Rip RAw Episode 4 -Eskimo Freeride Cat Skiing, Macedonia

Episode 3

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Rip Raw episode 1

Au revoir.

Rob heads home to Bondi, where a week of good waves await.

Chris meanwhile, waits it out in the French alps for the next big snowfall.

The End.

****

 

Day Nineteen.

Chris Booth. Image by Louis Garnier. http://louisgarnier.wordpress.com/

The weather had blasted Val Thorens with wind, thick fog and even thunder. But having left a mere 3 cm of new snow, it was about as welcome as a sweaty Hulk Hogan dancing to nouveau disco in your underwear.

Worse even, it was set to continue into the last day of the Ripraw trip.

Having driven the hour and a half from La Plagne, Kieran and I met Rob at the Fitzroy Hotel where he had stayed in chalet-esque luxury the previous night. This we had agreed, would be advantageous given Rob’s recent lack of health and tight shooting schedule in Val Thorens. He could eat a square meal, get a good night’s sleep, pack his things for his Geneva departure and shoot the sunrise the following morning. What we could not foresee, was that a both fortuitous and catastrophic collision of fate had occurred. French public holidays had coincided with Danish ski week, and Val Thorens had transformed into a monstrous heaving brothel for the night. This Handsome Rob, being handsome, would be a fool to resist.

As it were Rob did not eat a square meal, nor did he pack his things and nor did he get a good’s night sleep. Though it is quite possible he saw the sun rise. Tough to say though, as the last thing he remembers entails dancing to nouveau disco in his underwear, with a sweaty hulk Hogan in his underpants.

By 10.00am the next morning, as Rob bathed in the guilt of last night’s public excesses, the wheels had visibly fallen off. But Rob knows more than anyone that Ripraw waits for no man. So, smelling like aromatic alpine liquor, Rob set off to the Frostgun Invitational press conference where Russ Henshaw, being last year’s winner, was set to give his views on this year’s event to a similarly hungover group of Danish TV reporters.

By the press conference’s end Rob was in need of a strong cup of coffee. So being true team players, Kieran and I decided we also needed a coffee. So together we headed back to Café Face West, which had become somewhat of a refuge for Ripraw, a place we could go and stare at beautiful people and pretend for a moment we didn’t have a job to do. Over coffee we formulated a game plan: the intrepid weather continued to restrict our skiing options, and every time Rob bent down he would almost pass out, so getting his boots on was outside his means at least for a few hours.

It was at this moment we discovered something beautiful about Val Thorens. If you can’t ski, you can always go rally driving.

Kieran McLaughlin and his Renault Clio with studded tires.

The Alain Prost Ice-driving academy, situated conveniently just below the village and bordering the ski slope, is just about the most awesome après ski activity imaginable.

Val Thorens rally track, located next to the ski slope.

Though slightly misleading (as Alain Prost himself has little more to do with it than have it named after him) the Alain Prost Driving Academy is a place where you learn to be both in control and a little loose at the same time.

Rob Norman sets up the shot for ripraw.

Unfortunately all I learnt was that I am a below average driver, and someone to stay away from on snowy roads. Kieran however seemed to get the hang of it pretty good, hanging sideways around the corners and downshifting like a champion.

Rip Curl athlete Kieran Mclaughlin hangs the rear wheels.

Our skills we’re firmly put into context though, when our instructor took us for a spin in the race-stock Mitsubishi Evo. From the moment he set off it felt like we were going to crash. I know they put studded tires on and everything, but it just felt wrong to drive a car that fast on snow without sharting.

Get weight to the front tires, down-shift, accelerate, handbrake, negative steer and try not to shart.

Though Ice driving was great, bad weather continued late into the afternoon leaving us with few options to shoot.

“As soon as they open the jump its just gonna go blue” announced Rob. I don’t know where Rob got his reservoir of meteorological know-how, but to me it seemed that, given the conditions, the likelihood of the sun just coming out in the middle of a snowstorm for the few hours we had left in Val Thorens was not high.

“Trust me” he said smiling, “it’s gonna happen mate.” Then I realized that he wasn’t being blindly optimistic, but corralling positive energy. You see, this whole trip we have been surrounding ourselves with optimism. “Come on Chris and Rob” we would say. It could well be neo-hippy garbage, but from the results we’ve had I am lead to believe that its possible to talk things into existence. You summon the world with enough conviction and the world will respond.

