Generation Snowpark
I get a slightly queasy feeling whenever my son and I take the first lift up. Hopefully the lad won’t slip out from under the safety bar… The feeling passes quite quickly, however, as Emil appears confident and is eager to get started. Because today we are not going on the baby pistes, but instead both want to visit a snowpark for the first time. The things dads have to do, is what I am thinking, but only the old try nothing new, so I am also curious to know just how a snowpark “feels”.
Ski acrobatics and structures of snow
The snowpark in the Ski Center Latemar is one of the best in the Alps, while the pistes at Obereggen are also ideal for Emil and me. Crisp, steep slopes that are however fine for Emil, and kilometre after kilometre of wide, well-maintained ski runs – space is of course vital for children’s safety. Especially as kids enjoy racing down as they get older!
When, after three warm-up laps, we finally reach the snowpark, I become almost breathless at the sight of the shapes. The snow here has been transformed into an architecture-like structure that soars skywards like the façade of a magnificent building. Kickers, boardercross, banked slalom, down-rail – after over 35 years of skiing it all sounds Greek to me. But I guess not for those kids who are showing off daring acrobatics before our very eyes. At their age I only ever saw such things on TV.
Curious to see more, we go once left, once right and once through the middle of the snowpark. But even where the direction sign says “easy”, Dad isn’t trying any jumps today. Emil cautiously feels his way to the edge of the pipe take-off ramp – and then turns back. Yes, son, one day maybe, you can try it – but not me. Some matters are just a generation thing.
It’s cool on the sun terrace
Emil is nevertheless highly motivated after his visit to the snowpark and tries a couple of small jumps on the bumps along the pistes. But hard training requires a pit stop and, as Dad’s favourite dish is served to perfection up here on high, we decide to stop for lunch at exactly 12 noon. I eagerly await my pasta scoglio on the terrace as Emil slurps his lemonade through a straw – then he suddenly looks me in the eyes and says: “Dad, we might be amateurs, but we’re still a bit cool – aren’t we?”
