From Sölden to the March finals, the White Circus is my clock of winter. A giant slalom on a glacier in October, the downhill in Kitzbühel in January and a night slalom — every weekend of the season has its slope and its story.
Alpine skiing is a sport of hundredths of a second and of a single mistake with no appeal. I watch it with a photographer’s respect: on the slope, as in a frame, what counts is light, line and courage.
I cheer for the Canadians and the Poles, and my heart belongs to the mountains I know — when the Cup visits our part of the world, winter in Alberta feels even shorter.