In a week already slated for deep contemplation, as we lost Tobias Lee one year ago on April 18th, I am saddened to learn of another tragic loss from the freeskiing community: Young Gun Neal Valiton perished during his run at the World Final in Tignes last Wednesday, bringing me through a close inspection of why we put ourselves on the line like this. My heart goes out to friends and family of Neal, as well as to those undoubtedly shaken from witnessing the tragedy on the Grande Balme that day. Like the Gallant Tobe, your inspiration will leave a lasting impression on our sport, and on the drive that compels us all to put on skis and charge again, just as you would be doing if you were here still.....

Already prepared for a heavy week, as we approach the one-year anniversary of the death of a dear friend, Tobias Lee, I was shocked last night to learn of the tragic passing of another young ripper, Neal Valiton. These were two great and humble, talented freeskiers who departed this world all too soon, whilst doing what they loved. I didn’t know Neal well –save for a few brief conversations, and some memorable runs he left us with—but it conjured all the feelings of a year ago when my roommate Toby left excitedly to ski with his brother in Washington in April 2006, and never to return. No doubt, whether standing above a long-anticipated chute in the Cascades, or in Neal’s place, with the Grande Balme of Tignes below, and standing in 10th place in the Freeride World Finals, each skier was ready for the moment, zealous, and well aware of the worst possible consequences of their passion. Still, it begs to question how much is too much.

There exists a delicate balance between life and death. When playing in the vast playground of Mother Nature, forces like rocks, snowpack, and gravity are substantial, and sometimes terminal. Yet, as freeskiers, we propel ourselves toward them with calm and respect, and hope our understanding ability will allow us to stay just on the heart-beating side of that delicate balance. Sometimes things go wrong. Sometimes the scales tilt.

The privilege of another breath can come down to one or two inches. A rise of only a couple degrees might trigger weak layers in snowpack. A beveled edge might be just enough to stick that landing, and move on towards adoring cheers in the audience, and a lifetime of pursuits of passions.

No doubt, an outsider could watch a freeskiing competition with awe, and pawn the whole thing off as lunatic. As a daredevil stunt. They don’t appreciate the calculation we put into our runs, and into our lives. The decades we spend preparing for these moments, from learning how to ski strong and fast in the first place, to thoroughly examining the condition and terrain of every landing and each turn we’ll place. We know the difference between the side that lives (and oh how we live!!) and the side that reminds us of our own mortality, as it does on seldom and solemn occasion. This shared understanding solidifies the close community we are drawn to in the competitive realm, and generally, in the widespread world of skiing. We make great sacrifices to polarize our ambitions about the sport we love, because we have found it is one of the surest ways to truly feel alive.

The outsider would question why we do it, but we are confident in our reasoning, even if we cannot express it. There is some je ne sais quoi quality of skiing that magnetizes us. For me, it is that combination of speed and grace as a skier flows down a mountainside. There is an absence of time when everything comes together, as if Nature and her reckoning credence agree to look away for a brief moment. We spend our lives fighting against gravity, and perched atop mountains with no place to go but down, we can succumb that struggle and work with –instead of against—its powerful forces. In these moments, skiing transcends sport into realms of art and philosophy, and yes, religion. When everything within and around oneself is so beautifully harmonized, it is impossible not to feel some form of connection to the heavens. In those moments, our graduated friends Neal and Toby are there, always guiding us to better snow and bigger smiles.

The reality is that something about this world leads us to the pursuit of snowy dreams, where we feel the most alive. The sadness of another passing should remind us of the ultimate costs for our pleasures, and should cause our consideration in the choices we make, from the jobs we take, to the loves we seek, to the decision to compete another season. It may even cause us to question the very sport we love, but in time we will come back to seeking that vivacity that we can only find in the mountains. Neal and Toby lived in this paradigm, and through it they were fully alive at every moment, squeezing the verve of every crossroads. By savoring every instant of lives they loved, each was destined to pass on doing just that. To be sure, 18 and 25 are tragically young ages for loving lives to end, but in those short years, they learned to extract the essence of living in a way that many much longer lives never realize. And now, those true-to-self sacrifices are rewarded with untracked dreams waiting for their mark.

Over the past year, as I have mourned Toby’s early departure, through all the touching tributes and supportive Freeskiing Tour athletes and organizers, I have taken comfort in knowing he is tackling descents incomprehensible of this world. And now Neal joins him, with wide-open faces blessed with flawless snow. Every turn must be magic, in a way that only brief moments of our lifetimes can relate to. There are times after those most perfect runs, when a skier stops, full of pumping adrenaline-fused satisfaction, to review his tracks down a slope. They appear like a signature that was always meant to be there. Eventually, winds and more snow will blight them, and paint the canvas fresh again, waiting for another set. In the realized range of Toby and Neal’s dreams, their mark is preserved, for the white caps of impossible peaks stretch into the infinite distance, and they have forever to wait for us to share with. We’ll all be there in time, but for now, let’s preserve this sport that bonds us, and that keeps us feeling alive, by knowing our limits, and staying on this side of those final turns.

RIP it up in peace, and please, save some for me, though I may be a long while!

Jason Dobbs
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