"Activity" A film by Phil Casabon and friends

Profile and significance

Cole Gibson is a Vermont-bred freeski rider best known for street and park segments that helped define the East Coast’s modern urban-ski voice. Rather than chasing ranking points, he came up through rider-led crews and the Burlington–Montpelier corridor, earning wide attention with full parts in the Vermont-based HG Skis films “Children of the Guan” (2015), “The Promocabana” (2016), and the two-year project “Eat The Guts” (2017), which drew industry-festival recognition. His clips travel because they are readable at full speed—clean lock-ins, calm outruns, and trick choices that protect line speed. For viewers who follow freeski beyond scoreboards, Gibson is part of the DNA of mid-2010s to early-2020s street skiing from New England to Utah.

Competitive arc and key venues

Gibson’s “results” live on film, but the venues in those films explain the craft. Early laps and rail mileage at Mount Snow kept edge angles honest on firm snow and fed the park habits visible in his first HG edits. Spring gatherings at Loon Mountain gave him repetition on creative setups that reward cadence and speed control, a theme that reappears in his segments. Summer miles at Timberline Lodge on Mount Hood added consistent shaping and long seasons to refine grab timing and axis discipline. When projects moved west, sessions at Utah’s Brighton Resort showcased the same economy on short in-runs and quick transitions, while edits from California’s Mammoth Mountain proved the habits scale to XL park speed. Even away from steel, photos and trip reports from Vermont’s Brandon Gap show a skier who carries line shape from street into sidecountry turns when the snow stacks up.

How they ski: what to watch for

Gibson skis with deliberate economy. On rails he squares approaches early, centers his mass on contact, and exits with momentum protected for the next setup. Expect surface swaps that finish cleanly, presses with shape rather than wobble, and landings that stay over the feet—no panic scrubs. On jumps his signatures are measured spin speed and full-value grabs used to stabilize rotation, with axes that resolve into quiet outruns. Directional variety is there—forward and switch, left and right—but never at the expense of cadence. If you’re studying clips, watch the spacing between features: each move creates room for the next one, which is why his lines feel coherent even on compact approaches or sun-affected snow.

Resilience, filming, and influence

The influence is cumulative. In the East, Gibson’s parts with HG Skis arrived when urban skiing was accelerating: rider-owned brands, deep winters, and a film culture that valued honest speed and real-world spots. Those projects—shot across Vermont and the wider Northeast—helped normalize street segments that were technical without needing slow motion to be legible. As his clips migrated to western parks and cityscapes, the same blueprint held: protect speed, make early commitments, and let the spot dictate the trick. The result is footage that ages well on rewatch and a style that younger riders can emulate without access to contest infrastructure.

Geography that built the toolkit

Place is the skeleton of Gibson’s skiing. Vermont parks such as Mount Snow provided firm, repeatable conditions that punish sloppy approach angles and reward centered landings. Community spring laps at Loon Mountain layered in creativity and rhythm, while summers at Timberline Lodge offered a long progression window with dependable lips and landings. When film calendars pushed west, Brighton Resort added quick-hit rails and redirects that compress decisions into seconds, and Mammoth Mountain provided high-speed jump lines that demand early grab timing. Back home, storm cycles at Brandon Gap kept edge feel and line judgment sharp in natural snow—skills that echo in urban setups.

Equipment and partners: practical takeaways

Gibson’s film era overlapped with rider-owned hardgoods and durable, park-purpose shapes. The practical lesson for progressing skiers is category fit over model names: choose a symmetrical or near-symmetrical park ski with reinforced edges and a mount point that supports presses without sacrificing takeoff stability; tune edges to hold on steel but detune contact points enough to avoid surprise bites on swaps; and keep bases fast so cadence doesn’t depend on perfect weather. If you split time between resort parks and street, build a boot fit that stays consistent across long days and a goggle quiver that preserves contrast in flat New England light and bright western sun. Equipment won’t replace habits, but the right platform makes Gibson-style repeatability possible.

Why fans and progressing skiers care

Cole Gibson matters because he represents a pathway many riders actually follow: build fundamentals in New England parks, prove them in street segments, then carry the same choices to bigger parks out west. His best clips are case studies in readable difficulty—tight rail decisions, held grabs, and speed you can feel through the screen. For fans, that makes his parts rewatchable; for skiers, it turns “style” into a checklist of teachable details. If you value freeskiing that holds up without commentary, Gibson’s work belongs on your radar whether the camera is ten meters from a park booter or tucked into a Burlington stair set.

Profile and significance

Daniel “Dani” Bacher is an Austrian freeski standout whose rapid rise from the Stubai Valley to the sport’s biggest stages made him one of Europe’s most closely watched slopestyle and big air riders. Born in 2004 and based around Innsbruck, he represents Austria’s A-Team and TU Innsbruck in park-and-pipe disciplines, translating junior promise into senior-level hardware with uncommon speed. The headline results arrived early and emphatically: a Big Air bronze at X Games Aspen 2024 at Buttermilk, a World Cup podium with second place at Big Air Chur in October 2023, and Olympic starts at Beijing 2022. Add in double silver medals at the 2021 Junior World Championships and solid Youth Olympic Games finishes in 2020, and the picture is clear: Bacher is a proven contest closer with a style the camera loves and judges reward.

Equally important is how those results were earned. Bacher’s calling card is “playful power”—tail-butter initiations into high-value doubles, precise grabs held long enough to stabilize axis, and a habit of using course architecture in surprising, judge-legible ways. That mix has carried him from local lines on Stubai Glacier to stadium-lit scaffolding and live broadcasts without losing the clarity that drew attention in the first place.

