I wanted go far this summer, ski the untried countries. But it was not to be, because work. And because Peru was cancelled.
I had my finger on the button to book tickets, but called first. Unfortunately, the Pastoruri Glacier, located at the Parque Nacional Huascarán at an altitude of five kilometres, is suffering from global warming. They used to have skiing on the glacier, but it is melting so fast that they do everything to try and extend its remaining life. So skiing is no longer allowed.
Oh well. I'm taking a few days off to tour around European summer ski areas, starting with a weekend with Tero at Hintertux, Austria. We've just arrived, and it is raining, but I'm hoping the rain means fresh snow in tomorrow's sunny day!
I can also recommend the Neuhintertux hotel, which among other things provides backpacks for all customers in case they want to go hiking. Nice touch! And now I do want to go hiking, then sauna, so talk to you later!
The unknowns, the underrated, the undiscovered: Everyone knows those people. The local kid who skis better than you, your mom, your brother-in-law, your best friend from high school and most pros. They are the ones that make you wonder how the whole system works. How is it that someone that good isn’t gracing the cover of every magazine, getting the ending part of every ski movie, or at the very least just getting paid to ski? Maybe it’s because there’s no singular path to “going pro," no
There's a passage in William Strunk's seminal 1918 writing style guide book that basically breaks down to "be pithy." That is, don't use more words than absolutely necessary to get across a concept. I don't know if Jared Dalen ever read the book, but if you were looking for the most concise and forceful video explanation of how not to ski the Eagle's Nest at Squaw Valley, he's apparently up to the task. With the insane amount of snow Squaw and California resorts have received in the
“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