ADVENTURES HERE & THERE : A PERSPECTIVE

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Rogers Pass - Yamnuska AST2 - 01/08 : Memories of an amazing week in the heart of the Canadian Alpine (Columbia Mountains), on an avalanche course. Great weather, greater people, and the greatest guides
Interesting links:
http://www.yamnuska.com/avalancheawareness3.shtml,
http://www.currentresults.com/Weather-Extremes/Canada/snowiest.php,
http://www.islandnet.com/~see/weather/events/1910avalanche.htm,
http://www.pc.gc.ca/apps/PSB/index_e.asp?oqAVA_PARK_ID=3

Rogers Pass - Yamnuska AST2 - 01/08

POWDER ROOM : For he saith to the snow, Be thou on the earth;.....Hast thou entered into the treasures of the snow? - The Holy Bible

In the end, to ski is to travel fast and free - free over untouched snow country. To be bound to one slope, even one mountain, by a lift may be convenient but it robs us of the greatest pleasure that skiing can give, that is to travel through the wide wintery country; to follow the lure of peaks which tempt on the horizon and to be alone for a few days or even hours in clear, mysterious surroundings - Hans Gmoser

The true skier does not follow where others lead. He is not confined to a piste. He is an artist who creates a pattern of lovely lines from virgin and uncorrupted snow. What marble is to the sculptor, so are the latent harmonies of ridge and hollow, powder, and sun-softened crust to the true skier. By a wise dispensation of providence, the snow, whose beauty has been defaced and destroyed by the multitude of piste addicts, does not record the passage of the "lifted skier." It is only soft snow that records the movements of individual skiers, and it is only soft snow that the real artist can express himself - Sir Arnold Lunn

BLUE ROOM : Waves like people come in all shapes and sizes and like to go to the beach. Unlike some people waves know no boundaries or borders and treat all surfers equally - Unknown

Half a mile out, where the reef is, the white-headed combers thrust suddenly skyward out of the placid turquoise-blue and come rolling in to shore. One after another they come, a mile long, with smoking crests, the white battalions of the infinite army of the sea... - Jack London

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