Competitive arc and key venues

Bacher’s pathway tracks cleanly through modern benchmarks. As a teenager he logged sixth in big air and seventh in slopestyle at the 2020 Winter Youth Olympics, then converted that momentum into two silver medals at Junior Worlds in 2021. The senior leap came fast: he qualified for Beijing 2022 at age 17, finishing 21st in big air and 17th in slopestyle in his Olympic debut. The following season opened with a breakthrough World Cup podium—second at the festival-style Big Air stop in Chur—before he stepped onto the biggest non-Olympic stage with bronze in X Games Big Air at Buttermilk in January 2024. The consistency across formats matters: stadium big air, long-panel slopestyle, and pressure-heavy finals have all yielded high-end runs.

Venues explain the shape of that résumé. Stubai’s autumn parks on Stubai Glacier provided early-season repetitions on large, cleanly shaped features, ideal for dialing speed and takeoff timing. The Chur big air—set in Switzerland’s oldest city—demanded precise approach mechanics on a single, consequential jump under lights and cameras. And Buttermilk, home of X Games, rewarded the full package: rail economy, directional variety on jumps, and the composure to adapt when the broadcast environment adds noise.

How they ski: what to watch for

Bacher’s skiing is instantly readable because he makes deliberate choices that keep a run’s shape intact. On rails, approaches are squared early and body position stays stacked, so lock-ins look decisive rather than dramatic and exits preserve speed into the next setup. On jumps, he favors measured spin speed and deep, stabilizing grabs that let him hold axis through the apex and land centered. The signatures that popped on his X Games bronze run—creative use of the lip with tail taps, and a switch leftside tail-butter double cork 1440 safety—show how he layers difficulty without sacrificing cadence. When he changes direction or stance, the line keeps breathing; there’s space between moves, which is why his runs look smooth to casual viewers while still scoring with technical panels.

Two tells help you evaluate a Bacher lap. First, the grab timing: he commits early and holds long enough to influence rotation, not just decorate it. Second, the way he “borrows” from buttered entries on the snow to set clean takeoffs for high-risk tricks. Those habits are portable across venues and conditions, which is why his contest skiing seems to travel well from one build to the next.

Resilience, filming, and influence

Bacher’s 2023–24 season highlighted composure as much as difficulty. In Aspen he mixed heavy tricks with showmanship—without letting novelty overwhelm execution—and even handled an in-run mishap without losing momentum in the overall performance narrative. That balance has helped him resonate beyond raw results sheets. Brands have taken notice—he rides for Armada Skis and appears on Monster Energy’s roster—and media coverage has emphasized that his creativity is anchored in fundamentals. For younger skiers, his approach validates a modern blueprint: rehearse clean mechanics at home, bring a distinct trick vocabulary to big builds, and let originality live inside a structured run rather than replacing it.

While contests are the spine of his career to date, Bacher’s clips also translate to film. Short pieces and team edits underline the same values—economical body position, held grabs, and smart speed checks—so his skiing remains watchable on replay without slow-motion crutches. That rewatchability is part of his influence; it turns “style” from a vibe into a set of teachable details.

Geography that built the toolkit

Place explains a lot about Bacher’s control. Growing up in the Stubai Valley meant frequent laps on the Stubai Glacier, where the early-season park is famous for consistent lips, honest speed, and firm landings that demand centered technique. Innsbruck’s scene adds dense repetition and community—athletes share lines, coaches emphasize detail, and the calendar offers frequent chances to scale tricks before winter arrives in full. When his schedule pulls him outward, those habits stick: in Chur he manages a single-feature spotlight; in Aspen at Buttermilk he sustains momentum across a deep, televised field.

That geographic loop—home repetitions on glacier parks, European city big airs, and North American major-event venues—shows up in how he visualizes courses. Speed control stays honest, trick choices fit the available runway, and landings arrive over the feet rather than as saves.

Equipment and partners: practical takeaways

With Armada Skis underfoot and Monster Energy support, Bacher’s kit reflects durability and predictable platform feel—exactly what repeated rail contact and high-risk jump attempts require. For progressing skiers, the actionable lessons are straightforward: choose a symmetrical or near-symmetrical park ski with reinforced edges and a mount point that supports presses without compromising takeoff stability; keep edges tuned to hold on steel but detuned at contact points to avoid surprise bites on swaps; and maintain fast bases so cadence doesn’t depend on perfect weather. Equipment won’t replace technique, but the right platform makes Bacher-style repeatability possible across long contest or filming days.

Beyond hardgoods, look at venue choices as part of the “kit.” Early laps on Stubai Glacier and big-event exposure at Buttermilk create a feedback loop: refine on consistent features, then test under pressure when lights and cameras add variables. That rhythm is a practical template for anyone trying to scale from local parks to international starts.

Why fans and progressing skiers care

Dani Bacher matters because he blends creativity with contest-grade clarity. He’s already delivered at X Games, stood on a World Cup podium in Chur, and represented Austria at the Olympic Games—and he did it with runs that make sense in real time. For viewers, that means performances worth rewatching; for skiers, it offers a blueprint built on timing, held grabs, and momentum management rather than on single-use spectacle. If you follow freeski for slopestyle and big air that hold up long after the broadcast, keep Bacher on your radar—the toolkit is proven, and the ceiling is still rising.

Profile and significance

Henrik “E-Dollo” Harlaut is one of freeskiing’s defining figures, a Swedish original whose blend of contest dominance, film culture, and scene-building has shaped how park and street skiing look and feel. A two-time Olympian for Sweden and a multi-time medalist at the X Games, he holds the all-time records for Ski golds and total Ski medals at that event. His 2013 Big Air breakthrough—landing the first nose-butter triple cork 1620 on the Aspen stage—reset expectations for what creative, controlled progression could be. Beyond podiums, Harlaut helped lead a rider-first movement through the B&E era with Phil Casabon, co-hosting the B&E Invitational in France and elevating film parts and tours that centered style as substance.