But this time nothing was coming to save us. It was 4pm in the afternoon, the weather was deteriorating, our boots we’re wet and Rob had a flight departing Geneva (a 3 hour drive away) at 7am the next morning. There was no possible way, in the physical universe that we occupy, that we were getting to hit the Frostgun kicker that day.

We trudged back to the car, Rob packed his camera equipment away for the last time and we left to collect his bags from the hotel. Next stop Geneva.

At the hotel we made a last-minute idiot check to ensure nothing was left outside. Passport, check. Wallet, Check. Phone, check. It was go time.

We set up the camera for one last group photo and, at that moment, the bloody sun came out. The sun came out, the clouds cleared, and revealed to us from the sky above, was the most beautiful late afternoon light this earth has surely ever seen. Fuck you Hulk Hogan.

The sun opens up.

And the mountains light up.

With new energy we unpacked the gear, grabbed our skis and raced to the Frostgun jump site, where the event organizers we’re experiencing equal euphoria.

Shapers put the finishing touches on the Frostgun kicker for the late afternoon session.

Within 10 minutes the jump was opened, the ski-doos fired up and the Danish holidaymakers arrived at the bar.

The clear sky brings out the Danish in droves.

Within twenty minutes the Danish we’re drunk, the party was in full swing and the sky had turned a beautiful spectrum of orange, mauve and rose.

A heavily euro tradition, apres-ski turns on the follie for Danish revellers.

Within the hour we’d had our fix of the Frostgun jump, Russ Henshaw had landed a double cork 1440 and Rob had got his shots for ripraw.

Russ Henshaw double cork something or rather. Screen shot Ripraw.

Chris Booth samples some frostgun kicker euphoria. Screen Shot Ripraw.

And so I am convinced: summon the world with enough conviction and the world will respond.

(left to right) Chris Booth, Rob Norman and Kieran McLaughlin make a clumsy toast to happy endings.

Day Eighteen

 

Endless indoor fun for the easily amused. Chris Booth.

Today Kieran and I and Rob were headed for the Frostgun kicker in Val Thorens and, wouldn’t you know it, after a month straight of bluebird without even a flake of snow reaching French territory, the fog rolled in and it started snowing.

Still, we are in no position to complain given that we’ve had nothing but clear skies. Yeah but, shit.

So, faced with our first weather day of the whole trip, we faced west, to Café facewest. Café Facewest is basically the beautiful people café of the world, located next to the office du tourism in Val Thorens centre.

Um, I'll just have what he's having.

Seated alfresco, a spot to see and be seen, we felt in severe lack of Moncler jackets, large dark glasses and cigarettes. Luckily were in the company of handsome Rob, who is handsome, so we’re considered acceptable patrons.

 

To the people, to the proletariate, and to peacocks with perfect plumage. Chris Booth (left) and Kieran McLaughlin (right).

After quite possibly the chicest espresso known to humanity, Handsome Rob settled into his hotel – The Fitzroy – a snazzy little four-star joint located right on the ski-slope. “Fitz business time” he punned as he rolled up his sleeves for a hard afternoon’s work, which featured a strong focus on refreshing his facebook page.

Its best friends time! Sean Balmer and Russ Henshaw pay a visit to the Fitz for sleepovers.

Day Seventeen.

Today we received possibly the best welcome of any resort we have visited over the past three weeks. The people have been easy going and helpful, we found free parking (which is ski-in ski out from the Cairn and Caron cablecars) and have encountered a festive atmosphere that we haven’t really found anywhere else.

Personally, Val Thorens was never even on my radar. I had imagined a standard French ski station that pumps tourists through the weekly schedule, where employees are overworked and jaded, and where the best thankyou you’re likely to receive comes only after leaving a large tip. But Val Thorens has a youthful energy that has made us feel like we made the right decision to film our last episode of ripraw here. Yeah, its nice to be wrong sometimes.

Our objective in Val Thorens is to shoot their snowpark.

In line with our welcome, we reached the park with ease via La Moutiers, which takes you directly to the bottom of the park. The Plateau drag-lift, running parallel to the park, gives you a brief overview of what’s on offer.

