Dave riding on the Lightning Ridge cat at Powder Mountain on his way up for another lap.

Despite losing his way during his 20s, Dave Rosen never lost his love for skiing. Sober and motivated, Dave is determined to make up for lost time.

Dave reached out to me a couple years ago, and we agreed to meet at Powder Mountain, Utah one day to see if we had the chemistry to make a good working team.  I was blown away by Dave’s abilities as a skier, especially his eagerness to hit big jumps off piste, but even more so I was impressed by his professionalism and desire for perfection. That first day of skiing together went so well that we’re been working together regularly to create photo and video media.

Over time Dave told me how his addiction to alcohol had taken over his life, but how he’d been sober for several years after finding his way through Alcoholics Anonymous.  I thought he had a story worth sharing, but I didn’t want to simply shoot a “talking head” documentary.  I approached him with the idea of this video with a voiceover, no obvious interview, and the video stylistically being divided into two parts.

Dave Rosen at Powder Mountain

Dave embraced the concept and over several days we were able to get a lot of great shots in the park and off piste at Powder Mountain.  I don’t normally shoot in the park, so it was a fun challenge doing multiple laps shooting various angles in slow motion and with the camera stabilizer in an effort to best show Dave doing his thing.

We’re looking forward to this season, and we already have plans to shoot throughout Northern Utah.

Chris enjoying Park City Main Street during the summer.

Chris Morgan is a videographer based out of Ogden, Utah.  You can view more of his work at www.twosherpas.com and on his Instagram feed @chris_twosherpas

It was a late spring day, not a single Jerry in the way.
We went to Stevens Pass, with Kevin Curran who’s full of sass.
Scott Skis on the feet, looking mighty neat.

Sam Jackenthal is a kid who is blessed with his level of freestyle skiing. This is his video from the past season.

Sam was fifteen this season and absolutely killed it! Check out his season edit from 2015! Supported by: Scott, Atomic, Wend Wax.

Editor’s Note:

Dear Spread Stoke community, please take a moment and help one of the biggest stoke spreaders and passionate little shredders we know, Sam Jackenthal. Sam, a Park City local, was injured while training on the US Junior Ski Team in Australia a few days ago. He is currently in ICU at a Australian hospital with a brain injury. Support Sam and his family by sending positive vibes and visiting:

http://www.gofundme.com/samjackenthal

We first discovered Sam from his friend’s video of him inline rollerblading at Park City’s skatepark. We were instantly blown away with his talent and later came to learn he was an athlete at Team Park City United. Sam is an inspiration to our community.

After a spring-like February, we finally got that big storm we’ve all been craving! Here’s a few photos of me, and a quick edit filmed on the GoPro of me and my buddies getting some well deserved pow!!!

Looking back at some footage from Mammoth last week. More coming up very soon! Up to 36″ expected over the Sierra Crest and it is ON.

Skier: Tim Feess
Camera: GoPro Hero 3+ Black, 1440/48 fps
Tunes: 1612 – VulfPeck

In every ski bum’s life there comes a point in which you pack up what you have in the wheels you have and head west. Maybe you are joining friends, maybe leading the charge, maybe some are coming along to blaze the trail for the rest… Either way, it feels less like a conscious decision and more like the inevitable next step in life. “I just knew I had to be in the mountains”, is what I hear a lot. Your family may support it because they too see this unavoidable phase in your life. Chances are you owe it to your folks who put you in ski school at an early age, paid for lessons, gear and lift tickets, gas and food, and lodging to get the days in. Or, maybe because they made the same decision long before and they too see that inevitable move to the mountains and support the path. Either way, you are now on your own, doing minimum wage work, and dedicating all of your free time to the pursuit of powder.

There are also the lucky ones that grew up and never left the ski town, living their entire lives under the mountains they were born beneath, but the majority of “locals” traveled to their destination. Often times, coming from the east coast or a neighboring Mountain Time state to stay for a few months, years or seasons until they move on to follow a friend, a job, or a girl/guy to the next resort town down the I-15 or I-70. You hold a job (or two) for the winter season and a different gig for the summer season supporting the local tourist economy. This job gets you your season pass (screw health insurance, even babysitting jobs have the “free pass” benefit in this town!), but it requires all hands on deck for the Holidays. No returning home, no Turkey with the family, no presents under the familiar tree or ski socks in the embroidered stocking. You’re on duty. But that doesn’t mean you don’t have family and it doesn’t mean you don’t have holidays.

When I decided for the first time to chase powder instead of flying east to Buffalo, NY for the annual 4am Blackout Wednesday debauchery and way too hungover Thanksgiving feast, I found myself heading to Jackson, WY where the storms were lining up and the base was being set. I reached out through my powder Rolodex to find a couch or two for the week and got set up with the Mad Trees crew out of UVM. With 18″ coming down on the pass in the 13th hour of the drive from Mammoth (and another 4-8″ forecasted each night after), the stage was set.