Harlaut’s brand ecosystem mirrors that identity. He rides for Armada Skis and headlines his own street-savvy label, Harlaut Apparel, while long-running support from Monster Energy has kept cameras on his projects from Scandi parks to city rails. The result is a rare dual footprint—elite competitor and cultural steward—whose skiing reads clearly at full speed and whose projects continue to influence how freeski stories are told.

Competitive arc and key venues

Harlaut’s contest résumé traces the modern ladder. He announced himself to a global audience at Aspen’s Buttermilk, where his Big Air gold and that historic nose-butter triple 16 became part of freeski lore. In the years that followed he stacked Big Air and Slopestyle medals across Aspen and Europe, and even added the newer Knuckle Huck title to underline his versatility. On the Olympic stage he represented Sweden at Sochi 2014—finishing sixth in slopestyle—and returned at PyeongChang 2018, a testament to endurance in a field where the trick list never stops evolving.

Venue context explains why his runs travel so well. Buttermilk rewards multi-feature flow and composure under heavy cameras. Oslo’s and Norway’s stadium builds prize amplitude on single hits. Spring blocks at Sweden’s Kläppen refine rhythm and variety across dense rail sections and medium-to-large booters. Olympic courses—from Sochi’s expansive build to the sculpted lines at Korea’s Phoenix Park—demand immaculate takeoffs and exact landings. Across those settings, Harlaut’s hallmark has been readability: tricks that make sense at normal speed because the inputs are functional and on time.

How they ski: what to watch for

Harlaut skis with deliberate economy and musical timing. On rails, approaches square up early, the body stays stacked, and lock-ins look decisive rather than dramatic. Surface swaps resolve cleanly; presses have visible shape; exits protect speed for what’s next. On jumps, he manages spin speed with deep, stabilizing grabs—safety, tail, blunt—arriving early enough to calm the axis and keep the hips centered over the feet. Directional variety—forward and switch, left and right—appears without breaking cadence because every move serves the line instead of a checklist.

Two cues help you “read” a Harlaut lap in real time. First, spacing: he leaves room between tricks so each one sets angle and speed for the next, a habit that makes full runs feel like sentences rather than word salad. Second, grab discipline: hands find the ski early and stay long enough to influence rotation, not just decorate the frame. That approach explains why even his biggest spins look unhurried—and why editors can present his shots at normal speed without slow-motion rescue.

Resilience, filming, and influence

Results alone would place Harlaut among the greats; his cultural work cements it. With Phil Casabon he hosted the B&E Invitational at Les Arcs, a rider-designed jam that treated slopestyle as an open canvas and set a template for today’s style-first showcases. On film, he’s produced projects that framed progression as story, from the two-year deep dive “Salute” to the wider canon built with Inspired-era collaborators. The common thread is clarity: honest speed, early commitments, centered landings. That’s why his parts age well—you can see the trick math at 1x speed—and why younger riders can copy the mechanics without needing a mega-budget build.

Harlaut’s influence also shows in how brands and events talk about skiing. He helped normalize the idea that style is not garnish but technique—grab choice that stabilizes an axis, spacing that preserves momentum, and rail decisions that protect cadence. As new disciplines and formats appear, the standard he champions remains the same: make difficulty legible, so viewers feel it the first time and still find details on the tenth watch.

Geography that built the toolkit

Place is the skeleton of Harlaut’s skiing. He moved to Åre as a kid, and the resort’s varied pistes and night laps forged edge honesty and repetition; if you want to understand the base layer, start with the discipline that Scandinavia’s firm snow demands. Spring sections at Kläppen layered in rhythm on dense features, teaching him to protect speed through quick in-runs and short outruns. The annual pilgrimage to Aspen’s Buttermilk sharpened broadcast composure, while European city builds and invitational courses rewarded creativity and line design. Stitch those environments together and you get a toolkit that travels: patient takeoffs, functional grabs, tidy exits, and runs that hold their shape from first rail to last landing.

Equipment and partners: practical takeaways

Harlaut’s kit is built for repeatability and feel. With Armada he’s long ridden park-capable platforms tuned for pop and predictable swing weight, a setup that rewards nose-butter entries and early-grab spins. Apparel through Harlaut Apparel leans into rider-led durability and movement on long filming days, while backing from Monster Energy helps turn ambitious concepts into finished films and event moments. For skiers borrowing from his playbook, the hardware lesson is category fit over hype: choose a symmetrical or near-symmetrical park ski, mount it so butters and presses feel natural without sacrificing takeoff stability, keep bases fast so cadence doesn’t depend on perfect weather, and tune edges to hold on steel yet soften contact points to avoid surprise bites on swaps.

There’s a process lesson, too. Build lines around momentum. Use the grab as a control input rather than decoration. Finish tricks early enough to ride away with speed and time. Those habits are why Harlaut’s biggest moments—whether a stadium jump in Aspen or a creative rail garden at a spring session—read cleanly on camera and hold up on rewatch.

Why fans and progressing skiers care

Henrik Harlaut matters because he turned elite difficulty into a language anyone can follow and then used his platform to grow the culture around it. He has the X Games medal record to satisfy the stats crowd and a film-and-event legacy that continues to pull the sport toward rider agency and style with substance. The skiing itself is readable at full speed, the choices are intentional, and the execution holds up under the brightest lights. For viewers, that means segments and finals worth replaying; for developing riders, it’s a checklist you can practice on the next lap. Protect momentum, commit early, let the spot decide the move—and make it look good because the mechanics are honest. That’s the Harlaut blueprint, and it’s why his influence runs from Åre to Aspen and across every park where skiers learn to turn hard things into clear, compelling lines.

