Voices
The thump of the chopper’s rotors is deep, felt more than heard. I look out the window and see swirls of snow flying away from the chopper’s side, down the 11,000 feet of mountain slope hanging beneath us. In the distance, the Grand Tetons reach up toward the sky. Next to me are my brothers, Cameron and Graylan, and my dad; like me, they’re helmeted, goggled and gloved, boots buckled tight against their feet, jackets zipped to the top. We look like the Tenth Mountain Division, but we’re not soldiers. We’re skiers.
By
Tyler Stone
November 8, 2007