5am wake up calls for 6am bootpacks and skins off the pass were standard so everyone could get to work by 9am. Pressure to make it back to open the demo shop pushed the tempo up and put the pressure on. I spent the days at Grand Targhee or on the Teton Pass with new groups to skin with and hitchhike with. At 3pm we would meet back up for another bootpack/skin off the pass to close out each day. Three intense days to kick off a big week leading up to Jackson Hole opener and a big storm on the horizon. 20″+ expected in the upper elevations Tuesday into Wednesday so we started planning an overnight hut trip (yes – in November) in Grand Teton National Park. The big storm came in warm and wet though, and shifted the plans as avalanche danger went off the charts. The intensity didn’t falter though as the crew built road gaps on the outskirts of town, ripping backflips under the lights of snowmobiles and stemming the appetite for powder with good times, friends, beers and a lot of karaoke (you can find them at The Virginian every Wednesday night). Ski tweaking at its finest.

Then, after a bluebird opener at Jackson Hole, we made 100lbs+ of food (including 2 20lb turkeys) to feed the 25 East Coasters and friends made along the way that chased a dream, followed a friend, made a decision, or just took that inevitable next step to head west. In the end, to head to a place with a job next to a big ass mountain with a shit ton of powder. A place where avalanches are real, where danger is tangible, where skill, knowledge, and balls are a must.

Thanksgiving with Mad Trees reminded me that a life of a ski bum and a holiday away from family doesn’t change the holiday at all. It just changes the family you surround yourself with. Ride on boys.

Mad Trees is a community of riders from the East Coast who are spread across the country for the epic pursuit of an epic mountain life. Follow them at @madtreesusa or madtrees.org as they shred Washington, Wyoming, Utah and Vermont.

The morning of December 8th, 2013. Before everything changed…

It’s Wednesday, December 11^th 2013, and I feel like I am waking up from a long nap. I open my eyes to bright lights and white walls.

It’s Wednesday, December 11^th 2013, and I feel like I am waking up from a long nap. I open my eyes to bright lights and white walls. Or maybe I’m not waking up, maybe I am entering into a dream. My first reaction is to speak, but I can find no voice. I recognize a friend in the room with me, it’s Kristin, a volunteer ski patroller. But what is she doing here in my dream? As consciousness comes flickering back in, I realize that I am hooked up to wires and tubes – a lot of them. There is a pad of paper and pen next to me on a bedside table, I take it and scribble in barely legible handwriting “Why are you here? Where am I?”

“Colin,” she says, “you were in a snowmobile accident. I am an Occupational Therapist, here at the University Hospital. This is Dan, he is a Physical Therapist. We are here to help you try to stand up.” I nod, trying to grasp the situation. “Alright, on the count of three we are going to help you up, and if you feel up to it we can take the four steps over to this chair.” I nod again. “Ok. 3….2….1….”

Now we are up. My body feels so foreign to me. This must be a dream. I place one foot in front of the other and walk the four marathon steps to the chair in this bright, white, sterile room. After getting situated, Kristin tells me that there are some people here that would like to see me.

Through a glass door, I see my parents walking towards me with tears swelling up in their eyes. I reach for my pen and paper again. “Hi Mom, Hi Dad,” gets splattered with a salty drop. Not many words are shared, but love fills the room. The tears keep running as they hold my hand and I squeeze theirs. I am exhausted. Kristin says that it is time to stand up and walk the marathon back to my bed. I close my eyes and leave this crazy dream, only to wake up again and realize that this dream is my new reality.

The next few days are a blur of doctors, nurses, and friends. As details begin to fill in I realize how lucky I am to have my mouth wired shut, to be seeing double, to be thinking, to be alive. As all of these people come in and out of this white-washed room, my pen and paper are always close. I write pages and pages of notes. I have so many questions; for the doctors I have questions about my patient care.

“Why can’t I speak?”

“We have preformed a tracheotomy, so you are breathing through your throat. The air from your lungs is not reaching your vocals cords to allow you to speak. We are planning on inserting a speaking valve in a couple of days.”

“How bad was it?”

“It’s hard to say really, the closest thing I can compare it to would be a gunshot wound to the face.”

For my parents I asked about my brother, girlfriend, and others in my home community, Harrisonburg Virginia, to make sure they were all aware of the situation. Of course, they had all been filled in and for some, travel arrangements were being made.

For my friends and fellow ski patrollers I ask, “What happened? Who was there?”

“You were in a snowmobile accident, on Sunday, December 8^th. Nobody really knows what exactly happened. You made a radio call saying that you were hurt and needed help. You were able to tell us where you were. “

“Wait, I called it in? What did I say? How?”

“Yeah, you sounded drunk, but the conversation between you and dispatch went something like this:

‘Help, I’m hurt.’

‘Who is this?’

‘1285.’

‘Where are you?’

‘On home run, near treasure hollow and waterfall.’”

