The tracks are bold.
Thats the only word that truly describes them.
Theyre confident, fluid, arcing without pause.
More big turns, shifting into a straight line into the meadow.
Theyre the only marks in a decidedly proper line.
But somebody dropped these perfect tracks on them in the second week of November.
Sure, its been a great November.
Sure, theres more than a meter of snow on north faces.
But still, those are the kind of tracks most of us work up to leaving through a season.
Theyre so confident, so fluid, so bold.
Theyre not November tracks.
We marvel as we keep skinning.
None of us could have left those tracks.
Or maybe some of uscouldhave, but none of us would.
At our summit we pause and discuss our own line choice.
Its snowed a lot, but things are stable.
And those bold tracks look really, really good.
So I advocate to step things up a little.
A short, but aesthetic couloir, that probably hasnt been skied yet this year is calling my name.
The group sizes it up from the top.
We discuss a lot of options, run a lot of scenarios.
This group nearly over-communicates.
Thats why I ski with these people.
The cacophony of perspectives, harmonizing into one unanimous decision makes me feel safer, more confident.
It helps cover my blind spots.
As I adjust my gloves, a lone skier skins up to us.
We let him drop ahead of us.
He drops, fluid, fast turns, barely slowing in each apex.
No helmet, just a golf visor.
Hes gone, into and out of the danger zone before any of us has time to worry.
I laugh as I get back into my ski cut mindset.
But those are rookie numbers in comparison to this guy.
I make the ski cut anyway.
I giggle a little, adjust my boot, tell my group Im dropping.
The first time I skied this line, it was with a local legend.
One of those guys who creates ski culture simply by existing.
He asked me if I had any experience with sluff management.
Today though, nothing moves.
I ski as fluidly as I can, inspired by the tracks already in the line.
Pull over in the little cave in the safe zone, wave my friends through.
He makes one turn where Id probably milk three.
I didnt recognize him, but old timers nod at my description, are unsurprised by his feats.
Thats not how I ski.
Thats not really how I want to ski.
I need a group, or at least a partner.
I dont like to ski most things solo, let alone big lines.
My work on our SAR team has made me hyper-aware of the consequences, probably to a fault.
If my wife skied like that routinely, she wouldnt be my wife.
If my partners did the same, they probably wouldnt be my ski partners for long.
Thats not what I want from skiing.
But Im so thankful, and proud, that there are folks there that express themselves in this way.
Ive skied with plenty of folks who wanted to be local legends.
Folks who thought that this next GoPro clip would make them the talk of every ski town bar.
There are plenty of people out there who want to be thought of as badass skiers.
Often, wanting to make an impact on the scene turns into a self-defeating prophecy.
I dont think footage from any of those lines we saw will make it to social media.
Thats not the point for some folks.
Some people just want to ski, hard.
Some people dont need the external validation and all the heuristics that come with it.
Maybe the guy who left those tracks is an asshole.
Maybe Id enjoy his company and wed have a great conversation.
Maybe he consistently makes scary decisions that would leave me shaken and anxious.
Maybe, maybe, maybe.
What I do know is that hes a great skier.
Some people are good at taking photos.
Some people put their lives into understanding snow science.
Some people are gifted storytellers who exude skiing wherever they go.
And some people leave bold tracks.
