Those cool breeze slapping across your face, the white powder whipping all through the air. The sweet sound of your ratchets clicking, Ear buds in and are jamming’, slip on your gloves and goggles. Then you get up, look around, its go time.

There’s that cool breeze again, the sound of my freshly tuned board thrashing through the perfectly groomed curator. There isn’t anything like the first ride of the season. I saw the first jump. As I approached the jump, the only thing I’ve been thinking about all summer is my big, tweaked out stale fishes, and since everyone on the chairlift is watching , you have to show off a little bit. So there I go, boom, stuck my stale fish no problem. Next jump pops up. Lost for tricks, I just wing it. I ended up throwing a gnarly slow-mo 360. Thank god I landed it, I hate when people watch me fall.

I get to the bottom of the hill and hop on the north chairlift there’s been one thing I’ve been itching to get my hands on. The white stuff, God’s gift, the floater, pow, the best thing ever, powder, my drug. So I get to the top of the hill an get everything all set up again. I hop in an just kinda float down the hill to where the sign says “Caution, Closed Area.” I hop in and all I see is powder. Hooked to it like it’s an addictive drug, I stayed there the rest of the day.

This is the feeling I get at the beginning of every season. It’s my place of freedom. My place to relax. My place to think. My place to escape the world. My paradise. When I’m there, nothing else matters. Just me and my board.