Profile and significance

Kim Boberg is a Swedish freeski original whose influence runs well beyond podiums. Born in 1991 and raised in the rural municipality of Älvdalen, he emerged through athlete-led films and Europe’s scene-driven culture before becoming a longtime pillar of the Armada Skis team. His career threads through Field Productions segments, a standout part in Armada’s “Oil & Water,” the web series “Shred ’n Breakfast,” and an all-urban entry at the X Games Real Ski 2019 video contest. Just as important, he created the spring gathering that many pros now circle in pen: Kimbo Sessions, hosted at Kläppen, a rider-led “anti-contest” focused on creativity and flow. Across all of it, Boberg’s skiing reads clearly at full speed—calm approaches, deep functional grabs, decisive rail lock-ins, and landings that keep momentum alive.

That clarity now carries a hardware imprint. Armada launched a pro-collab park ski built around his habits—the Kimbo/Kimbo 95—and he pairs it with dependable retention from Tyrolia. Between a decade-plus of film work and a community event that sets the tone for spring sessions, Boberg has become both stylist and steward for modern freeskiing.

Competitive arc and key venues

Boberg’s résumé favors films and culture-first gatherings, but he still took his turn under the broadcast lights. His Real Ski 2019 part—shot primarily on Scandinavian architecture—showed the same method he’s known for in longer edits: early commitments, obstacle-spanning tricks, and enough space between moves that viewers can follow the story without slow-motion. The more enduring competitive “format,” though, is Kimbo Sessions at Kläppen. Since the mid-2010s it has evolved into a weeklong lab where the world’s top riders experiment on a custom park at golden-hour pace, an approach that inspired similar jam-style showcases elsewhere. Even in years when snowpack forces changes, the concept remains a benchmark for how rider-run events can spotlight progression without a heat sheet.

Venue context explains the feel of his skiing. Kläppen’s snowpark is dense with options and tuned for rhythm rather than spectacle, which rewards patient takeoffs and tidy exits. Scandinavian street spots—Stockholm, Östersund, and beyond—compress decision-making into short in-runs and quick outruns. Those places built habits that travel: Boberg’s line design works whether the background is a city staircase or a sun-softened rail garden at a spring session.

How they ski: what to watch for

Boberg skis with deliberate economy and musical timing. On rails, approaches square up early, shoulders stay stacked, and lock-ins look committed rather than theatrical. Surface swaps resolve completely; presses carry visible shape; exits protect speed so the next feature arrives naturally. On jumps, he manages spin speed with deep, stabilizing grabs—safety, tail, or blunt depending on axis—arriving early enough to calm rotation and keep the landing centered over the feet. Directional variety is built-in—forward and switch, left and right—but never disrupts cadence because each trick serves the line rather than a checklist.

If you’re trying to “read” a Boberg clip in real time, track two cues. First, spacing: he leaves room between moves so each trick sets angle and speed for the next, turning a full run into a sentence instead of word salad. Second, grab discipline: hands find the ski early and stay long enough to influence rotation, not just decorate the frame. Those details explain why heavy spins look unhurried and why editors can present his footage at normal speed.

Resilience, filming, and influence

Street and spring filming are process-heavy—shovel and salt, rebuilds after busts, and the judgment to walk away when conditions won’t hold. Boberg leans into that rhythm. Field Productions features and Armada projects like “Oil & Water” captured his patience and trick math; later pieces such as “Butterfly” distilled years of Kimbo Sessions clips and Real Ski shots into a cohesive portrait. The influence radiates through the formats he favors. Kimbo Sessions turned a private spring shoot into a shared, rider-first canvas; The Bunch’s films reframed progression as story rather than stunt. Younger skiers study his early grab timing, obstacle-spanning choices, and the way small, on-purpose speed checks never spill into landings.

Because the message is practical, it spreads. Resorts reference the Kimbo template when shaping flowy late-season parks; brands point to his segments when they talk about predictable swing weight and edge life; and coaches use his runs to teach momentum protection and centered finishes. Boberg’s legacy is as much about how to build and share skiing as it is about what tricks to do.

Geography that built the toolkit

Place is the skeleton of Boberg’s skiing. Älvdalen’s proximity to Kläppen supplied years of repetition on firm mornings and slushy afternoons, a daily cycle that demands honest edge angles and patient takeoffs. Scandinavian cities added the urban syllabus—tight approaches, quick redirects, and runouts that punish sloppy speed checks. When The Bunch pulled projects farther afield, those habits traveled intact: protect momentum, finish movements early, and let the line keep its shape from first feature to last landing.

Equipment and partners: practical takeaways

Boberg’s setup mirrors his priorities. The Armada Kimbo is a park-focused design with a buttery flex for presses, a full-wrap edge for durability on steel, and a tail insert that keeps response predictable under load—features that turn technique into repeatable results on rails and medium booters. Bindings from Tyrolia provide trustworthy retention and stomp feel on mixed surfaces. For skiers translating this into their own kit, think category fit over model names: choose a symmetrical or near-symmetrical park ski and mount it so butters feel natural without sacrificing takeoff stability; keep bases fast so cadence doesn’t depend on perfect weather; and tune edges to hold on steel while softening contact points to avoid surprise bites on swaps.

There’s a process lesson too. Build lines around momentum, not spin count. Treat the grab as a control input rather than ornament. Finish tricks early enough to ride away centered with time to set the next move. Those habits make Boberg’s skiing readable at full speed and give progressing riders a blueprint they can actually copy.

