Drawing lines on a map isn’t the same as lines on a slope. Both curve to and fro, and have their moments—leaps of faith you could call them. Each, at their finest, warrants a certain amount of audacity to attempt.

Over the course of 20 years, I’ve drawn lines throughout Washington State’s Cascade and Olympic mountains, pioneering new descents and traverses, with only one goal in mind–discovering places on skis that I’ve never before visited. Not to say that I’ve done them, but to say I have gone there. For adventure is in the traveling, not in the arriving. The bushwhacking through dense underbrush full of tortures to grin and laugh at, as they are nothing compared to this or that place or, God forbid, they are; the fruitless search for snow that lost its way when spring decided to bring the melt early; the weather that tumbles from the sky in every blend of snow, sleet, and rain; thunderstorms that turn a sunny day into a tent bound day, during which you pray you aren’t served on a mountain’s plate.

Drawing lines on a map has taken me across the Olympic Mountains twice, both times traversing the entirety of Olympic National park north to south. It’s nearly taken me across the length of Washington State north to south and around every major volcano in the state, but one. Along those paths, I’ve discovered balance in adversity. I’ve found passion in the dispassionate wilderness. I’ve seen that being alone with fear is very different than when your friends are there and the only way forward is through teamwork and perseverance.

Lastly, this gallery isn’t of the perfect ski shot, nor of the depthless powder, it’s of adventure seized and the moments that fill one’s dreams with tears and joy, laughter and disappointment. This gallery, most of all, is dedicated to the snow sliders who dared to turn lines on a map into adventures of a lifetime.

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