Deep, fluffy champagne powder. Turn after turn. Faceshot after faceshot. You can't see, can't breathe. Welcome to the White Room!
»The white room is really gray more than anything, a thick mass of mottled darkness at the center, the weighted middle a pooling indigo, like the pregnant belly of a storm cloud. You fly—no, fall—toward the heart of it, an arrow to the target, and blast through the lesser densities of snow, the lesser grays, surrounded by a halo of gray, grayish, and then white, the lacy wisps of crystals at the fringe like a shroud. Everything thins, your goggles clear, you remember to breathe, and then you’re in it again, from darkness to light and back to the soft rippling darkness.«
[Steve Casimiro, Powder Magazine, September 1998]