G-Spot. I've always kind of felt that skiing powder had a sexual allure to it. The snow that gets pitched up when you cut deep turns often dances along the inside of your upper thigh, flirting with the crotch of your snowpants. It's a good feeling. Euphoria of the elements, or something.
Anyway, these shots are from the weekend before last — also amid a warm spell. The snow was great higher up, but many a Montana skier had been up to these parts over the weekend. Finding fresh lines is like finding pennies on the sidewalk — they're always there, you've just got to look.
My school-time diet of Cup of Noodles and red #40 is making the uphill bits of good ski days marginally less fun. BAH! Who am I kidding, I love sucking wind if it means going 'wee-wee-wee-wee all the way home.'
Good lines out there, earthlings!