photos: Peter Matlashewski
Riding the Horstman glacier this year is a bit of an ethical project.
Their job is to prolong the summer season as far as possible.
It sort of begs the question whether thats really worth the trouble.
The sections of dirty blue ice visible on the glacier are like huge lesions in the mountainside.
Meltwater drains constantly over them in cascades that are audible from the Horstman t-bar line.
Nick McNutt | Photo: Frida Berglund
But okay, stop and think for a moment.
Its July, and we are here a couple thousand metres above sea level, skiing.
Were in a fortunate position, so its only fair to take in the experience.
Furthermore, the hill is alive with all types of skiers.
They spin and switch up through the segregated lanes that mark out each portion of the glacier.
In the COC lane, the coaches stick out amongst their campers.
The glacier, in the evening, takes on an unearthly mood.
The hill gets quiet; the perpetual motion of the day ends, and the runs are emptied.
Their orbit through the park lane and up the t-bar takes roughly 15 minutes.
In a quirk of the system, no rider ever seems particularly interested in the sunset shoot.
A lack of synchronisation between the riders in the shoot and the people organizing it doesn’t help either.
Its not for a lack of passion on the part of the people operating them.
The problem is that there is less and less to be passionate about.
Ken and Doug
Except for that on certain days on the glacier the conditions will call the shots.
On these days it doesnt matter either way how much snow there is.
There are no new tricks to learn, no upward progression to speak of.
For those farsighted enough to have brought outerwear to camp, things could be worse.
Every errant block of snow becomes its own feature.
As Jarred Martin put it, with a grin: just another day in paradise.
Sandy, Rob and the clouds