I was blown away. It just didn’t make any sense.

My coworkers and friends continued to tell the story, “The scene was gruesome. Andy, Jessi, and Scott loaded you into a toboggan and skied you to the helicopter that was landing. Jessi skied the toboggan, as Andy rode with you holding pressure on your face. IVs were started at base patrol, and you were flown to the University of Utah hospital. When you reached the hospital you were given a blood transfusion, and a coma was induced.”

Prior to reconstruction.

I want to thank my good friends who saved my life while I was on the hill. They made incredibly tough calls to break protocol, which inevitably kept me alive. Had they backboarded me, per head injury protocol, I likely would have drown in my blood. I was loaded into the toboggan sitting up. As I held on, Andy sat in front of me holding pressure on my face. The air ambulance was waiting for me when I arrived at base patrol. Apparently, I was aware enough to ask who the helicopter was for, but not enough to realize it was mine. Once I arrived at base, a neonatal nurse successfully put an IV into a collapsing vein after several previous attempts were made by the paramedics.  I was loaded into the helicopter and flown to the University hospital sitting up, again breaking protocol and again, saving my life. My life is indebted to Scott, Jessi, Andy, the nurses and patrollers at base patrol, and to the flight crew for getting me to the highest level of care in about thirty minutes.

Friends were with me around the clock for the three days that I was asleep. They all waited anxiously on Tuesday, December 10^th while I underwent facial reconstruction. The two hour surgery that had been planned continued on for ten hours. Everything went smoothly as the surgeons pieced the left side of my face back together. Using ten plates they fused my face into a recognizable form. I was no longer “Trauma Jump,” I was Colin again. Another new feature was the feeding tube.

Post Reconstruction.

Only after hearing all of the facts of the accident could I begin to grasp how fortunate I am. I am alive. I was given three units of blood and two of plasma; I was told that few people survive that have to receive more than four units of blood. I can think. Once the surgery was done, the doctors realized how close I was to having a traumatic brain injury. The measurement was in millimeters. I can see. The impact was millimeters from my left eye. I can move. Solely based on mechanism of injury, a spinal cord injury would not have been unlikely.

I spent a total of 10 days in the hospital and was released on December 17^th. The hospital experience was an interesting one. I woke up from my “nap” on Wednesday, December 11^th. To see and write with my parents was so emotionally charged I will never forget it. I can’t imagine I was awake for much longer than fifteen minutes before I passed out again. The time in the ICU was a blur of painkillers, tubes, nurses, doctors, visitors, and a persistent beeping. You, my friends, are amazing. Alone time was limited because the amount of support was so vast. Thank you so much. You came with gifts, cheers, love and support. There were a couple deep, intimate conversations that I will remember forever. Until Friday, December 13^th all my conversations were written down, and I can still look back and reflect on them.

Communication.

Friday morning the doctors came in at 6am, performed the normal checks, asked how I was doing; then informed me that they would install a speaking valve into my trache. The thought of speaking again was so exciting. Getting the speaking valve in was more than a little irritating. But once it was in, it was amazing to hear sound coming from my mouth again. My voice didn’t sound like my own, my jaw being wired shut made speaking a unique experience, but nothing could take away from the ability to communicate once again.

The next couple of months continued to be a barrage of doctor appointments, physical therapy, surgeries, acupuncture and counseling.  Recovering from this injury felt like a full time job. For the first couple of weeks I could hardly move off of the couch, and I was sleeping twelve to fourteen hours a day.  It felt like I was always uncovering my feeding tube to take medicines, or to “eat.” As I regained strength and energy, my days became filled with doctor appointments. Between physical therapy three days a week, acupuncture once a week, or meeting with one of my five specialist doctors, I was busy healing. Mom and Dad were taxi drivers again, no longer were they driving me to and from school, the slopes, or soccer practice, but to all of my doctor’s appointments.

Since my injury, one year ago today, I have gone through four significant surgeries: The first major facial reconstruction on December 10^th, reconstructive eye on January 31^st, a jaw surgery on April 4^th, and facial plastic surgery on August 7^th. Each surgery came with it’s own challenges. One lesson that each surgery taught was patience, over and over again. As I got stronger, I got back to my life of adventuring in the mountains. Each surgery took me away from that and back into a state of recovery, a place I wanted to be done with. Besides the significant surgeries, a number of less significant procedures were necessary for healing. These included having my jaw un-wired and all the hardware involved in stabilizing my jaw removed. The tracheotomy and feeding tube were removed. And most recently, laser resurfacing procedures to reduce the scarring.

Hours and hours of physical therapy helped me to regain my strength and allowed me to exercise and release a few endorphins. Weekly acupuncture and yoga helped to keep my body and mind balanced. Acupuncture’s most important tangible benefit was helping the nerves in my face regenerate so I could regain feeling throughout my face. This is an ongoing process as nerves can only grow at a rate of one millimeter per day.

