Levitation Project- Snowboard Team Edit

Yeah, I know up on the title it says "Ski Life" but the reality is I take just as much inspiration from Snowboarders as I do Skiers. Plus I just had to throw up this vid from my Levitation Project homies because it's harder than a diamond axe. Damn I miss metal in shred-vids. But it's good to see it now.

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Mule Kicking it Old School.

Photos by Hank DeVre circa '05. Holy smokes can style change in a matter of a few years.

Check out the Moseley Mule-Kick Mute




Goddamn my clothes were tight. Who was I, Ed Visterius?

The Backcountry

I believe it's the multitude of shared traits that makes backcountry fly-fishing and backcountry skiing so appealing to me. Both provide a healthy amount of solitude and silence. Both command respect of nature and reverence at its organic beauty. Both make you rely on yourself and breach that safety net of emergency hotlines, instant communication and rapid travel. Then in skiing and in fishing there is a surge of adrenaline and excitement in a peaceful and calm world. For me that adrenaline comes when I'm experiencing those moments of flight on a pair of skis or setting that hook as a monster brown trout just breached the surface water and attacked my floating fly.

I really don't know why I wrote what I just wrote. It really is a terrible introduction for a Trip Report. I guess it has to do with the fact that most people find it contradictory or even oxymoronic that a professional skier/thrill-seeker would be into such a calm and silent sport such as fly-fishing. I guess I just wanted to explain myself to myself. Cause sometimes even I think, "Why the hell do I like this fly-fishing thing so much?"

Anyways, I recently went on a backcountry fly-fishing trip with a few buddies deep into the Sierra wilds. Since your attention span is probably waning by now, here are some pictures and stats of the trip.

Days: 3
Nights: 2
Miles: 18.9
Pack Wgt: 52 lbs.
Trout Caught: Group: 100+ Me: 20+
Trout Eaten: 7
Lakes Fished: 5
Streams Fished: 2
Liquor Consumed: 9 pints of Jameson Irish Whiskey, 1 litre Milagro Tequila


What were all truly looking for.

Las Leñas is Open!

The South American Winter season has officially kicked off. Las Leñas, one of my top 10 favorite resorts in the world, is reporting a fresh dump of 260cms on top and 120cms at the base and chairs are spinning. Fuck yeah!

My summer plans include a trip to Chile but hopefully if I play my cards right I'll be able to mash over to Leñas to shred the 3k' of vert that the infamous Marte chair dishes up. Hot damn Las Leñas is a sick mountain and its lengthy, steep pitches are starting to pester into my Summmer dreams.

Thanks Burkie

Check out this hilarious blog post put up on TGR by Rachael Burks. It's flattering in many ways, but more than that it's amazing because it reminds me of those special days where you and your buds shred around the mountain trying one up each other in the amounts of laughs you can produce. Nothing pretentious, nothing sick, just funny stuff all day long. Good times, good times.

It's a little hot in here, isn't it?

Now it's mainly purported by Snowboarding mags across the land that the shred-boarders are far steezier, fresher, stylier, (add any modern positive word + er) than skiers. While I give it to them that their mass-media perception out paces that purple-tall-teed, string-suspender wearing, goggle-sagging park donker sliding 5 foot down boxes with his arms at his ankles and buttering landings instead of hitting actual kickers, the cool hierarchy is a bunch of summer heat induced brainwashings that are mainly corporate sponsored ideas to brand Costco selling board brands as 'core'. Read: Burton. All in all, the 'rivalry' is a slowly simmered crockpot of fecal matter. Ask a skier, "Why do you ski?" Answer: "Cause it's fun" Ask a snowboarder that same question. Answer: "Cause it's fun"
If you boil the two sports down you get snow, slippery planks and fun. That's it. It's about as important to world history as the name of the ant I just stepped on. So with that being said, let me introduce to you my favorite picture of this season.

A one-boarder. Having fun.