Why fans and progressing skiers care

Kim Boberg matters because he fused elite street-and-park difficulty with a community platform that keeps the sport honest. The films prove the point; the Kimbo Sessions tradition spreads it. For viewers, his segments and spring laps are endlessly rewatchable because the decisions are clear and the execution is calm. For skiers trying to level up, the takeaways are concrete: square the approach, use the grab to stabilize the axis, leave every feature with speed, and design the run so it reads like a story. That’s the Boberg blueprint—from Älvdalen to Kläppen and into every park where style doubles as technique.

Profile and significance

Liam Downey is an American freeski original from New England whose name is woven through the mid-2000s park and street era. He rose with the film movement rather than the FIS ladder, stacking memorable parts with the Denver-based production house Level 1—including a prominent role in “Long Story Short” (2006) and features in “Realtime” (2007) and “Turbo” (2008). Those edits made him a touchstone for how urban/street skiing and resort park laps could read clearly at full speed: squared-up approaches, deep functional grabs, decisive rail lock-ins, and centered landings that keep momentum alive. Beyond filming, Downey carried that sensibility into coaching blocks and storytelling, helping younger riders translate style into repeatable technique at places like Mt. Hood and Summit County.

What sets Downey apart is durability of influence. He didn’t chase Olympic slopestyle or big air podiums; he showed a generation how to make hard things look simple on camera and in person. Later collaborations—like a 2022 piece with Armada filmed by Brady Perron—reminded longtime fans why his skiing still holds up: the mechanics are on time, and the decisions serve the line, not the stat sheet.

Competitive arc and key venues

Downey’s “arc” lives in projects and rider-run gatherings more than bib counts, but the venues that shaped him are the sport’s classrooms. Early repetitions around Vermont and the Stratton corridor put him on the East’s radar, with appearances at marquee rail jams and spring shoots. The film years tied him to springs and summers at Timberline Lodge (Mt. Hood), where long lanes and consistent lips let him refine patient takeoffs and full-length grabs, and to Woodward Copper, where dense rail panels compress decision-making into short in-runs and quick outruns. Travel blocks to Park City Mountain and Pennsylvania’s Seven Springs added different geometries and speeds; shoots and camps at Copper Mountain and East Coast nights at Killington brought contest-style pressure without the rulebook.

Those places explain the toolkit you see on film. Firm mornings and slushy afternoons demand honest edge angles; short urban runways force early commitments. When his segments landed with viewers, it wasn’t because they hid the work—it’s because the trick math stayed legible no matter the build.

How they ski: what to watch for

Downey skis with deliberate economy. On rails he squares the approach early, centers mass on contact, and locks in decisively rather than theatrically. Surface swaps resolve completely; presses carry visible shape instead of wobble; exits protect enough speed that the next setup arrives naturally. On jumps he manages spin rate with deep, functional grabs—safety, tail, or blunt depending on axis—and he gets to the handle early enough to calm rotation and finish the landing over his feet. Directional variety appears both forward and switch, left and right, but never breaks cadence because each choice serves the line.

If you want to “read” a Downey clip in real time, track two cues. First, spacing: he leaves room between moves so every trick sets angle and speed for the next one, making a full run feel like a sentence instead of disconnected words. Second, grab discipline: the hand finds the ski early and stays long enough to stabilize the axis, not just decorate the frame. That habit is why heavier spins look unhurried and why editors can present his shots at normal speed without slow-motion rescue.

Resilience, filming, and influence

Street skiing rewards process—shovel and salt, rebuilds after busts, and the judgment to walk away when the approach won’t hold. Downey leaned into that rhythm throughout the Level 1 era and beyond, contributing not just footage but also a voice that helped riders and viewers understand why certain choices age well. As a writer and mentor, he has translated trick math into plain language, arguing for style as technique: early commitments, functional grabs, tidy landings, momentum protected. Coaching stints at places like Windells on Mt. Hood and sessions tied into Summit County’s Woodward Copper ecosystem kept him connected to the next crop while reinforcing the same template he filmed a decade earlier.

The influence shows up wherever park kids try to turn “vibe” into decisions. Downey’s lines are case studies: obstacle-spanning tricks that use the whole feature, speed checks that don’t spill into landings, and finishes that leave time for the next choice. That blueprint is as useful to an aspiring slopestyle rider as it is to someone planning an urban/street skiing hit list for winter break.

Geography that built the toolkit

Place is the skeleton of Downey’s skiing. Vermont’s freeze-thaw and night-skiing routine near Stratton Mountain and the wider New England corridor instilled edge honesty and approach discipline. Summers at Timberline stretched the runway—reps on consistent lips turn early grab timing into habit. Colorado’s Summit County, particularly Copper Mountain with the Woodward build, compressed everything back down into short, high-frequency approaches that punish late decisions. Thread those environments together and you get skiing that stays itself on clean spring salt, storm refreeze, or a city staircase under LEDs.

Equipment and partners: practical takeaways

Downey’s hardware choices mirror his priorities. Film-era work with Level 1 prioritized predictable swing weight and edge life on steel; his later collaboration with Armada underlined a preference for skis that reward early-grab control and centered landings. For skiers applying the lessons, think category fit over model names. Choose a symmetrical or near-symmetrical park ski and mount it so presses feel natural without compromising takeoff stability. Keep bases fast so cadence doesn’t depend on perfect weather; tune edges to hold on rails yet soften contact points enough to avoid surprise bites on swaps. Above all, treat the grab as a control input—lock it early to stabilize the axis and ride out centered with speed for what comes next.

Why fans and progressing skiers care

Liam Downey matters because he helped codify a language for modern freeski—especially urban/street skiing and resort slopestyle—that is still teachable today. The films prove the point, the coaching and writing spread it, and the skiing itself remains rewatchable because the decisions are clear. For viewers, his segments hit that sweet spot where difficulty looks inevitable. For riders in progression, his blueprint is actionable on the next lap: square the approach, use the grab to steer the axis, finish the move early, and leave every feature with momentum. From night laps in Vermont to summer lanes at Timberline and park lines at Copper Mountain, the message holds.