I am not telling my story to talk about tragedy. Understanding these lessons requires an understanding of the injuries I sustained. I am telling it to share some of the amazing lessons I learned through an incredible recovery. It is my hope that this story of overcoming hardship might help someone else find their silver lining. The expected recovery time for this type of trauma was three to eighteen months. I was able to be back at work, with limited hours, in three months, which amazed the doctors. I attribute this success to a few major factors: the incredible surgeon teams, hard work through physical therapy, and the support of my family and friends.

The love that surrounded me from friends and family near and far made, I believe, a huge impact. The way the Park City, UT and Harrisonburg, VA communities rose up to support my family and I was awe-inspiring. All of the support brought joyful tears to my eyes multiple times. I want to thank everyone that carried me in their minds through these challenges.

Wade Boggs, an all star baseball player once said, “Our lives are not determined by what happens to us but how we react to what happens, not by what life brings us but the attitude we bring to life.”

This quote sums up how I feel about attitude; our attitude towards something creates the mental space that it lives in. I believe that maintaining a positive attitude no matter the circumstance opens the space for the best possible outcomes to come forward. Positivity invites healing to happen. Meditation was another important aspect of recovering. I practiced different types of meditation to enhance the healing process. I would visualize white healing light entering the body and moving through the broken areas. I also envisioned nerves regenerating and finding their way to their previous locations in my face. I was lacking feeling and motor control. Through meditation and visualization, I was able to relearn to smile. Watching day after day, as my lip would slowly begin to turn up more and more, was a joyful process.

I am so grateful to be alive; to see; to feel; to touch; to speak; and to hear. These senses have been called “life’s extras.” Living without them has helped me to be mindful and thankful for the beauty of the world around me. From the time that I was cleared to do yoga again, I have dedicated a block of time every week to practice. Through this practice I have explored the body-mind connection more deeply. I truly appreciate the community of yogis and friends that I now belong to. They have been walking by my side since I made the commitment to myself to develop this practice.

My healing journey is not over yet. Looking down the road, it is likely that I will have at least one more surgery on my face and eye, two more laser treatments, continued orthodontic work, and more dental work once the orthodontics are finished. What’s still ahead of me is nothing compared to what I have already gone through. I look forward to the day when this injury is completely behind me. Completely is a relative term, there are some lasting deficits that I am coming to terms with. These are mild double-vision and lack of feeling in the left side of my face. There is still a chance that these could improve, but they have already improved more than originally expected.

I have been given a new lease on life and I am excited to see what it has in store. You’re likely to find me playing in the Wasatch on snow, dirt, and rock enjoying the mountain lifestyle that I love. This year’s theme will be a blur of trees, snow, open air, and cheers; not the hazed white wall, sterile breaths, and beeping machines that accentuated the last year. This injury will remain part of my life story. The scars will help to tell this chapter, but this life is mine to define.

Skiing at Mt. Hood, Or. Summer 2014, about six months post injury.

In California droughts are real. They happen. We are still in one of the longest in recent memory. As a skier, it’s hard to complain about lack of snow when much more is at stake when it comes to water supply.  Nevertheless, the last three snow seasons have been a disappointing whirlwind of high expectations and unfortunate outcomes. But winter always brings snow and when it comes, we rip. When it’s low-tide, we adapt. We get creative. We learn. When it snows 12″ of wet snow with 6″ of fresh on top for the first snowfall of the season?? We’re ready.

The Eastern Sierras got 12-18″ of snow above 9k this weekend. Not a ton by local standards BUT certainly enough for our first turns of the 2014-15 season. After a short skin up some familiar ridges (x4 laps) it was official…Winter is here. Now let’s PRAY FOR SNOW!

Ski/GoPro: Tim Feess(Gnarbox.com) & Ben Roman

Powder Hound: Sierra the dog

Tracks: Sam Smith ft. A$AP Rocky – I’m Not the Only One

Camera/Edit: GoPro HERO 3+ BLACK/GoPro Studios

Settings: 1440/48FPS

Skullcandy headphones are great and all, but I don’t really need them. What I do need is a ticket to a mountain with snow so I can practice my crossblocking, instead of sweating my male genitals (I’m a girl, it’s not literal) off in Palm Beach County, two hours north of Miami. Sure, living in “paradise” sounds fun, but this isn’t my kind of paradise. Tan lines aren’t the lines I want, and the biggest hill here is Dyre Park, a landfill. Instead of doing something productive such as skiing, I’ll seal myself away in my room, studying a ridiculous amount of advanced classes with the hope that I’ll get a scholarship to a mountain college where I can finally do what I’ve been dreaming about for five million years. I was born in the north to a FIS-racing mom and a beach-loving dad, and now I am where I am. I know it sounds selfish, ranting about everything I don’t have, but I just want the chance to feel winter for more than twelve days. I want to feel the frustration of having to put tire chains on my car, or forgetting my season pass at home and having to drive all the way back to get it. I don’t want to be a tourist who just sees the nice side of winter, I want to feel it all. And I can’t.

