I used to lap the park all day.
Rails. Jumps. Eat shit. Hike back up. Do it again.
That was the job.
Somewhere along the way that stopped sounding fun.
Now I get off the lift and I’m looking at trees. Wind-loaded pockets. Anything that hasn’t been touched yet.
The change happens quick too…
One winter you’re dying to land tricks. Next winter you’d rather just make good turns.
That’s how it happens.
And it will come for you too.
The Park Years
If you ride long enough you almost always start in the same place: the park.
Not because someone told you to, it just pulls you in. The noise, the features, the crew standing around the landing watching everyone eat it. You spend whole days there without noticing the rest of the mountain even exists. Rail, jump, side hit, repeat.
At that point the rest of the resort might as well be background scenery. Groomers are just the road between park laps and powder is mostly just soft snow that makes landings hurt less (hence my infamous backflip attempts).
And when you’re in that phase it feels like that’s what snowboarding is. Tricks, slams, trying to land something that scared you the first ten attempts.
Most riders go through it.
You probably did too.
When Your Eyes Start Wandering
Then one winter you notice something odd.
You’re on the lift looking down at the park and instead of thinking about the next feature you’re watching the trees off to the side of the run. Or a weird wind drift that’s stacked up along a ridge. Or some line cutting across a face that you somehow never noticed before.
Nothing dramatic happens. You don’t announce that you’re “moving on” from park riding like it’s some kind of life decision.
You just start drifting.
One run through the park turns into two. A day that used to be ten park laps suddenly turns into exploring terrain you used to ride straight past.
That’s the beginning of it.
You’ve been warned!
Your Body Starts Decaying
Another part of the shift is less poetic.
You slam enough times and your body starts to notice.
When you’re younger you can bounce off a rail or overshoot a landing and be laughing about it five minutes later. After a few seasons those hits start lingering. Knees get grumpy. Wrists turn to absolute mush (in fairness, I’ve broken mine several times – yours might be in better shape).
You stand at the top of a big icy feature and the calculation changed slightly. It’s not fear exactly, just a quiet awareness that there are other, more enjoyable ways to spend the next few hours.
Meanwhile there’s fresh snow sitting in the trees that nobody has bothered with yet.
What Actually Starts Impressing You
Something else changes too. What you notice in other riders.
When you’re deep in the park phase it’s all about tricks. Someone spinning something big, someone hitting a feature you wouldn’t touch. That’s what gets the reaction.
Later you start paying attention to different things.
Someone carving ass to grass heelside turns without skidding out. Linking smooth turns through insanely tight trees. Laying absolute trenches on wide open groomers (I’m getting teary eyed just picturing it).
That kind of riding starts looking better than tricks. Doesn’t help that tricks have devolved into “who can do the most spins” either.
The Powder Hook
And then there’s the powder days.
One proper storm. Doesn’t even have to be that deep. But getting your first taste or a true powder turn… suddenly the park doesn’t seem quite as important.
You start chasing that feeling instead.
Good snow. Good terrain. Good turns.
It’s a different game.
It’ll Happen to You Too!
Not a threat. Just an inevitability.
Nobody really plans this transition either.
You don’t wake up one morning and declare that you’re done with park riding. You just notice that you’re spending less time there and more time wandering around the mountain looking for fresh snow.
Park laps fade out.
Powder lines take over.
And if you’re still in that early phase, throwing yourself at rails and jumps every day, enjoy it.
Seriously.
Because sooner or later you’ll get off the lift, glance at the park for about three seconds, and then start looking for the trees.
And when that happens you’ll realise the shift already got you.
It gets almost everyone eventually.
See you in the backcountry!
