June and July in the Bucegi Mountains. When winter seems to be over, there are still a few lines left. You just have to find them.
Every year, the same moment comes around. The slopes are closed, the gear is put away, and the season seems to be over. For me, though, that’s when another chapter begins.
In June and July, I head up to the Bucegi Plateau without looking for deep snow. I’m looking for those patches still holding on between dwarf pines and rocks — places most people see simply as the last traces of winter. To me, they’re still lines worth riding.
This year, I wasn’t always alone. Adrian joined me on some of the trips, while Bobiță was there almost every time. The mountain moves at a different pace in summer. It’s no longer about how many runs you can fit into a day, but about every climb and every place still worth exploring.
Whenever I spotted a strip of snow, I immediately started imagining the line. It didn’t matter how short it was or how many gaps broke it up. In my mind, the descent already existed.
Sometimes I had to move snow between two patches to connect them. Other times, I had to jump straight from one patch to the next. Not every line was already there. Some had to be built. That challenge was exactly what made every descent even more rewarding.
Between runs, the weather could change completely. Sunshine, heavy clouds, rain, then light again. Those constant shifts are what make every outing different, even when the places remain the same.
The four clips capture only a few seconds from each descent. Behind them are hours of hiking, choosing a line, checking the snow, and sometimes building the route before making the first turn.
It’s not about holding on to winter at any cost. It’s about the joy of finding one more line when almost everything around you has already turned to summer.
Maybe that’s exactly why these runs have become my favorites.
Not because they’re the longest.
But because they’re the last.