A Tahoe skier shares how he was able to leave tracks on each of the world’s seven continents
Story and photos by Brennan Lagasse
It started when I was two. Those first turns, or really that first pizza slide, down the flanks of Pico Mountain in Vermont. From then on I knew anytime there was snow in the mountains, and I had skis strapped on my feet, it would be a good day. Even when the ski patrollers at Loon Mountain confronted my embarrassed mother for having her young son out in a blasting storm with a minus-60 degree wind chill factor, my motivation to ski never diminished.
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