Recaps like this one are hard because I don’t just want to tell drinking stories, when at times it seems like that’s how we spent a good chunk (the majority) of our weekend. I could write about all the funny shit that came out of Bishop’s mouth, I could write about all the people I iced, or how many times I shoved a flabongo in someone’s face- but I’m not going to. The fact that we drink too much and do reckless shit at iF3 isn’t a mystery- that story has already been told.

Skiers didn’t flock to Montreal to party. That’s definitely a motivating factor, but we traveled all that way because we share this common interest- skiing. We took our seats in Cinema Imperial because skiing gives us butterflies, because we can’t go skiing right now, but we can watch all the hard work that went into last season and hope that it motivates us to do the same when the snow falls.

Cheers to new friends.

We showed up at TRH- Bar because we missed our family. Not the ones given to us at birth, but the ones we grew into- who we spend every weekend, holiday, and other spare moments with on the mountain. The people who just know, they know what our passions are and we don’t have to explain to them why we slave all summer or at nights just to be poor and ski when we’re not working or sleeping. The ones who let us and our five friends sleep on their couch and floor when we visit and help us scrounge for lift tickets. Who gather together to pay tribute to JP, and those who have gone before us.

We woke up early after a late nights out and rushed to the theatre because we’re there to support our friends who put hours of hard work into their films, and we can’t wait to stay up to ridiculous hours all over again dancing the night away at Club Soda and leaving at 3am bar close to get poutine.

Opening up my suitcase it reeks of Red Bull Vodkas & Beer- or rather it reeks of skiing, and that just gets me stoked.

Winter is coming. We’ll see you on the slopes, fam.