It's 5 am, everyone's tweaked on speed, we haven't slept for 2 days, and tomorrow turns out to be a powder day. Oops, we bet wrong.

The dealer wins this hand. Fast forward 3 nights; every skier in town is riding a booze bus from the best party of the season to another night of pulsating techno-cheese. Bill is the last one home at 7:00, and the first up at 8:30 to rally the troops for another surprise pow day. At 11:00 he's on a stretcher. Dealer wins again.

Everyday of the year in Las Vegas, Nevada suckers get lured into gambling, hoping for the big pay off. Everyday in Las Lenas, Argentina we felt like those same suckers, but we knew the big pay off was coming our way.

After two full days of sleepless travel from Vancouver's summer haze we pulled up to the stormy winter daze of Las Lenas, Argentina. It's close to 11pm, but it's not bedtime... it's dinnertime, and we're not complaining. The snow is still falling and rumours are calling for more stormin' tomorrow, so all the 'gringo' ski bums bet on an upcoming 'down-day' and decide to go party hard. Next thing we know it's 5 am, the night clubs are still pumping out incessant beats for the edgy crowd, and everyone around me is comparing how much speed they've had. Uh, Todo, we're not in Kansas anymore.

Turns out 'Speed' is an Argentinean energy drink, haled as the only way to ski all day and dance till sunrise, 7 days a week. Unfortunately it doesn't wake you up in the morning...

It's late morning before any ski bums in the 'ghetto' apartment block finally rise to an epic bluebird pow day, missing a would-be amazing morning of freshies. Like I said, one for the dealer. But our turn will come.

When they kick us off the hill at 5pm we're dead tired and haven't eaten all day, but we get dragged to La Cima for apre-ski, where a little surprise awaits. Two words... FREE BEER. 1 liter Heinekens fill the table while all of us new arrivals sit in disbelief. Nobody doubts that the dealer lost this hand.

The next few days are a blur of sunny pow days, a few clouds, and more 5 am nights of mind-melding techno. Some good times are had, but we still haven't set foot on 1/100th of the terrain Las Lenas has to offer. We've been confined to the dinky lower mountain lifts, all the while looking up and drooling at 4500 vertical feet of the sickest terrain I have ever laid eyes on. Las Lenas has more lift accessible skiable terrain than any other resort in the Western Hemisphere, but almost all of it stems from the top of a lonely, rickety old 2 man chair lift; the notorious Marte. It ascends the throat of a steep chute and bowl, and (surprise, surprise) has been taken out by more than one avalanche in past. It only ever opens when the storms are gone, the wind is dead, and the crew of ski bums and locals finish digging the chairs out of the avalanche debris and new snow. It only opened 9 times in the months before our arrival, and no one can promise it will open again.

But all that aside, we know it's worth the gamble. We know the best turns we've ever had are chillin' up there waiting for us. Too bad the liftees didn't wait for us...

Every morning we head up the hill and then debate whether or not to wait for Marte; often sitting at the base of the lift for hours on end with no luck. Finally on day 7 we place a bad bet and end up filming and skiing pow at the far end of the mountain when Marte putters into gear. It stubbornly hauls a patient few skiers up to a private playground of untracked 4000ft chutes, only to then close as quickly as it opened. Only a handful of skiers bask in the runs of their life while everyone else stands there jealous and stunned. It's a cruel, cruel world.

From now on we change our gambling strategy... put all our eggs in one basket and hope...

...Cha-ching, booyakasha! The next day we finally get to sit our butts on the Marte chair and bask in the revelry. We treat the ride like it's our last and hike over to the neighbouring peak of Cerro Martin, where we bag 1300 feet of virgin pow turns down the 50+ degree dogleg Banana Chute. But we treat it like it ain't no thang, because 4500 feet of feature-filled chutes down 'Sans Nom' are still to come.

From then on we had the dealer by the throat and racked in the rewards. Like a true Vegas card-shark we brought in our rigged deck of cards and soaked the casino dry. Ski 9-5, sleep 5-10, party 10-5, sleep 5-9. Repeat. And when Marte was dug out and running we were always there, sampling the seemingly endless couloirs. We even convinced the ski patrol that volunteer diggers deserve not only free tickets, but lift-line priority as well...

We hop into our private diggers' snowcat and cruise to the top of Marte, scoping tasty lines the whole way to the top. Some mellow pow turns lead us to where we'll be digging out the chairlift for two hours, and thoughts of what's to come make the job short'n sweet. When the deed is done we score more fluffy turns to the Marte lift-line, where we casually ski past everyone in the gridlock line-up and head up for round two. We spend the lift ride toiling over which chute to bag 1st tracks on, yet we know there's so much terrain that we won't cross tracks for most of the day. In all we score 5 laps on Marte; laying tracks down local favourites like Frankie's, Human Error, Vegas, and Eduardo's, all yielding a couple thousand feet of powdery vert between 45 and 55 degrees. Sinful bliss, but we know to quit while we're ahead.

Days later the wind picks up, we already have the casino begging for mercy, and we know Marte's days are over. With our pockets full of loot we leave our gambling days behind us. We sleep in, try kite skiing, and cap off the trip with a day of 'extreme tubing'. All the while, new arrivals and the 'patient few' are getting lured into gambling again, hoping for the big pay off. 

- J Dogg

Modern medicine at it's best.