<http://schema.org/articleBody>
"\"&lt;figure id=\\\"attachment_118262\\\" style=\\\"width: 640px\\\" class=\\\"wp-caption alignleft\\\"&gt;&lt;a href=\\\"http:\\/\\/www.powdermag.com\\/wp-content\\/uploads\\/2014\\/05\\/first.chair_.jpg\\\"&gt;&lt;img src=\\\"http:\\/\\/www.powdermag.com\\/wp-content\\/uploads\\/2014\\/05\\/first.chair_.jpg\\\" alt=\\\"First chair is an art. PHOTO: Grant Gunderson\\\" width=\\\"640\\\" height=\\\"374\\\" class=\\\"size-full wp-image-118262\\\" srcset=\\\"http:\\/\\/www.powder.com\\/wp-content\\/uploads\\/2014\\/05\\/first.chair_.jpg 640w, http:\\/\\/www.powder.com\\/wp-content\\/uploads\\/2014\\/05\\/first.chair_-154x90.jpg 154w, http:\\/\\/www.powder.com\\/wp-content\\/uploads\\/2014\\/05\\/first.chair_-100x58.jpg 100w, http:\\/\\/www.powder.com\\/wp-content\\/uploads\\/2014\\/05\\/first.chair_-200x116.jpg 200w\\\" sizes=\\\"(max-width: 640px) 100vw, 640px\\\" \\/&gt;&lt;\\/a&gt;&lt;figcaption class=\\\"wp-caption-text\\\"&gt;First chair is an art. PHOTO: Grant Gunderson&lt;\\/figcaption&gt;&lt;\\/figure&gt;\\n&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;This is the first essay in the ongoing series, Skiing as Craft. This story appeared in the &lt;a href=\\\"http:\\/\\/www.powdermag.com\\/magazine\\/november-2013\\/\\\"&gt;November (42.3) issue&lt;\\/a&gt; of POWDER.&lt;\\/em&gt;&lt;\\/p&gt;\\n&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;WORDS: Steve Metcalf&lt;\\/strong&gt;&lt;\\/p&gt;\\n&lt;p&gt;It\\u2019s a Monday, a Tuesday, or a Wednesday. The details are blurry. Schools are closed. Cars are buried. Streets are chaos. The weekend annoyances of yeehaw cowboy characters from Calgary have vanished like ghosts. When we finally make it to the base of Fernie\\u2019s Elk Quad, snow hangs from every conceivable tree and roofline as a thick whipped frosting. The entire town is standing in line.&lt;\\/p&gt;\\n&lt;p&gt;The upper mountain won\\u2019t open for hours\\u2014maybe even days. The steepest terrain available will be on Boomerang Ridge, a small but meaty section of runs and glades right underneath its namesake triple chair. All the big dogs in the lineup are gunning for it.&lt;\\/p&gt;\\n&lt;p&gt;This will not do. First tracks on a day like today are sacred, and next to impossible. But there was a chance. Four of us consult quietly, check the clock on the lift shack and begin walking past and behind the jubilant maze. Awkward looks. Some heckles. Heads down. Don\\u2019t look back. Thirty-five minutes before the lifts open. We\\u2019ve got time. At the forested edge of the base area, we duck into the woods. Almost instantly the firm underpinning of the groomed snowpack gives way to the honest depths of the season. We are postholing, big time. Jackets undone, we alternate breaking trail every few minutes. Sweat pours down our backs.&lt;\\/p&gt;\\n&lt;p&gt;I don\\u2019t know how far it is from the base of Elk to the bottom of the Boomerang Triple Chair, but the thin ski-out trail is balls deep and uphill most of the way. The two lifties digging out the queue are surprised but indifferent to see us. One of them hands us a shovel. \\u201cThe snow\\u2019s not gonna move itself,\\u201d he says. Our shit-eating grins evaporate as we take turns on the business end of sneaking past 200 ravenous powder fiends.&lt;\\/p&gt;\\n&lt;p&gt;Boom! Whump! Boom! The sporadic thumps of avie bombs add even more tension and excitement to the work. Nine o\\u2019clock comes and goes and not a word is spoken. We are still ahead of the crowds. Patrol hasn\\u2019t been here yet to open the lift. We\\u2019re still first.&lt;\\/p&gt;\\n&lt;p&gt;A couple of patrollers show up to check the lift. We recognize one of them as a guy named Mark who is also a serious contender for the Powder 8 Championships. He gives us a wry look and a veiled smile. \\u201cLet us go cut a couple sections,\\u201d he says. \\u201cWe\\u2019ll be right back. Elk hasn\\u2019t even started loading.\\u201d&lt;\\/p&gt;\\n&lt;p&gt;Somehow a perpetually stoned snowboarder named Ziggy makes his way to the bottom of the lift as well. He doesn\\u2019t lift a finger as far as shoveling goes, but is good for a laugh (or a tab of acid). Patrol skis up and less than five minutes later, we are all on the lift.&lt;\\/p&gt;\\n&lt;p&gt;Eventually the throngs find their way to Boomerang Ridge. To those that cared, it\\u2019s obvious we bested their efforts for first tracks\\u2014and we don\\u2019t hide our victory. Boastful pride, however, quickly gives way to simply immersing ourselves in the day as a community of frenzied shredders hammers their quads to the limit.&lt;\\/p&gt;\\n&lt;p&gt;Those big Nelson Brewing Company beers taste pretty good down at the day lodge, until someone asks me if I have any Advil. \\u201cWhat do you need Advil for?\\u201d I ask. He nods his head toward the window. It\\u2019s snowing. Again. In Fernie. &lt;\\/p&gt;\\n\""^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.powder.com/stories/skiing-craft-first-tracks/>