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Hundred Days



The Mountain Pulse Jackson Hole


I love fatties. I admit it…unapologetically. From their curvaceous profile to their billowing girth, I just can’t get enough. What began as a harmless fascination is now a full blown addiction. It’s gotten to the point that my friends are embarrassed to hang with me. Sure there are appropriate times to bring them out, but everyday? I just can’t help it; 160-130-110 is the combination to my heart. I love the way they feel, the way they look, the way they float. Yea, the way they float. What did you think I was talking about?

The Pontoon is my fatty-of-choice, causing me to keep my goggles on a little longer in the lift line on draught days. Pulling them out to devour one inch of fresh, turns heads. I don a backpack, leading many to believe that I’m out plundering unknown stashes off the grid. Nay. I am cranking groomers on these powder planks.

Shoot the maker, not the rider. Images of the last powder day rise up in my memory like burps of a good meal, beckoning these rockered wonders out from the trunk each day. Sure, I may look ridiculous rattling hero skis on a day like today, but I contend it’s the equivalent  of packing protection on a first date: I always want to be prepared for when the powder strikes. -Z

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