So this whole story has been about how boo hoo, girl can’t go skiing. Other people have bigger issues. Other people can’t ski, even if they live on a mountain. This Stephanie person obviously didn’t grasp the concept of overcoming obstacles.

But I have. I’ve come this far in my pursuit of skiing, and I will not be stopped. I will not be stopped by my classmates, who think that I’m too obsessed and I’ll never get anywhere. I will not be stopped by some people in my family, on both maternal and paternal sides, who think it’s a waste of my time. I will not be stopped by financial issues, which get in the way of almost everything since my mom found out that she has a problem that starts with c and rhymes with dancer. I will not be stopped by society, which says that I’m too young to know what I really want, that I should take an ordinary path in life, that it’s too late for me to develop the skills needed to go professional. I have not been stopped, and I will not be stopped, because I have pushed too hard and worked against the odds for too long to give up now. I will be the girl from Florida, with little money, little support, and big dreams that makes it. Because if my mom managed to go skiing in between chemo sessions, and she stands behind me, then I can definitely do what I love. I always have been my mother’s daughter.

In 2006, everything changed. It all changed for the positive but I never thought this 180-Safety grab would be the last time I ever hit a jump and land successful on my skis. The morning after this shot, I over shot a step-up jump at Mammoth Mountain, going 130ft on 100ft jump. The resultant impact burst-fractured my T12 vertebrae into my spine, causing incomplete paralysis of my lower extremities.

This accident fueled the start of High Fives Foundation. I encourage everyone to check out the Foundation and the program services we offer: www.highfivesfoundation.org

The winter of 13-14 was looking much like the last 2 seasons by the time March rolled around, and the Janky Crew was faced with another winter of drought. Low snow totals, high pressure systems and high temperatures left them with few options, and building a jump in the ample corn snow seemed like the right move. Luckily Tim Kelliher had spotted a likely location along the south-facing flank of Castle Peak off of I-80 about an hour hike from Boreal, and the idea was born – build a step-up jump and they will come. We spent 1 day building it and another 2 days sessioning it into the last minutes of twilight with a whole bunch of dudes.

Song– Glass Animals – Gooey [soundcloud.com/glassanimals]

The first installment of my personal webisode series, The White Room. It was a fun, but less than optimal winter in Tahoe this season. Episode 1 is a testament to the perseverance and positive attitude that can turn a bad winter into a good one. A big thanks to everyone that helped make this happen, especially my sponsors (Praxis Skis, Shred Ready Helmets, Janky Films). Enjoy!

This video was shot at Squaw Valley, Alpine Meadows, Alta, Jackson Hole, Teton Pass, Donner Pass, and the North Tahoe backcountry.

When most people think of big ski competitions, they think of the X Games or perhaps the FreeRide World Tour.  But there is one that you probably have not seen or heard of which has an untouchable jump line. It involves lots of people, onesies, and tons of Franks.  When speaking of closing day at Alta, everyone knows about the notorious High Boy celebration which consists of a gapper-type day of skiing and a huge celebration on one of the peaks at the end of the day.

High Boy

Besides shredding the deep pow, this is usually one of the most fun days of the year! The locals have their own competition throughout the day, this year being The 4th 2nd Annual Frank Ski Competition.  Doesn’t sound like it makes sense, but that’s what makes it great.  Being sheltered almost to the top of Wildcat lift, many people may not even know this is going on. But with one ride up is impossible to miss the hundreds of people dressed up in onesies and every ski costume you could imagine.   This competition was the ultimate definition of people being stoked on another year of skiing and the perfect pregame to High Boy.  I don’t believe this will be taking place again until next year, but if you have never been to High Boy and you have one more chance it should not be missed.  Alta will be running it’s lifts one more time this weekend! So strap up those skis, get your costume, and get up there Sunday!

4th 2nd Annual Franks spectator crowd

Spring skiing is in full effect here in Utah. Watch Erik Naess and Ryan Wyble lay down some hot laps in the heat at I Ride Park City.

Follow the crew on Instagram:

@sagaouterwear
@naesserik
@ryangramswell
@evanheathvisual
@irideparkcity
#sagafam

After failing numerous times to grab the headlining sponsor, Monster Energy, Steve decides to quit skiing. But with just the right motivation from one of his idols Steve finds his way again.

We are mountain people. Born in the alpine, our souls soar with the eagles and our hearts are clear and run with the purpose of cascading creeks. For us, the season of winter is a gift, blanketing everything anew like a canvas, which calls for an interaction with the slopes of the world.

In winter, snow is our purpose for existence. Like the bubbling stream, it is our source of water- our source of life. The health of our forests, and our happiness is intertwined with it. Driven by stories of the mythical “Deep Snow Awesomeness!” of Niseko Japan, The Life Cosmic Project went in search of the wonderful. What we discovered was a fountain of youth, a prayer answered endlessly.