Ski Writing- South American Volcano Adventure

Kiss My Ash Goodbye
by Cody Townsend
August 2007

There are many peaks whose majesty is defined by colossal height, towering steepness or breathtaking earthen geometry, yet there are others that are stunning simply because of their surrounding absence. Like an antennae on a Kansas prairie, the Villarrica Volcano juts straight out of the lakes and coastal flatlands of central Chile. With nothing but the sky as a background, the landmark of Pucon springs out of the earth and begs an ascension.
An eight hour drive south of the chilean capital of Santiago leads into the northern reaches of the chilean Patagonia and into the summer vacation capital of Chile. The resort town of Pucon is a plethora of lush lowland forests, silvery mountain lakes and green finned peaks. The natural bounty draws flocks of summer hikers, boaters and beach dwellers. Yet when the winter snows chill the summer sublimity, Pucon is as empty as a water-park in February.
Hearing of cheap vacant hotels, bargain offering restaurants and with rumors of impending snow, our four person crew decided to trudge our overstuffed diesel powered Toyota from our homestead in Termas De Chillan and head south to Pucon.
Upon arriving in Pucon, we couldn’t orient to our surroundings. Low, creeping fog gave way to heavy dark clouds which rendered a view at the surrounding mountains impossible. The designer stores, copper colored sidewalks and outdoor cafes were empty. It looked like a mini deserted Vail. It was a brazen contradiction to the recently departed penny-pinching international ski culture of Termas de Chillan.
Waking the next morning to blue skies, I meandered out of bed and into the streets to get a glimpse of our surroundings. Standing in the middle of the street, I looked eastward and like a diamond in the sky, a perfectly proportional, shimmering white volcano stole my sight. The contrast of the deep blue sky and white sided peak was astonishing. Like a solitary star in evening light, the absence of surrounding mountains defined the Villarrica Volcano. At once, the unknown vanished. The perfect white beacon was calling to be ascended.
The climb to the Villarrica summit started with a chairlift ride that was over such flat terrain it was nearly indistinguishable whether the chair was arriving at a station higher than where it started. And the chair was so laughably slow that when a fellow hiker out paced the chairlift we knew our lift ticket was purchased mainly out of gringo stupidity. Yet the goal was firmly in sight and we assembled for a noon lunch to get a evening attack for the summit.
The approach to the summit was remarkably easy, straightforward and nontechnical. The only serious threat on the ascent was the remnants of a chairlift that was destroyed by an eruption in the summer of 2000 . Three and a half hours later we arrived to a summit pluming with volcanic smoke and a view that strangely resembled a jumbled mix of Oregonian volcanos placed among the green, weathered peaks of the Northern Cascades. It was the Pacific Northwest of the Southern Hemisphere. Quickly the curiosity turned away from the stunning view and towards the grumbles of magma beneath rumpling below the summit rock. Using the gore-tex in our jackets as a make-shift gas mask, we slowly made our way through the primal and acrid smelling smoke and into the charred crater. After about a 50 meters of downclimbing the smoke gave way to a view of molten lava popping, glowing florescent orange, twitching like it was alive and grumbling like it was coming straight from the pits of hell. It was the most raw natural experience to be that close to the core of the earth. Later I would learn from a Volcanologist friend that it was quite possibly the dumbest natural experience. A half a percentage change in eruption could of left all of us as charred as the rocks and as dead as the broken chairlift below.
After our glance with fate, we sheltered from the wind just below the summit and waited for the sun to fade towards the horizon. As the sky began to change hue we clicked into our skis and prepared for one of the most beautiful descents in any hemisphere. Coral-colored chalky snowy sprayed effortlessly off our turns as we made our way down to the mirrored lakes and green valleys. It was nearly three kilometers of buffed chalk winding through magma carved valleys and gullies. As the light completely evaporated, the last snaking strips of snow led to the truck below. We ceremoniously gave high fives and stared back up at the recent descent. And then the four of us, with not a soul around, felt the beauty of being surrounded by nothing.

