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Hunrdred Days



The Mountain Pulse Jackson Hole


A few moments later, Corey Felton passed into the afternoon sunlight that flooded Casper Bowl. Once identified amidst the camouflage of shadows, granite, and snow, silence ran through the crowd congregated below. The Jackson skier stood precariously on an illuminated triangle of snow, a lone soldier in no man’s land. His vantage must have been something else, looking out on the sprawling valley filled with clouds, the mountain dressed in a pristine wedding gown of snow, and hundreds of people below intensely fixed on his every move.
Though heavy from the sun, the snow on this triangular island was deep and untouched. And there was good reason for that: some few feet below, a ferocious jaw of granite waited to consume him. His only hope was an improbable line that snaked down a narrow, hard-packed couloir. Though the moment must have been short, Felton’s descent seemed to happen in slow-motion. He hopped off his perch, and into the shoot, where he pointed over two smaller cliff bands and into the heavily tracked gut of Casper Bowl. The crowd below erupted, ejecting out of their makeshift snow thrones in applause.
There’s nothing quite like watching a local boy doing Jackson proud at the Freesking World Tour. Keep it up Corey!

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