This film is our totem to that spirit.

About the Flow Riders:

Aaron Lebowitz  created The Life Cosmic Project as a collective of mindful individuals focused on our relationship with the elements. His favorite medium is the snowboard, of which he explores an intimate connection with mountains. His lines are a conscious calligraphy upon the snow-covered slopes.

Lefteri Alexander (Alx) is a third generation photographer and teacher of consciousness through a multidisciplinary and dimensional lens, transcends the literal and allegorical, weaving spiritual exegesis into the practice of spiritus itself, the thread of the many garments into one.

We wish to thank Niseko United for the hospitality and plenty of fresh “Japow” for us to explore. Thank you to Taro Tamai of Gentemstick Snowsurf Designs for sharing with us the consciousness of creating a life honoring our relationship with nature through the lens of snowboarding. Special thanks to Sweetgrass Productions for inspiring our own dreams with their film Signatures 4 years ago.

Respect to the spirits of the snow, mountains, and forests of Japan. We hold you in reverence.

And to everyone we met along the way…We carry you in our hearts- Thank you.

The Life Cosmic Project is dedicated to the exploration, cultivation, and perpetuation of “Stoke!” as a virtue by which happiness is experienced and shared.

http://www.lifecosmic.com/
https://www.facebook.com/lifecosmicproject

Are you finding yoga on your skiing excursions!?  The temperature drops, the weather leaves you with no visibility, and windburn even with a face mask on, yet I still find myself going outside to go skiing. Even in the wrath of Mother Nature I find myself wanting to get closer to her, stand strong against her howl, just to make myself  believe I can still have an enjoyable time.

It was brought to my attention last week in a yoga class at The Shop in Park City, UT that life is one big contradiction and is made up of a bunch of smaller contradictions. For example, I find that confronting weather head on (with the proper amount of clothing, of course) just to engage ourselves in a sport that may or may not bring you moments of ecstasy is a contradiction to what our body wants; correct me if I’m wrong.  I find that enduring a cold sweat on a 45 min hike to experience a 15 min downhill ride through crusty rocky slabs, then tell yourself and your friends “today was awesome” is a contradiction within a contradiction (hence the really low snow accumulation in Park City, right now.) I find that skiing at a resort to experience the great outdoors to be a huge contradiction. However many contradictions we face day-to-day, they are all worth the experience, these contradictions bring harmony and balance to our lives.

So, I suggest attacking this experience with a fierce pose! So stand up tall, all four corners of your feet press into the ground, legs muscles engaged, side bodies long as you reach your hands, palms facing towards one another towards the sky of opportunity, where there is no limit. Then keeping your back flat slightly bend your knees and reach your arms and torso out in front, coming to a table top. So that your body is an upside down L. Feel your back engaged, your core engaged, your buttocks, and shoulders engaged. Relax your brow and just feel how STRONG you are! Next bend your knees even more and touch your finger tips to the ground, and from here keeping your legs bent where they are,  sweep your arms to the sky and notice your chest lifting as well. Your core is engaged your hamstrings and gluteus all equally engaged. Staying in this posture for a few breathes, maybe even 10, is strengthening fascia around your joints and larger muscles to protect you from any bumps, stumps or sluff that you are going to encounter on your next ski run! Now grab your skis, boots, jacket, and poles and attack those slopes with your fiercest pose, and save the “back seat” for the chair lift!

It’s days like this in Tahoe that I’m very grateful I have been able to put together quite an adept camera kit for a trip like I’m on.

For those that don’t/may not/probably don’t care, I’m in Tahoe for the season. No work. Just play.

Truth be told I probably should have headed to Colorado, but the budget didn’t really allow for it and I really did land on my feet with the place we’ve got here in Tahoe.

Not much research was done into snowfalls – I just remember seeing photos of the place as a kid and always wanting to go.

That being said, I’m sure some of you are aware, we’ve not been the luckiest when it has come to snowfall. It’s days (and in our case weeks) like this that really test people’s patience for one, but I’ve also found it’s a test of character. On every lift there is someone complaining about the thin cover, the lack of snow fall, the constant stretch of bluebird days. How they are getting spring conditions through December. (We have, I’ve been rocking a hoodie, tee and no leg thermals for over a week now!)

However! While the runs are full of people who should NOT be on them, before you attack me about how pompous that sounds, take a minute to hear me out. I understand it’s holiday season and crowds can be frustrating (waiting in a 35 minute lift line at Northstar wasn’t fun) but I cannot understand families that bring their children, or groups of tourists who insist on embarking on intermediate and advanced terrain, not only when there is snow, but when there is a distinct lack of it, making things even more difficult when they are unable to dodge rocks, stumps etc. Pile-ups hurt people. That’s the part I don’t appreciate.

In any case, this is about stoke, at the end of the day. So back on track.