Profile and significance

Mike Hornbeck is an American freeski icon from Michigan whose street-first approach, butters and presses helped define the look of modern park and urban skiing. Rising through the mid-2000s film era, he became one of the most recognizable riders in Level 1’s catalog with standout appearances in titles like Realtime, After Dark, and other projects that centered style and originality over podiums. A long-time member of the Armada team, he later carried his aesthetic into rider-led web parts and brand pieces that many skiers still study frame by frame. Hornbeck’s significance rests on cultural impact: the way he made presses, shiftys, nollies and reverts read as a complete language—and how that language spread from Midwest rope-tow parks to edits worldwide.

His visibility extended beyond films into headline events tailored for urban skiers. In 2018 he competed in X Games Real Ski, the all-video, all-street contest that showcases the sport’s purest rail craft and spot selection. While he didn’t leave with a medal, the invite alone underscored what most peers already believed: Hornbeck is a taste-maker whose clips influence how others build their tricks, choose their lines, and evaluate style. The result is a profile measured less by trophies and more by the lasting replay value of his skiing.

Competitive arc and key venues

Hornbeck’s “competitive arc” is atypical by design. Rather than chasing slopestyle starts week to week, he prioritized filming seasons and special-format showcases. The invite to X Games Real Ski in 2018 placed him on the sport’s biggest stage for urban riding, reinforcing his long-running role as a reference for rails and surface tricks. Back home, his laboratory has been Michigan night-skiing culture—small hills and frequent laps that sharpen timing and edge control. Places like Cannonsburg near Grand Rapids and Bittersweet in Otsego are closely associated with his name through edits and community sessions. Those venues explain his approach as well as any result sheet: compact parks that reward creativity, repetition, and economy.

On the brand and film side, Level 1’s projects gave him global reach, while collaborative pieces with Armada kept his voice at the front of style conversations during the social-media era. That balance—local parks for skill-building, film crews for distribution, and selective competitions for validation—maps the path many modern street skiers now follow.

How they ski: what to watch for

Hornbeck is a master of clean, low-effort movement that still reads unmistakably technical. On rails, the tell is how long he holds positions without wobble: locked backslides, decisive presses, and surface swaps that happen with minimal arm swing. He enters features from a neutral, tall stance, setting edge pressure early so the base stays flat through kinks and waterfall rails. Exits look inevitable rather than reactive, with shoulders square and speed preserved for the next hit.

On jumps and side hits he favors patience into the lip, late pop, and grabs established before 180 degrees. Shifty variations and nose or tail butters aren’t decorative flourishes—they’re the framework that makes his rotations look suspended in slow motion. The overall impression is skiing you can learn from: quiet upper body, soft ankles on impact, and tricks that begin with balance rather than force.

Resilience, filming, and influence

Across a long career Hornbeck navigated injuries and the shifting economics of film skiing, yet kept producing parts that set the bar for style. His “This Is Armada” features and later collaborations with filmmaker friends showed how to build memorable segments on accessible terrain, a lesson embraced by crews worldwide. He also leaned into creative side projects with Armada, including short-form pieces and art-driven edits that extended his voice beyond traditional ski movies. The cumulative effect is influence that outlives any given season: riders imitate his presses and line choices; parks rebuild features to recreate his clips; and coaches still use his movement patterns as teaching references.

Geography that built the toolkit

Hornbeck’s toolkit is pure Midwest. Frequent laps under lights in Michigan—especially at Cannonsburg and Bittersweet—create the conditions where subtle edge control matters more than gravity. Short run-ins, modest speed, and tight decks demand precise setups and centered landings, traits that define his rail skiing. When film seasons took him beyond the Midwest, he exported that control to bigger features without altering the blueprint. The result is a style born on small hills that scales cleanly to city handrails and travel segments.

Equipment and partners: practical takeaways

As a long-time Armada pro, Hornbeck’s setups have emphasized playful flex patterns that accept heavy detune at the contact points yet stay supportive for butters and presses. His eyewear and protection have included SHRED. and Slytech pieces, reflecting a focus on vision and impact management during urban sessions. For progressing skiers, the lessons are straightforward: pick a park ski with a balanced, medium-soft flex you can bend without folding; mount near center to stay neutral on switch landings; detune enough to reduce rail bite; and keep bindings at a ramp angle that doesn’t force you into the backseat. Off-snow, build Hornbeck-like habits—video review to check shoulder alignment, balance drills for press control, and structured repetitions so surface swaps feel deliberate rather than lucky.

Why fans and progressing skiers care

Fans care about Mike Hornbeck because he made freeski style specific and teachable. His parts distilled ideas—how long to hold a press, when to set edge, how to let a shifty breathe—that riders could copy the next day at their local hill. For developing skiers, he remains a blueprint for getting more out of small parks and for turning subtle technique into standout clips. Whether the backdrop is a Michigan rope tow, a city handrail, or an X Games Real Ski part, Hornbeck’s skiing reads the same: patient, precise, and quietly elite.

Profile and significance

Philip “B-Dog” Casabon is a Canadian freeski icon from Shawinigan, Québec, whose style-first language—presses, butters, nollies, reverts, and shiftys that breathe—reshaped modern park and urban skiing. He rose through night laps at his local hill, Vallée du Parc, and became one of the most influential riders of his generation by proving that creativity, definition, and flow can outweigh brute force. His cultural footprint is matched by hardware: back-to-back gold medals at X Games Real Ski in 2018 and 2019, plus the 2018 Fan Favorite nod, cemented his status as a peer-elected standard. In the same window, he released the widely praised film “En Particulier” with Brady Perron and was named Freeskier’s Skier of the Year, a rare double for a rider focused on film and street. Casabon matters because he made style specific and teachable—clips that hold up frame by frame and a movement language that any progressing skier can study and apply.

