83 & Still Flying: Father-Son Ski Day with Steve — Speed, Spirit & The Mountains

This intimate short captures a father–son ritual on snow: returning “home” to their favorite mountain, riding lifts into thin air and carving back down with as much speed as joy allows. The narrator—82 during filming and now 83—frames each run as a vow to keep moving for as long as God permits. His son, Steve, skis with fluid, professional ease; Dad jokes he’s “just barely getting by,” yet that gap in ability becomes the film’s heartbeat, not a hurdle. What matters is presence: being up here, together, in the white silence where edges hum and time loosens.

The piece intercuts quick, breath-clouded clips—boot buckles snapping, poles clicking, first turns on corduroy—with reflective voiceover about aging, devotion, and purpose. The skier no longer seeks double-black chutes; simple slopes suffice. But “simple” doesn’t mean small: he still needs speed, still craves the feeling of flight the mountain gives. The runs become moving prayers, a way to “interface with the infinite” and feel a close hand on the shoulder—faith rendered in motion rather than words.

Cinematography keeps the camera low and forward, placing viewers in the fall line. Cutaways linger on Steve pacing beside his father, matching speed, offering space rather than instruction—a portrait of quiet care. Sound design is spare: wind over a mic, the sizzle of skis, and a few warm “Heat… up here” exhalations that read like mantra. The closing lines are a promise: he won’t stop at 83 or 84; he’ll ski until he’s told—by body or by heaven—that it’s time. In that refusal lies the film’s gift: a reminder that endurance isn’t bravado but love—of mountains, of family, of the life that still accelerates when pointed downhill.