La Grave Lessons: Skiing with Legends - Ptor Spricenieks, Chad Sayers, and others…

La Grave is a spirited place. It holds an energy that feels somewhat suspended in time. The attitude and outlook here harken another era in skiing, and though the French Alps are peppered with ancient villages giving way to modern ski lifts with enormous bountiful terrain, the trends and trivialities of our modern sport have managed to bi-pass this particular place. As a result, it’s become attractive to skiers who’ve reached a point in their lives when they want a more direct relationship with the mountains. Some stay permanently, others just for a season, and some even just for a few weeks. I’ve had the privilege of skiing and learning from some legends in this area as the season’s worn in, and it’s been an honour. (Lead image by Bren Mackenzie)

Ptor Spricenieks is exactly the kind of skier whose accomplishments and passages through the mountains I was looking to emulate when I came to this place. If you don’t know who Ptor is, you’re spending too much time in the park, and I’m not going to explain his significance to you now.

Ptor, by Paul-Matthieu Fritsch

Ptor’s recently started a family with two young children here in La Grave. His disposition is friendlier and calmer than the loud personality famously attached to his loud accomplishments would have one believe. He’s known to have strong opinions, many of which are controversial, but what you actually get when you spend time with him is a really nice guy who’s plain old keen to shred. I’d have to admit to being a bit nervous asking him if I could follow him on a lap on the first pow day that I ended up sharing a télépherique cabin with him. “Why don’t you just ski with me,” he said. “I didn’t want to make any assumptions,” I answered. He smiled as he buckled his boots and replied “it’s all about attitude.” Lesson learned: if you want to ski with the bigs, you gotta come with confidence.

The day that followed turned us into a group of four, with two other local shredders. We opened some of the more notorious lines on the mountain and had first tracks all day. Ski cuts and super G down couloirs eventually gave way to a 7000 vertical foot pow run to valley bottom, and by the end I’d spent the day opening lines that I wouldn’t have dared be the first in on my prerogative.

The next day I hooked up with Ptor again at the top of the glacier lift on it’s first day of operations. Joe Vallone (La Grave’s most infamous American guide) had grabbed us both to help pay for seats in a shuttle waiting in St-Christophe—a tiny village in the opposite valley. We were skiing with some dudes from Chamonix who’ve come out with a super cool all-metal alternative to dynafits called the “plum.” They build them with material that is 98% locally sourced, which is just part of the attitude in France, “we can do it better, right here.” Thanks are owed to Paul-Matthieu Fritsch for his photos, and for being an innovator.

Because of the size of the group and the magnitude of the descent, we skied in legs, avoiding pockets. I tried to pay special attention to Ptor’s dynamic to see what I could learn. For the first few pitches he just stayed quietly at the back of the group. When we got to our third pitch, he fell back in order to ski last. We were in the concave guts of the face now, a bit less exposed, but it was still tense in my mind. As the remaining eight of us regrouped to watch Ptor we saw him ski right past us, having claimed better fall line and snow way further down to the next safe zone. I was struck with something I had heard avalanche expert Bruce Jamieson say once, “let other people go first.” There was plenty of room, and Ptor had now had the benefit of observing the slope’s behaviour with eight human avi bombs thrown on it. As a consequence, he gained the confidence to ski a way better and cooler line. Lesson learned: patience is a virtue, and experience doesn’t always show itself off at first.

As we gained our own confidence in the snow, we eventually all got to shred the last part of the massive face one by one, in it’s entirety and without pause. I got to go third, following behind Joe and Ptor. The descent gave way to a massive traverse out of a valley that held seven lifetimes worth of dream lines in it. It was a slow escape as we punched the trail out. I myself was growing more uncomfortable with the solar heating affecting overhead slopes. At a given point I turned to Ptor and expressed that I wasn’t comfortable to be standing where we were. His cheery answer, with a giant smile, was something to the affect of, “Yeah, well, there’s not really anywhere safe right here.” Lesson learned: some journeys require you to accept a certain amount of objective risk and it’s up to you to make that call—I’d already made it, now I had to live with it.

Matt Cote gettin the goods. Photo Bren Mackenzie

In the end we all made it out safely, albeit in elephant snot snow by the time we got to the ancient stone bar where we got treated to beers and warm smiles. Ptor took the time to point out a framed photo on the wall to me. It was a picture of figure with skis on his back walking through the same village sometime in the 90’s—it was him.

As far as this next introduction, I want to preface it by first stating that I’ve skied with lots of pro skiers over the years, I spent many seasons competing in freeskiing comps, I have a sickbird award to my credit, I’ve worked with photographers, and at times I might have even humoured the idea that I’ve had a humble little ski career. Any of these allusions, however, have been thoroughly shattered by the time I’ve spent skiing with Chad Sayers in La Grave, who has taught me what an athlete truly is. The man who’s made his skier’s journeys famous the last few years with online documentaries chronicling his voyages throughout the ski world is the hardest skier to follow that I have ever experienced.

Chad Sayers, by Bren Mackenzie

For a skier who’s endured so many hardships and injuries over the years, his strength, attitude, and resolve have made him stronger and happier on his skis than almost anyone I’ve ever met before. Chad’s stationed himself in La Grave this year, between journeys, in order to refocus his relationship with the mountains. It’s a little hard to take him seriously when he says that he’s here to work on his skiing, as there doesn’t appear to be a single muscle firing out of place when he digs his edges into the endless fall line here. The biggest lesson that Chad’s taught me is as follows: real power comes from a resolve that is best fuelled from an earnest love of what you’re doing. I’m now convinced that, beyond physical conditioning, what’s standing in the way of me skiing as hard as he does is simply wanting it as much, and loving it throughout. Thanks to Bren Mackenzie for sharing his photos of the time we all spent shredding together here!

Some of the others who deserve a shout out in this article include Joe Vallone, whom I’ve mentioned several times before. Joe’s love of skiing led him from being an X-Games pioneer to a mountain guide in La Grave, and I thank him for the stoke he’s taken in taking me places.

Joe Vallone, by Paul-Matthieu Fritsch

Lars-ake Krantz, the most powerful Swede I’ve ever met, also deserves full credit for taking me under his wing more than just about anybody else has in this place. The man with legs like tree trunks keeps himself challenged by hammering ski derby races in the Alps every season. In between, he keeps a cool and calculated head on his shoulders that’s made him one of the most renowned shredders in La Grave.

Lars, by Bren Mackenzie

To all the local French legends out there, you rock too, and I’d spend more time getting to know you if you’d quit smoking so many cigarettes in the télépherique cabins on the way up!