Kieran McLaughlin checks out the park from the Plateau drag-lift.

The features progress from beginner on the left, intermediate through the centre to advanced on the right. There’s a steady mix of boxes, rails and kickers.

The flow is good and the clever park crew have fenced off the sides of the table tops to ensure no one stands on them.

 

The advanced kicker line on the skier's right.

Personally, I think its great to have a snowpark that skiers and boarders of all levels can get involved with. Too often there’s a couple of 2-meter beginner jumps and then straight into 15-20 meter tabletops, with nothing in between. Val Thorens has obviously invested time and expertise into their snowpark, and by looking at how popular it is, its money well spent.

In previous posts we’ve mentioned burning the candle at both ends. Today Rob, having proved nearly bulletproof throughout the whole trip, crumbled into a sickly, swollen, sleepy mess. He had to call it quits by mid morning. We could have just gone in then with Rob, but we were just having too much fun.

So Rip Curl athlete and RipRaw guest Kieran McLaughlin and I spun laps together, fooling about with the GoPro.

Kieran and I have logged plenty of miles in parks worldwide, and can feel a bit ambivalent about them at times. So to rock up on a given day to the Val Thorens park and have so much fun we don’t want to stop is testament to the quality of the facility they have here and their commitment to freestyle.

Rip Curl athletes Kieran McLaughlin (left) and chris Booth (right)

Kieren was feeling a little whipped by the jumps for the first few runs, but as he found his groove he started really hitting the hammers, with all manner of tricks in all grab variations.

Kieren is a modest guy, someone who if you met him you would never guess he was a top notch athlete. His conversations circulate heavily around his upcoming romantic sojourn to Italy with his girlfriend and how much he’s looking forward to it, and it’s funny because most snowboarders of his caliber live and breath snowboarding and nothing else. “I’m like the Clooney of this industry” mocked Kieran over a glass of genepi. Long live human diversity.

Day Sixteen

(L’equipe de ripraw fait de la recherche)

For most of the ripraw trip we have completely arsed it. With luck, or what Rob prefers to call ‘positive energy,’ on our side, we have simply rocked up to places we’ve never been to before, and through pure enthusiasm and hustle we’ve found the goods. So it came as a strange sensation that our reconnaissance day in Val Thorens, a resort only an hour from home base in La Plagne, turned out to be a struggle.

(Frostgun Competitor Pierre Guyot [right] and Chris Booth [left])

The hour drive became two. A simple parking space became a challenge akin to playing Where’s Wally at a Sydney Swans game. We arrived at the park just as Shadows were creeping across it, and made it to the Frostgun kicker – the site of this week’s big comp – just as training finished.

(Frostgun Pierre competitor Pierre is French and can flatspin)

But then, as we made our way back up the chairlift to head home, we fell upon La Folie Douce.

A heaving, throbbing, sweating après ski bar located just above Val Thorens village, La Folie Douce is best described as a force of nature. Apparently people go there because it catches the sun till late in the afternoon attracting the well-heeled from all over the Trois Vallees from Meribel to St Martin De Belleville. It looked like we had walked into a scene from MTV, with champagne being sprayed from the balcony and hundreds upon hundreds of tall northern European under 25s getting amongst it as only true Euros know how. And what’s more, it was only 2.30 in the afternoon. Welcome to Val Thorens.

Day fifteen

Day fifteen and like a bad hangover, fatigue is starting to set in. You hit the pillow at 9pm and wake at 8am, but it still feels like 9pm. Your best mate bumps you with his pack in the lift line, you shoot him a foul look, he responds in kind thinking it was you who bumped him. For a split second you are sworn enemies. But then you remember its your mate, and you’re both just tired. Burnt at both ends you press on, lacking that essential zest which was in such abundance two weeks ago. Pack-sleep-prepare-pack-ski-repack-drive-unpack-sleep-repack-prepare-drive-ski, your shit is all over the place and things are starting to go missing.

You’re in the best place on earth on what most consider a holiday, but all you can think about is a holiday of your own, somewhere, where drinks have little umbrellas in them.

But then you buckle your boots, zip up your vents, turn on your GoPro, take a deep breath and drop. And for all that douleur, your reward is measured in vertical meters, and there’s plenty of those here in Chamonix.