Benjamin Eggert
•
11/21/2015
Who doesn't remember this experience?
With neon-colored action paint on my face, I see a huge hill of snow in front of me. To my right is another hill and to my left a whole bunch of these hills. It's the early 90s somewhere in the Pitztal at the end of a great day's skiing and I'm sinking into a sea of head-high mounds of snow. Which way should I go, right past left past right, or just over it - damn, these hills are just too big.
Later, my father explained to me that this descent was a mogul slope and that this was the supreme discipline of skiing.
Who doesn't remember this experience? With neon-colored action paint on my face, I see a huge hill of snow in front of me. To my right is another hill and to my left a whole bunch of these hills. It's the early 90s somewhere in the Pitztal at the end of a great day's skiing and I'm sinking into a sea of head-high mounds of snow. Which way should I go, right past left past right, or just over it - damn, these hills are just too big. Later, my father explained to me that this descent was a mogul slope and that this was the supreme discipline of skiing.