The camera kit has been a work in progress over the last few years once I made the switch from Nikon over to Canon. And it’s times like this when I can get to the very well maintained parks around the area and satisfy the trigger finger in me.

I love shooting snowboarding, I could sit in the parks and shoot ALL day and be just as happy as if I had ridden a couple of feet of powder. You can be out there all day and all it takes is one shot to make it all worthwhile.

That was the case at Northstar.

With huge crowds and ordinary cover, after a few runs with my brother and a couple of mates I decided to head down pinball to shoot the big jump line and make my way down to the jib features.

While I purchased my new camera a while before I made the trip over here, I hadn’t really had a decent time to play with the shutter speed capabilities of the EOS 1DX.

This skier, who’s name I am not aware of, made my day with this grabbed 900.

The shot was taken through the 8-15mm F4L Fisheye and put together on photoshop. I actually had to remove about 6 or 7 frames to make the sequence easier on the eye.

It’s stretches of weather like this that I really love getting out and making the absolute most of it and for me, that means lugging around many extra KGs (or pounds, for those north of the equator on a regular basis) of camera gear to get the right shot.

See, I don’t mind the sunny days. I can deal with the crowds as long as it’s just me getting to and from where I’m shooting, which is normally only a couple of runs a day. And when a rider or skier can come through a good sized booter and whip out something as impressive as this, I could shoot all day.

So thank you, unknown skier, and in return, I can share this with everyone.

Stoked!

Instagram: @grahamgee

Web: www.grahamgee.com

I used to love climbing mountains, well before I finally bought myself some backcountry ski gears… Yes, gears. Binders, skis, skins, and all the other life saving trinkets that are critical to being a responsible adventurer. I had been wanting to climb Mount Whitney for years and when the moment arrived that timing and friends could go, on a year of epic pow days, we left for the spring climb. Two of us had skis. 3 others had only snowshoes. Sad day for them.

Skiing has a place in my heart that in not different from the feel you get when you sit by a warm fire with drinks and friends. Being able to ski this mountain was like being doped up on a significant amount of contraband. While we had a long, dry approach and super heavy bags full of camp, food, crampons, skis, boots, ice axes, poles, and other necessary items, we soon hit the snow and so did our skis. With that, the skis moved with more speed and agility uphill than our snowshoeing buddies. Yes! Winning!

Anyhow, we all cruised up starting from 4,000 feet to camp at Upper Boy Scout lake 7,000 feet higher for camp. The top spot still loomed 3,500 feet higher.

There’s something about mountain ascents in the early hours of the day when all is dark except for the small trains of headlamps glowing heavenward. It reminded me that I was part of something bigger in life and yet, part of a small group of people who live for the moment.

We clipped crampons to ski boots because the snow was like Styrofoam and the angle like the side of a building, but skis were still along for the ride. We parked our skis and poles at 13,000 feet and continued up the coulior to the summit. We summitted about 11 am that day. And standing at the summit near the USGS post marker I realized one dream: a winter ascent and one that I would be able to ski down. The skiing was fast; snow was safe and I was skiing through perfect corn, riding through dreams and all the moments I live for.

Life, with all its constraints and useless blunderings, is the collective of all these moments and there is nothing better. It’s pow days and sick pow days, big mountain backcountry days, and base camps that keep my spirit alive. Go ski a big mountain.

It’s 11:00 AM at the half-pipe in Park City Mountain Resort and the air is fraught with a particularly spiteful wind chill. The day is dark and gray, the sun unable to break free from beneath a heavy blanket of ominous clouds. But Olympic hopeful Kimmy Sharp doesn’t pay mind to that. Nor does she stress that she is almost halfway through her training window for the day – in a few hours she will run home just long enough to grab dinner and change for the dinner shift at Café Terigo, a local Park City restaurant. The patrons who came in near close last night do not weigh on her mind, nor does the fact that this grueling schedule will repeat for the next five days, for the next few months, barring competition and travel days.

Instead, the 24-year-old contender replays pivotal parts of the run she just performed,making mental notes of the points in need of cleaner execution. She skis toward her coach and breaks just long enough to acknowledge shared sentiments regarding her last trial. She turns her gaze toward the half-pipe, then to the lift. Then, as though pressing “play” were analogous to pushing “reset”, she clicks on her iPod to a tune by The Lumineers and skis off.

The short exchange between coach and athlete mirrors the fact that most things between the team can be left unsaid (which is not to suggest that it often does). It could be that the duo has forty seasons of ski experience between them, over half of which have been spent in competitive fashion. But the athlete-coach bond goes beyond mere know-how: Kimberly “Kim Kim” Sharp and her coach Jessica “Jigs” Sharp are twin sisters with their sights set on one inspiringly leviathan goal: qualify for the 2014 Winter Olympics in Sochi, Russia. If the road to hell is paved with good intentions then both athlete and coach understand that intent alone will not get them to Sochi; they exercise this understanding by training six days a week and waiting tables full time at Café Terigo, where they have worked since the age of 15, to fund the financial costs of such a dream.

