might wanna use doesn't...I know chewcandoit.........don't is a recommendation to not have a relationship with PM Gear, or perhaps that is the intent...ahhhh...interesting thought...kinda like dank.....anyway, for those who actually don't have me super iggy'd, I am gonna start working on some video projects, so thanx! for your continued support of iggy free communication...and I will be sure to post...all summer long baby.....
oooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhyyyyyyyyyyyyyeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaa aaaaahhhhhhhh
515
:nonono2: dude... wtf is wrong with you :nonono2:
[yawn] Hairy is getting boring/annoying real fast......
does he have to stick his dick in EVERY thread?
:fuckyou: Post countin' whore! :fuckyou:
no, dude, wtf is wrong with you...are you a gay stalker looking for a submissive switch, cuz you'll need to look elsewhere...Quote:
Originally Posted by YetiMan
BTW: It doesn't matter how many post you have if you're still an asshat......
can't you read, I am going for the one, 1500.....and there is an iggy feature, or here's a concept, scroll past my drivel on to the better stuff while I gather my post count for I too and a post countin' whore:fuckyou:Quote:
Originally Posted by cascadianwarrior
now most punks here would jong you for jonging me...but alas, I could care less about the jong thing but if you post some pics, I will post back...go ahead, contribute....Quote:
Originally Posted by cascadianwarrior
I shouldn't feed you but I need to correct you on your correction, Wadsworth.
TGR is referencing in the collective, not the singular, sense. "WE" (IE TGR) don't have a relationship..... "doesn't" can't work there.
So does that mean once you hit 1500 you're done? If so, keep postin' like a motherfucker. ;)Quote:
Originally Posted by hairy
now if you look at one of my early posts, I commented on the high level of grammatical correction I get here and I find it highly beneficial to my meager means...thanx!Quote:
Originally Posted by trainnvain
here is your reward
Chute skiing and the thrills of Werner's
Mammoth Mountain has the biggest, best, most-diverse ski area in America. It has remarkably smooth, groomed runs. It has huge above-timberline bowls. It has steep, tight, tree runs. It has long, flowing runs that will blow your mind.
It also has "Werner's."
Werner's is an extremely tight and steep chute which doglegs above rock. This is either radical or "mellow" -- depending on your experience -- but it most certainly is always a challenge.
Ever since Mammoth's Race Department Director John Armstrong slipped down into an unknown chute above Phillipe's, in the spring of '68, Mammoth skiers have been "extreme." They just didn't know it.
After skiing this rugged, inhospitable chute, John remarked that "It was flat." The chute was given the name "Kiwi Flat." This name is all but forgotten except by the old-timers, and today the chute is usually called "Star Chute." Anyway you look at it, this chute is rad.
And so is Werner's. Mammoth is chock-full of scary runs that can provide highlights for any ski movie. From beautiful corduroy to high-altitude, variable snow, Mammoth truly has it all, including the most dangerous and exciting chute skiing in America. And you don't have to hike for this radness either.
My stomach is tied up in knots and my heart races frantically as I peer into the chute. The adrenaline surging through my body has me reeling with shakiness, with the fear of failure and injury looming near. The rock bands block the view of the lower slopes and wait, ready to smash me to atoms if I fall.
Looking away and pausing, trying to regain my composure, I recollect the many times I have stood before on this same summit and nearly scared myself to death before finally calming down enough to ski the chute.
This fear is always present for me and I cannot fathom how Briant Wells, Mammoth's best chute skier, overcame the fear and skied this chute five times in a row. Even former Mammoth resident Randy Judge tried to keep up. Randy, on the third time down the chute, crashed and spilled over the rocks below. He lived, but he let Briant have the chute to himself the rest of the day.
This horrendously dangerous chute drops directly from the summit of Mammoth Mountain, at 11,053 feet. By climbing above the top gondola station to the radio towers, you can stand right on the summit. This bald, rounded mountain drops precipitously to the north and this area is called the Upper Dry Creek area.
Through the cliffs of the north face are several slivers of snow, the most famous of which is called "Balls." The tricky thing about Balls is the cliff halfway down the chute that offers mega-air to the unsuspecting skier. This chute lies on the eastern edge of the north face.
I am standing at the top of the chute called Werner's, which drops directly below the towers and was first skied by Werner Braun, a famous, past member of the Mammoth Mountain Ski Patrol who is now with Yosemite Valley Search and Rescue. The snow was so deep when he tried it that he was basically going straight down the 50-degree chute locked into a perpetual face shot.
Looking down and to the skier's right, another beautifully tight chute lies in wait between Werner's and Balls. This slot is called Serbe's, named for Ski School member Steve Serbe, who says of the descent now, "It really wasn't a big deal."
Maybe it wasn't. It certainly wasn't too much of a problem for Steve Schneider, who wound up skiing this steep and narrow pitch on telemark gear. When asked, "What were you thinking?" he replied: "It was foggy, and I thought I was skiing Heuvos Grande but I guess I made a wrong turn."
Not exactly the place to make a wrong turn.
