilderness river trips on Idaho’s Middle Fork of the Salmon. She introduces people to wilderness living with care, knowledge, and grace. From late November through April, she’s a lead ski patroller at Castle Mountain in Alberta. On the side, Mads teaches youth avalanche education courses for Avalanche Canada and is preparing to start her Canadian Mountain guiding certifications.
The skiing is fantastic — Both on our tour and the next day, when we go cat-skiing with Castle Mountain Resort’s attached operation. Castle’s Powder Stagecoach offers big ski lines and effortless access, with the kind of hearty, happy guides you would expect in a one-bar town. The crew includes an ER doctor, a writer, and a graying golden retriever, all of whom clearly adore Mads.
Stanley, ID
Chloe and I headed south from Madeline’s at dawn into a ten-hour drive and a barrage of winter storm warnings. As anticipated, the weather came in hardest, heaviest, and white-out-est in the final stretch to Stanley— winding along the Salmon River.
We both spent a few summers based in Stanley, a picture-perfect town on the edge of the Sawtooths that regularly clocks in as the coldest place in the country—summer and winter. Stanley’s year-round population of 63 booms in the summer as river and mountain guides flood into this gateway to the wilderness. The dirt road town has three bars and is alive with live music every night of the summer.
We expect to find a desolate, if beautiful, scene in the winter. Instead, the local restaurant is full of familiar faces. Dogs play in the snow-packed streets. Our friends, Lara and Tara, run the brunch spot, the High Country Inn, with love, laughter, and life.
Lara Antonello lives by her own recipe. In no particular order, Lara has worked as a bear-aware advocate, forage analyst, backpacking guide, writer, avalanche educator, porter, and hut chef. After a few years of doing anything and everything to make ends meet in this little mountain town, she needed something different. Inspired by her Cuban heritage and great-grandmother’s recipes, she opened La Osera, her empanada
Tara Sutphen is a total badass, but she would never tell you that. The 5’3” fireball headed west to the University of Montana from New Jersey and quickly picked up a knack for the outdoors. Tara has subtly established herself as a fly-fishing guru on the Middle Fork, a fly fisherman’s mecca. She has managed Stanley’s fly fishing shop, lived out of a Surfside trailer to steelhead all winter, and put innumerable big-wig clients on big Middle Fork fish.
truck. As Lara says, “Feeding people is my love language.” Operating her own eatery just fits her: it combines her passions for community, conservation, and food.
This winter marks Tara’s return to skiing. She’s recently single and relishing the time and space to herself in the mountains. As her friend, it’s amazing to watch Tara be radiantly herself.
Part Three. Salmon, ID
I t could be 5 PM right now,” I mutter to a car clock reading 7:30 AM. Chloe and I are driving through yet another gray snowstorm, sleep-deprived, with drained legs and puffy under-eyes. We’re headed for Salmon, Idaho, to visit our good friend, Addy Gesteland.
We rolled up to Addy’s house at 8:44 AM. A wood-paneled great room with the kind of natural light a househunter dreams about welcomed us in. Addy caretakes this place for a man in his nineties, who has so clearly loved the place. It’s immaculate, all the way down to the pink-shag carpeted bathroom.
Addy throws her gear in, and we cruise to a touring spot with views over the river drainages in which we spend
our summers. The early wake-up was worth it—by the time we got skis on at 10 AM, it had turned into a goldenhour day. Clouds rich with depth and dimension roll through continuously, the sun never quite breaking through except in rays of soft golden light. We lap run after run of open-faced pow fields into a landscape I can’t stop looking at. The light inspires us. Perhaps in her photographer mind, Chloe asks, “Dawn patrol?” “It is supposed to be clear tomorrow…” Addy agrees.
I find time together on the skin track the best way to sync up with friends who live afar. “I’ve been substitute teaching. It feels like a great way to connect to the community.” Addy’s summers on the Middle Fork are based in Salmon. When her first
summer in Salmon came to a close, she couldn’t fathom returning to the hustle and bustle of Salt Lake City, so she decided to find a way to stay.
Salmon feels like home to Addy. She’s in her second winter here and just returned from a month-long Japan trip. She likes the flexibility to pursue big trips like this, so her work schedule is more at-will than most. She works at the town’s well-loved bakery, Odd Fellows’, when she’s around for a few months. In this town of 3,000, it feels like everyone stops in for a coffee or a loaf of bread. Addy likes the early mornings, partly because they give her the rest of the day to play and pursue other interests.
We set out on this trip with the hopes of connecting more deeply with our summertime friends’ lives. It’s been a success – Moving together in the mountains forms, forges, and reinforces our bonds. It has been so special to see the more balanced picture of Madeline, Tara, Lara, and Addy’s innovative and unique lives in the mountains.
We’re leaving this trip exhausted but inspired, and so grateful for these clever, captivating, and caring people in our lives. But at the moment I-15 bends into Salt Lake City, all we can think about is crawling into our own beds.
S: Joel Pollinger
P: Frank Shine
L: Engelberg, Switzerland
S: Claire Abbe, Connery Lundin
P: Rick Sorensen
L: Portillo, Chile
S: Johan Jonnson
P: Rick Sorensen
L: Engelberg, Switzerland
S: Marcus Caston
P: Oskar Enander
L: Engelberg, Switzerland
The Backside.
September 17th, 2024.
With thawing fingers, I’m writing this message from the Wildcat lot of Alta Ski Area. Through a frosty windshield, I look up at the first dusting of snow on what might be the best in-bounds run in the US (you know the one). Like a kid on Christmas, the very first thing I did when I woke up this morning — Before brushing my teeth, texting my girlfriend, or even taking a leak, was check the webcams. A wet cold front came barreling into the Wasatch front last night, and that could only mean one thing — There’s gold in them hills. I spent the duration of the workday in meetings, day dreaming of getting up to Alta. Not to ski — I’m not one of those that breaks out the rock sticks upon the first sight of snow — But rather, to get that same microdose of winter that reignites the addiction, year after year. There’s a certain smell in the air after the first snowfall that makes us skiers froth at the mouth, and each fall, after the bikes and boards and climbing gear are all put away, it serves as a reminder that winter is still what gets us going more than anything else. The anticipation of its arrival is just as exciting as it’s ever been, and it’s almost here. See you out there. -RS