The dream can be traced to the girls’ first day on skis at the age of two. Kimmy and Jessie joined the Park City Freestyle Team when they were nine-years-old and “fell in love with skiing even more.” By ten, they were competing in moguls and half-pipe. During their teen years, Jessie sustained multiple serious injuries that eventually ended her competition career. “Seeing her go through those hard times taught me to be grateful every day that I was able to be on the ski hill doing what I truly love,” reflects Kimmy on RallyMe, a crowdfunding site designed for athletes. After enduring major injuries to her right knee and shoulder, Kimmy made the decision to end her mogul skiing career in order to focus all of her attention on becoming a professional half-pipe skier. In a serendipitous case of the universe aligning with budding dreams, the Winter Olympics came in full force to Park City in 2002 for several ski and snowboard events.

The duo’s display of focus and determination does not mean they are one-dimensional. Despite their demanding timetable, Kimmy and Jessie enjoy preparing home cooked meals for family and friends, hiking with their husky mixes Kweli and Maya, painting, and surfing when their travels allow. It comes as no surprise, then, that their support system is equally as rich. It is not enough to say that Jessie and Kimmy are part of a tightly-knit family; in the Sharp household, lives and dreams are interwoven. Dad Timothy “Razor” Sharp is credited with teaching the girls to ski. The sisters recall mom Liz Sharp’s commitment to supporting their young ambition – driving or flying to competitions all over the country, even going so far as to helping the girls bargain with school to allow them absences for said events. Their older sister Katie is a kinesiologist for the Naval Medical Center and lends support from San Diego by way of fitness regimens and injury advice.

“Family,” as the Sharps understand it, is not confined to blood relations. Beyond the nuclear unit is a colorful cast of local advocates. For one, management at Terigo has always allowed the girls to take off during competition season, despite the fact that their leaves of absence coincide with the resort town’s peak dates for tourism – otherwise considered the best time of year to make money in the restaurant industry. Fortunately, Jessie interjects with signature Sharp gratitude, they are given shifts to earn “a couple bucks for the next trip” whenever they touch home for days at a time. Other supporters include former Park City Freestyle coaches Travis Perkins, Mick Berry, and Chris Marchetti, and longtime friends made on and off the ski hill.

Moral support, however, is one thing – gear, competition fees, and travel costs require a more tangible type. Aside from the recent endeavor at RallyMe, managing and waiting tables at Terigo must cover what a lack of sponsorships does not. Kimmy is thankful for sponsorships from local ski shop Cole Sport and neighboring Salt Lake City company Saga Outerwear, but unlike many athletes with visions of Olympic gold, she does not sport the Fortune 500.

One thing sure to adorn Team Sharp is a decal reading “Sarah.” As far as heroes go, Jessie and Kimmy would be quick to name Sarah Burke, the Canadian superpipe pioneer and six-time X Games gold medalist. Prior to her passing in 2012 following a training accident, Burke successfully lobbied the International Olympic Committee to have freesking events added to the program for the upcoming Games. Other shared heroes include Razor, who served as a Naval helicopter pilot during the Vietnam War, fallen freestyle skiers Shane McConkey and Jeret “Speedy” Peterson, and Martin Luther King, Jr. It is the lot of heroes you would expect from such shining examples of All-American grit.

Kimmy cites not only her successes and podium appearances, but also the downfalls and major injuries as testament to her commitment at being the best freeskier in the world. Triumphant demonstrations of this commitment include First Places at the Junior World Championships in 2007 and the Aspen Open in 2011, as well as dozens of podiums in North American Cups and World Cups. Kimmy and Jessie fledge beyond hoping for the honor to represent the U.S. on history’s most renowned global stage – they work for it. They will spend much of December in Colorado continuing to train and competing in the Dew Tour and the first of three U.S. Freeskiing Grand Prix, an Olympic qualifying event. January will present Grand Prix events in Northstar, California and a final U.S.-only event in their hometown. “If you do well there, you basically stamp your ticket to Russia,” Kimmy explained in an interview by the Park Record, a local newspaper. For the sisters, it is not about celebrity but about celebrating a sport that has shaped their lives.

Even on a day such as this one, one that does not have the instant allure of a bluebird day, one that follows a long night’s work and precedes the same, the girls are more than happy to wake up early to head to the hill – “just as we have our whole lives,” says Jessie, smiling. While we do not always have the luxury of knowing where a road ends, Kimmy and Jessie intend to find out just how far the road to Sochi will take them. They do it for each other and for their families, their hometown and their country, and to push their beloved sport for childhood ski heroes beyond the grave. They will do so one lift – and one shift – at a time, and they will do so together.

Take part in Kimmy’s story by spreading the word and donating to her RallyMe page: https://www.rallyme.com/rallies/304