STRAIGHT LINE TOO BIG FOR THE SMALL TOWN LEFT TO RIGHT No bus ride can get you downtown faster. Mathilde Gremaud above the starting gate at the 2019 FIS Snow Jamboree. Thibault Magnin floating above the cars on the Dufferin-Montmorency highway exit in downtown Quebec City. Words and Photos Jean-Sébastien Chartier-Plante wo minutes and you can go,” the volunteer says to Alex Beaulieu-Marchand as he enters the dark start shack. It’s hard to describe the feeling of standing atop a 127-foot structure in the middle of downtown Quebec City. Probably because it’s difficult to guess the real height of the starting gate. From above, in the upper part of Quebec City’s down-town core, it doesn’t seem too tall—a four-story scaffolding, with a single opening to a thin ribbon of snow diving toward the jump. But down below, by the landing area in the lower city, the thing looks huge. Rising between two highway via-ducts, the immediacy of its presence makes it appear as tall as the 12-story skyscrapers of nearby Place d’Youville. When a skier drops, it’s dizzying. In March, downtown Quebec City’s buzzing tourist and business mix transforms into a freeskier’s playground. Since 2005, the Snow Jamboree has been home to a party, an urban skiing challenge and a general gathering of winter enthusiasts. But the main event is by far the FIS big air competition. It’s a unique event right in the middle of the city. It started as a snowboard event with different contests all across Quebec. Back in the day, the halfpipe and terrain park at Stoneham would be the centerpoint. Then an urban rail event was added, and in 2015 skiers joined the show. “T The best part is how the big air structure melds with the Hon-oré Mercier Boulevard slope. It joins the two parts of the city as if it’s a permanent installation. And it’s about as permanent as a temporary structure can be—it takes two-and-a-half months to raise the tower, 100 tons of aluminum rolling like a wave along a graffiti-covered cliff. To make sure it doesn’t alter the ability to navigate the Saint-Roch area, there’s even a covered bridge over Saint-Vallier Street. The snow is gathered from around the city and placed on a refrigeration system integrated into the ramp. It’s a complex engineering process, all in the name of airtime. “One minute to go,” the lady says as Alex cleans his bind-ings and clips into his skis. The 12-by-12-foot starting area has just enough room for a skier, a coach and the gate official. Some athletes remain silent while others hoot and holler atop this temple of freeski-ing. From the perch, you can see the suburbs. On the right, the harbor and grain silos. They look smaller than the alumi-num wave. On the left, busy Charest Boulevard buzzes with traffic. Below, people wait, watching, like figurines. “Five… four… three… two… one… When you want.” Alex exits the gate and turns switch. Six thousand fans rumble in unison. He leaves the lip and there is a moment of silence—a moment of pure beauty. 106 The Ski Journal
The Ski Journal Volume 13, Issue 3: Page 106