It's Always Winter Somewhere

Summer is state of mind. Just like an infant's biologically influenced understanding of object permanence, we devoted skiers know that where the Northern Hemisphere's snow is disappearing, a hemisphere away the snow is beginning to fall.
Recently I got a message from a Kiwi buddy who commented on the early season snowfall in New Zealand. He said, "Hay cunt, what the fuck ya up to. Heaps a fuckin snow here. Never seen this much, this early. Later cunt."
While attempting to read through the astounding amounts of profanity, I realized that, holy moly, N-Zed (as those limy bastards say) might be the place to be this summer/winter.

Check out the Remarkables Snow-Cam. Heaps a pow!

Salomon Jib Academy- May in Mammoth

Jibbing. Where skiing is my life, park shredding is more like a hobby for me. Fun to dabble in, play around with and admire the truly talented ones, but ultimately it's an off-shoot for me. But mention that to any 15 year old growing up in the Midwest and your likely to get ghetto vibed (through a pair of purple goggles and a neon green bandana may I add). Salomon capitalized on an insanely great idea to give a bunch of upcoming teens from small resorts around the world the chance to compete locally and win a all-expenses paid trip to Mammoth to shred with the entire Salomon International Freeski team. And when I say 'entire' I mean 'entire'. The biggest stars in the sport (Simon Dumont, Sammy Carlson, Mike Douglas, Kaya Turski, Charles Gagnier, John Symms) to the up and coming stars (Nick Martini, Henrik Harlaut, Dane Tudor, Matt Walker, Bobby Brown, Alexis Godbout) to even the big mountain team (Myself, Elyse Saugstad, Mark Abma, Chris Reubens) was there.

For me it was awesome to watch 12 year olds spinning circles around guys twice there age (Willie Borm) and see the stars like Simon show why they're are the best in the biz. But ultimately it was awesome to shred around with Reubens, Abma, Elyse and the Powder magazine crew on an Mammoth mountain covered with silken corn. Going into the Jib Academy I hastily told myself to get in the park and spin around with the kids showing them that big mountain skiers ain't all straight airs and powder landings. But ultimately the my life took over and park skiing waited like a model airplane hanging up in the garage because the skiing was too damn good to pass up and a hobby, well, is always just a hobby.

Anyways, peep some pics. Thanks for the read. Lates,

CT

Mammoth Mountain.




Not my hobby up in the Top of the World off the Mammoth Gondola




Elyse practicing not her hobby as well off the exit air in Star Chute




Salomon Nor-Cal rep Chris Tiller




Big mountain skiers work for turns. Me out pacing the cat while the jib-stickers get dragged.




Me practicing (key word 'practicing') my hobby off a 60 foot step over.




John Symms. Backflips are not his hobby.




Waiting in line.





Jib Academy. Yayr!

Fish Stories

With the hot weather wrapping up the winter season quicker than a burrito chef, the attention from full on skiing has begun to wane. Although skiing really never leaves my focus, the non-snowy months are filled with alternative activities that become a great counter balances to the hard charging winter months. Besides surfing, an activity that is pulling a lot of my attention these days is fly-fishing. Now if you would have asked me 10 years ago if fishing would be something I'd be in to in the future, I probably would have said something along the likes of "yeah right, fishing is for fat rednecks." Well after a few summers in Alaska and an introduction to fly-fishing from a few friends here in California, I've found that fly-fishing is nothing of the sort. I find it to be a naturally cathartic activity that takes a lot of focus, skill, technique and connection with your natural surroundings. It's incredibly challenging and I definitely suck at it, but man it is fun to learn.

This past weekend I went down to a river southeast of Lake Tahoe and opened up my first day of fishing this season with a fun one. Not the most productive day in terms of size, but we caught plenty of fish. Both Nick and I were in the double digits.


Nick and I on the river.




Nick reeling in what was probably a dink.




One on line




And what was the single smallest fish I've ever caught. It really was so impressively small that I had to take a picture of it.




Nick with a nice little brown.