Competitive arc and key venues

Casabon’s competitive résumé is unconventional by design. Early in his career he tested himself in slopestyle at Aspen, making multiple Winter X Games appearances when the discipline was still defining itself. As urban skiing’s broadcast moment arrived, he shifted to segments and rider-curated showcases that better matched his voice. The pivot paid off: his 2018 X Games Real Ski gold, delivered alongside the Fan Favorite award, was followed by a repeat gold in 2019—rare back-to-back wins that confirmed his dominance in the all-video, all-street format. In the culture-defining B&E era at Les Arcs, he collected “Best Style” honors in both 2014 and 2015 on a skate-inspired setup designed to reward touch and originality. Those landmarks—Aspen’s spotlight, Real Ski’s medals, and Les Arcs’ style awards—map the arc of a skier who used competition as a proof-of-concept for ideas refined in edits.

The places tied to his name help explain the skiing. Vallée du Parc gave him the repetition and switch comfort that show up in his lines. Aspen’s big-build tempo at Aspen Snowmass taught wind calls, long decks, and pressure management under cameras. The B&E park at Les Arcs encouraged butters into spins, long presses, and transfers that value feel over amplitude. Together they shaped a rider who reads features instantly and turns modest speed into full sentences of skiing.

How they ski: what to watch for

Casabon skis with economy and definition. Approaches stay tall and neutral. He sets rotation late, locks grabs early—often with unmistakable tweaks—and lets the trick breathe rather than rushing the set. On rails, the signatures are square entries, long-held presses and backslides that are obvious to the eye, surface swaps with minimal arm swing, and exits where the shoulders stay aligned so momentum carries into the next feature. Even when the spot is complex, he organizes edge pressure early to keep the base flat through kinks, which is why his landings read inevitable rather than rescued. On jumps and side hits the same patience appears: pop comes from the feet up, grabs are defined before 180 degrees, and the upper body stays quiet so the skis do the storytelling. The result is a blueprint any rider can study—calm entry, patient pop, early grab definition, square-shoulder exit.

Resilience, filming, and influence

Casabon’s influence runs through films and community projects as much as medals. He built a decade-long catalog of replayable segments, culminating in the late-2010s run that paired Real Ski golds with a festival-tested film presence. The work emphasized honest speed, horizon awareness, and compositions that make slope angle and body organization clear—choices that help viewers learn, not just watch. In the B&E era, his partnership with Henrik Harlaut created a platform where style was the scorecard, then pushed those ideas back into parks, streets, and product design. Interviews and long-form conversations from this period reveal a method that prizes durability over hype: habits you can repeat when conditions are imperfect and cameras are rolling.

That durability—plus a willingness to mentor—keeps his influence alive in a generation that learns from edits. Coaches use his clips to illustrate patient setups and clean exits; riders break down his presses and shifty timing to build their own lines. He is both reference and proof: you do not need the world’s biggest jump to show world-class skiing if your movements are organized and your choices are clear.

Geography that built the toolkit

Place explains the method. Shawinigan’s Vallée du Parc is a human-scale hill where repetition is abundant and mistakes are obvious. Night laps there forged the switch comfort, precise edging, and patience that define his rail game. The spotlight and wind at Aspen Snowmass layered in big-feature timing and composure. The creative modules at Les Arcs rewarded a horizontal vocabulary—presses, butters, wheelies—that Casabon helped popularize, proving that expression at low to medium speeds can be as compelling as amplitude. When you trace the map, you see the fingerprints in every clip: local-hill repetition, big-park patience, and skate-park creativity applied to snow.

Equipment and partners: practical takeaways

Casabon’s long relationship with Armada extended far beyond sticker placement. His pro model BDog and the experimental BDog Edgeless in Armada’s Zero Collection were designed to serve his priorities—predictable flex for presses and butters, confidence on switch landings, and swing weight that stays honest on slower-speed pops. The gear lessons for progressing skiers mirror that logic. Choose a true park ski with a balanced, medium flex you can bend without folding. Detune the contact points enough to reduce rail bite while maintaining dependable edge hold on the lip. Mount close enough to center that presses sit level and switch landings feel neutral. Keep binding ramp angles that don’t tip you onto your heels. Then build a process that matches the hardware: film laps, compare shoulder alignment and hip-to-ankle stack against a short checklist, and repeat until the movements become automatic. The setup is the scaffold; the habits are the house.

Why fans and progressing skiers care

Fans care about Philip Casabon because his skiing ages well. The clips prioritize timing, organization, and line design over noise, which is why they survive slow-motion scrutiny years later. Progressing skiers care because the same choices are teachable on normal parks and real snowpacks. If your winter looks like night laps on a small hill, weekend missions to a destination park, and a few street sessions with friends, his blueprint shows how to turn limited speed and imperfect conditions into memorable skiing. The medals—back-to-back X Games Real Ski golds and Fan Favorite in 2018—are milestones; the lasting takeaway is a method: calm entry, patient pop, early grab definition, square-shoulder exit, and a flow that connects a run into a single sentence. That is why B-Dog remains essential viewing for anyone who cares about freeskiing’s style, substance, and future.

Profile and significance

Quinn Wolferman is an American freeski standout from Missoula, Montana whose calm, creative movement has translated across edits, SLVSH games, World Cups and the broadcast stage. Born in 1997, he grew up lapping Montana Snowbowl before basing in Utah and splitting his days between Park City Mountain and Alta Ski Area. His breakout moment came at the X Games in 2022, where he won Ski Knuckle Huck gold with a run built on patient nose-butter takeoffs, inventive body slides and the kind of timing that reads perfectly in slow motion. Around that milestone he stacked a deep catalog of rider-led projects—Strictly’s street-and-backcountry films and backcountry-heavy cuts with the Montana/Wyoming crew—that made him one of the most “replayable” skiers of his generation. With long-standing support from Armada and a profile on Monster Energy, Wolferman matters because he shows how modern freeskiing can be both inventive and teachable.

