The sound is almost hypnotic. Like a metronome, my skins glide and thud as they connect with a faded track from the day past. Crystals bounce off the exposed skin of my face as a northwest wind blows a change. Overdue snow is imminent. Like ants before rain, we scurry off for the last beams of sunlight that will grant us soft passage.
A pot of gold is often said to be at the end of the rainbow. Slithering through Victoria’s Alps, Razorback Ridge is different. Yes, it leads to the beloved Mt Feathertop—a backcountry beauty, the jagged, iconic peak which is the assumed reward of wandering the path of the ridge.
But to me, there is reward and beauty in the path itself.
Why am I out here…again?
After no less than twenty trips walking, skiing, admiring, and documenting this snow-covered
