Plus, a hilarious video on that very subject: "paramarking."
There a lot of purist telemark skiers out there, the kind who drop their knee all the way to the ground no matter how tired their quads are or how hollow and log-riddled the powder. And I respect those people, but sometimes, even the best telemark skiers have to stand up tall and make alpine turns. And I'd say there's nothing wrong with that. Like earlier this week, when a few friends and I ventured into an out-the-gates chute at Colorado's A-Basin. We knew it was early-season conditions, but we wanted to poke around and see if we could find any powder stashes.
Breaking news: Subarus aren’t the only vehicles that’ll get you around the mountains.
1, 2, 3. I haven’t even made it to the highway yet.
I’m on my way to work, and I’m counting cars—Subarus, to be exact. My morning commute from Denver to the Skiing Magazine office in Boulder takes about 35 minutes when the traffic isn’t bad. It’s a pretty popular morning route; I hit two major highways and a few main roads near downtown Boulder. Point is, I see a bunch of cars. At least I had a good sample size for my junk-science experiment.
Sugarloaf is the only resort open in the East, and get this: They have a Winter Storm Watch in effect for Tuesday-Wednesday with up to nine inches of snow possible. They're currently running the SuperQuad and Spillway East chairs, but check here for the latest lift status.
You may not think of planning your ski vacation to Maine, but here are eight good reasons why you should.
If you’re planning a ski trip, Maine may not seem equivalent to say, Chamonix or Utah, but don't starve Maine of its natural treasures. I promise I don’t work for the Maine Tourism Bureau; after attending college in Maine, I became incredibly fond of this rural state. Yes, there is only one major city, and yes, there is only one big highway, but there are 17 million acres of trees. Need more reasons to visit? Here are eight.
1. Go to Frenchman Tier Harbor. This is where the sunrise first touches the United States.
I’m at the Plume Saloon, a gritty bar off Colorado’s I-70, not far from Loveland Ski Area. I’ve just taken my first five runs of the winter season. It’s time to celebrate. Although it’s only October, traces of snow linger on the sidewalk outside. The bartender has waist-long dreads and a couple tattoos. “What can I get you?” he asks.