Several skiers were already on top, loosely cluttered, some already clicked into their bindings, alert but casual as they viewed the surroundings and shared a reverential quiet.
The sun began to break out of the dreamy foliage of dawn, its canopy exploding into an enormous sunlit corona of mist, which trailed across the azure water like a cape.
Now, almost on cue, skiers snapped to attention. Several peeled off the crest and arced with a low-pitched, ripping noise, as if the air itself had split open. Down they went into Tallac's huge bowl.