Competitive arc and key venues

Wolferman’s competitive résumé balances culture and results. Early top-10s on the FIS World Cup—most notably ninth in slopestyle at Snowmass in January 2018—signaled that his film-ready mechanics could survive start-gate pressure. He appeared in World Cups across Europe and North America, then refocused on formats that reward touch and originality: SLVSH Cup matchups, jam-style nights, and the X Games Knuckle Huck, where Aspen’s floodlights and long decks at Aspen Snowmass showcased his trademark nose-butter doubles and shifty-heavy takeoffs. The 2022 X Games gold confirmed what crews already knew from years of filming with him: he makes complex ideas look inevitable.

Venue-wise, the map explains the method. Snowbowl provided repetition and thin-cover discipline. Utah added volume and infrastructure—structured laps at Woodward Park City to drill rail timing and knuckle feel, powder days at Alta to carry speed and manage landings in softer snow, and contest buildouts at Park City Mountain to keep jump cadence sharp. Spring film blocks at Mammoth Unbound layered in XL spacing and wind reads, while European detours to Grandvalira’s Sunset Park Peretol tied him into the SLVSH ecosystem where line reading beats brute force. Those places formed a rider who can win under lights and deliver segments that stand up to frame-by-frame scrutiny.

How they ski: what to watch for

Wolferman skis with economy and definition. Into the lip he stays tall and neutral, sets rotation late, and locks the grab before 180 degrees so the trick breathes without throwing the body off axis. His knuckle vocabulary is unusually clean: nose presses start from the ankles and hips rather than an upper-body lean, which is why his buttered doubles and late shiftys look suspended rather than forced. On rails, look for square entries, backslides and presses held long enough to read, and exits where the shoulders remain aligned so speed survives to the next feature. Surface swaps are quiet—minimal arm swing—and edge pressure is organized early so the base stays flat through kinks. Even at higher difficulty, landings read centered and inevitable, a product of soft ankles and hips stacked over the feet.

Resilience, filming, and influence

Film seasons are the backbone of Wolferman’s profile. He helped carry Strictly’s run of influential projects through the late 2010s and early 2020s, showing equal comfort on city steel and in sled-accessed terrain. Those parts emphasized honest speed, horizon awareness, and compositions that let viewers study timing and body organization. Parallel to Strictly, he appeared in Montana/Wydaho backcountry projects that prize sled hustle and measured line choice—segments that broadened his résumé without blurring his identity. SLVSH games, from Sierra-at-Tahoe to Grandvalira, put his rail craft and trick definition under peer review and expanded his influence with the riders who care most about how skiing reads in real time.

The X Games chapter amplified that influence to a global audience. Winning Knuckle Huck gold in 2022 on the Aspen course—under cameras, commentary and live scoring—validated a movement language he’d refined for years. Since then, he has toggled between selective contest starts and filmer-led winters, increasingly steering projects where the shots serve the skiing rather than the other way around. The through-line is a method that rewards attention to detail: calm entry, patient pop, early grab definition, and exits that preserve speed. It’s why coaches use his clips in breakdowns and why park crews copy his lines when they rebuild features.

Geography that built the toolkit

Place is central to Wolferman’s skiing. Missoula’s Snowbowl forged his edge control on modest vert and variable snowpacks, the perfect classroom for centered landings and clean exits. In Utah, Woodward Park City supplied consistent takeoffs, dense rail sets and a winter-long progression ladder for knuckle moves. Alta added soft-snow timing and the patience required to keep structure when visibility drops. Spring and early-summer at Mammoth Unbound contributed XL spacing and wind management; European weeks at Sunset Park Peretol drilled nighttime rhythm and feature-dense flow. When Aspen calls, Aspen Snowmass becomes the stage where those habits show at full scale. Trace those dots and you can see their fingerprints in every clip.

Equipment and partners: practical takeaways

Wolferman’s current and recent partners reflect his priorities. With Armada he rides park platforms that balance press-friendly flex with predictable pop for nose-butter takeoffs; Monster Energy backs his split calendar of contests and film trips; past apparel support from Spyder layered in long park days and glacier laps. For skiers trying to borrow his feel, the hardware lessons are straightforward. Choose a true park ski with a balanced, medium flex you can bend without folding; detune contact points enough to reduce rail bite while keeping dependable edge hold on the lip; and mount close enough to center that switch landings feel neutral and presses sit level. Keep binding ramp angles that don’t push you onto your heels so you can stay stacked over your feet. The bigger “equipment” is process: film your laps, compare shoulder alignment and hip-to-ankle stack against a short checklist, and repeat until patient pop, early grab definition and square-shoulder exits are automatic.

Why fans and progressing skiers care

Fans care about Quinn Wolferman because his skiing ages well. The clips prize timing, organization and line design over noise, which is why they stand up to slow-motion scrutiny years after release. Progressing riders care because the same choices are teachable on normal parks and real snowpacks. If your winter looks like weeknights at a small hill, weekend missions to a destination park, and a few floodlit jams or SLVSH-style games with friends, his blueprint fits perfectly: calm entries, patient pop, early grab definition, long presses that read, and exits that preserve speed for what comes next. The medal—a 2022 X Games Knuckle Huck gold—is a milestone; the lasting takeaway is a method any skier can study and apply from Missoula to Mammoth to the lights of Grandvalira.