Between Werner's and the gondola building is a really wild slope that starts with a scary snow pillow perched above a cliff band. This cliff is the crux of the chute called "Junior's," which is named for a former Mammoth Ski Patrolman with the nickname of Junior.
The "secret" passage through the rocks from Werner's to Junior's is called Waddy's Chasm and is a clever variation of two thoroughly exposed snowfields.
All of these chutes could be described as extreme. Yet, for those who can suppress the fears welling up, they become just another challenge in a long line which make us all better skiers. Every time we master a skill or a run, we look to the next phase, the next success in our skiing progression.
Pierre Tardivel of France is considered to be the most extreme of extreme skiers, yet he doesn't consider what he does as all that "extreme." When asked what he thinks of extreme skiing, he said, "I don't like the word 'extreme.' Nothing I do is ever 'extreme.'" This, from a bold skier who has more premier descents of 60- to 65-degree slopes than anyone else.
But then he didn't start on the super steep. He has carefully attuned his senses to progressively seek out steeper lines.
The so-called extreme skier promoted by the commercial ski media has in fact become a cliff-jumping fool in order to achieve success.
This "extreme" attitude which permeates the ski world today has cost people their lives. Paul Ruff recently died in a cliff jump that harshly shows the realities of what's "beyond normal limits."
This doesn't mean "don't jump," but "Kodak courage" will kill you. Worse still, think of the fact that you can easily be smashed on the rocks only to live, lying on the rocks writhing in pain and maimed for life.
The heroic Mammoth Mountain Ski Patrol often closes the Upper Dry Creek cliffs in order to avoid the onslaught of would-be extreme skiers bent on glory. This year, and any year with abundant snowfall, the cliffs are opened up and the barrage begins.
all get here from differing paths, yet the path through the cliffs will be the same. Steep, over 50 degrees and tight, these thread-like ribbons of snow can be skied, and often are.
Skiers like Briant Wells, John-Marc Baker and Clay Valverde have thoroughly ripped these chutes right before my eyes and I still can't believe how easy they made it look. Brian Jones, Dave Zaritsky and, more recently, Jason Moore and Eric Stewart have all launched big air from various points in the cliff area of Upper Dry Creek.
These guys are all expert skiers who carefully and methodically analyzed their situation, knew the moment was right and went for it.
You "gotta go for it" the whole time, controlling not just your skis and body, but your mind as well. If you can't envision yourself being successful or if you have doubts, the time is wrong. Not forever -- just for now. The failure is in crashing, not in walking away.
As I look down Werner's I still feel nervous, but at least my heart has mellowed out. The snow in the concave, upper headwall is powder, but I can't see the rest, below.
At the base of the headwall, the chute narrows to about five feet wide, and this is the spot I focus on. I won't be able to sidestep through, so I must have the sequence of turns right or I might have to stop -- and that would be a nightmare. Once, I'd stopped there and it took divine intervention to get me past the throat.
The powder condition is appealing, yet the whole thing could -- and often does -- avalanche on the first skier in. Standing alone at the top, the reality of the moment wavers with the vision of success.
But a euphoric moment envelops me and I, too, decide to "go for it." Dropping off the small cornice into the unknown, I'm landing with a gentle left turn.
Suddenly the sparkling, sublime powder slope crumbles into little pieces as I land. Without panicking I crank a hard right turn and dig in frenetically with my right hand as the whole mass of snow flushes down and off the rocks like a glistening cascade.
So here I am, stopped, on this super-steep headwall, balanced precariously on tip and tail, wondering "What the hell am I doing here?"
Basically, ready to wet my pants. This chute is so steep at the top I can't sidestep back up. To take off my skis would be suicide. The only thing left to do is ski it, yet the euphoria is gone, replaced by a primordial instinct to survive.
Sizing up the situation, I realize that it's kind of cozy here amongst the cliffs, and the intimacy with the hill blurs all thoughts of exposure and cart-wheeling bodies into some safely distant, vague sense. Seizing the moment, I jump a turn to the left, one to the right, the snow a soft styrofoam texture. Another turn to the left puts me just above the throat.
Here I slide, in a delay move, and then make a half turn to the right pointing me straight down the hill. After a few feet, the slope opens and I make the second half of the right turn to a stop.
My head rushes as I realize I made it. Although I scored low on style points, the experience has empowered me with the confidence to overcome. Another step in the progression of chute skiing.
The empowered feeling of survival also allows me the confidence of attacking the lower slope, and I proceed to charge down the rest of the chute just like I had hoped to ski the headwall.
Pulling this off without a hitch, the ephemeral snow offers little resistance to my attacking skis. Skiing out of the chute, the avalanche rubble offers a visual reminder that the limits are real, and I am happy to not be part of the rubble littering the slope.
Heading back to the gondola I even wish that I could somehow find "Toot's chute." I think I'm ready.
I was thinking of having more posts than anybody, since I have a lifetime of material to share....move along....nothing here.......Quote:
Originally Posted by cascadianwarrior
that does seem a weak argument though...Quote:
Originally Posted by trainnvain