TOP TO BOTTOM To his internet followers, Siggers is a mysterious style master, but to friends and family, the Fernie native is a man of many colors. Photo: Bruno Long One hundred and twenty years ago, the town of Fernie, BC would have been more closely associated with black plumes of coal smoke rolling down the railway. Today however, white plumes of powder might be a more accurate representation. Photo: Bruno Long “WHAT’S WITH THE HEAVY machinery calendar be-hind you?” I ask, eyeing the trappings of Siggers’ via from his webcam. Around the calendar are mementos—stickers from the LINE Traveling Circus, $100 in Japanese yen he forgot to spend in Japan (and seemingly doesn’t know he can still deposit in Canada) and other silly sundries. “It’s a reminder,” he answers. “I look at it and think, ‘Make good videos and you don’t have to do this.’” Growing up in a town with mining history, many of his friends continue to earn their living with their labor. Fernie is still somewhat humble. It’s famous and popular among Al-bertans from nearby Calgary (a three-hour drive northeast), but has never gotten the same amount of hype as Whistler or Revelstoke. Siggers doesn’t take his career for granted. Every video view is hard-earned, and he’s as loyal to his followers as they are to him. He feels an obligation to entertain his audi-ence, and wants to to do it as well as he can. “He constantly thinks he doesn’t do enough,” Perrault says. “He doesn’t realize how much he does and how not that many people can say the same thing. His editing, his filming and even the contracts he writes up—Dylan does everything by himself.” It’s hard to know if he insists on doing things himself in spite of or because of his insecurities. Either way, that DIY attitude is why Fernie works so well for him. Although it’s low key and he would have found more opportunity in a place like Whistler, he’s been able to blaze a path on his own terms at home. Doing so has made him an underdog instead of a superhero, but that’s a conscious decision, and it’s one he’s happy with. “He should be bigger than he is,” Malczyk says. “He’s a creation of what Eric Pollard pioneered, and this is the next generation that’s taking it to a completely different level. It’s so important to show those younger kids you don’t just have to be a park skier.” Indeed, the clips Siggers previews for me are transfixing. It’s not so much how he moves, but how it syncs up. His ski-ing is so integrated with the setting, it’s like he’s coordinating his tricks with the shadows. He hates generic pow slashes but hasn’t resorted to the same back-seat wheelie turns other non-conformists have developed in rebuke. With Siggers, every movement leads to the next, and though it’s not traditional, his technique is centered, balanced and flawless. He believes each skier should be unique, and that’s what he wants to express. “I want things to feel good,” he says. “It matters how the video feels to watch. I like things that are kind of melancholic and happy. I like things that aren’t traditionally happy, like a nice Modest Mouse song. It’s not happy, but it feels nice.” At the heart of it all, though, is Siggers’ desire to prolong his youth spent in the mountains. It’s the central narrative that runs through his skiing and his work, even as it evolves and becomes more refined. Perrault figures if it weren’t for Siggers’ eccentric-but-undeniable gravity, the collection of misfits he brings together would have broken loose from his orbit and scattered long ago. “It’s a friend production,” Siggers says about his career, acknowledging the ecosystem that supports him. “It’s really col-laborative and a lot of my homies are out there just for me.” In the end, watching him and his fellow soul skiers draw timeless shapes at half speed, I get the sense he’s trying to control more than his sets. It feels like he’s trying to slow down that thing that makes most of us grow up and grow apart—the march of time itself. Dylan Siggers 051
The Ski Journal Volume 15, Issue 4: Page 51
