Sign In:

×

Last Step!

Please enter your public display name and a secure password.

Plan to post in the forums? Change your default forum handle here!

×
×

Bozeman Montana Lost And Found Premiere

I'd like to personally thank every one of the nearly 2000 people that showed up in Bozeman, MT for TGR's Lost and Found premiere last Thursday night for reminding me why I ski.  The night can be described in three words that interestingly enough start with R...Rowdy, Real and Relieving. 

Loyal ski movie enthusiasts with beer filled backpacks lined up early and stretched the length of a football field out of the Emerson Theater into a torrential downpour that didn't hinder them a bit.  From promoters to security guards, families to students, the true mountain vibe in Bozeman was as good as it gets.  People crowd surfed, engaged in drunken debauchery, jumped on stage rambling about the 'passion for skiing',  and I think it was the first time I've seen a ski crowd do 'the wave'.

For me it was a much needed refresher that young people are still hungry for the same thing I am; fresh powder and friends to share it with. It's rare these days, but in the same way an early tram car can change 100 strangers into best friends for a moment, sometimes a ski movie has the power to transform a thousand individuals into a single unit of camaraderie in celebration of the one thing that makes them all the same- their collective love for snow. It's the only place, outside of a church, where I've witnessed total strangers turn to the row behind them and hug. Whether it was inspired by sheer stoke or just massive amounts of alcohol we may never know.

For most of us outside the Pacific Northwest, last season was a tough one. I recently returned from the IF3 ski movie premieres in Montreal, where the loudest cheers came for the rail segments.  The Bozeman crowd reminded me that the love and search for powder snow,  weightlessness, and high fives at the bottom are still alive and well regardless if we actually get the powder we dream about,  My gratitude for being part of something bigger than myself and having the opportunity to share the experience goes deep, just like the snow's going to be this winter!  Thanks Rossignol, TGR and everyone in-between who loves it like I do.  In the words of Kye Peterson last week at IF3, 'Fuck roller blading, ski pow'.  Yeah!

~ Lynsey





































Play
READ THE STORY
How To Name Your Kid To Become A Pro Ripper
Up Next Ski

Give your kids the right name and they're bound to become pros . . .

Give your kids the right name and they're bound to become pros . . .

I give up. I admit defeat. After twenty-two years I realize that my dream of becoming a pro skier is over. Never will I grace the cover of Powder Mag and you will definitely not see me in a segment of Almost Ablaze. That’s fine—life has other plans for me. As I reflect back on why this happened I have to place the blame on two people: my mom and dad. Not because they didn’t sign me up for ski school or drive me up to the mountains of New England each winter, but because they named me

Play
READ THE STORY
What it Takes to Be the Fastest Ski Gang in Aspen
Up Next Ski

What it Takes to Be the Fastest Ski Gang in Aspen

What it Takes to Be the Fastest Ski Gang in Aspen

What started as a few 10-year old Aspen ski racers toying around and causing no good in their little ski gang deemed ‘The Stallions,’ would later evolve into a 15-member crew of ripping skiers. The group's name would change to something more representative of their ideals, a name set in place to pay homage to the late Hunter S. Thompson and his adopted slogan while running for Sheriff of Aspen and Pitkin County–“Freak Power.” While the esteemed journalist would lose the election he

Play
READ THE STORY
Revisiting Bill Briggs’ First Descent of the Grand and His Enduring Legacy
Up Next Gear & Tech

Revisiting Bill Briggs’ First Descent of the Grand and His Enduring Legacy

Revisiting Bill Briggs’ First Descent of the Grand and His Enduring Legacy

“Duck!” my partner, Ben, told me as he tightened the rope that connected us. I buried my head into my chest as a waterfall of heavy, cold snow cascaded around me. It collected everywhere there was space: in between my sunglasses, down my jacket, and in my helmet.  "Is this what a river rock feels like as water flows undisturbed by its presence?” I thought to myself as I waited for it to end.My existence on this wall of ice on the final pitch of the Chevy Couloir on the Grand Teton was